As much as Barret hated Shinra, there were a limited number of places to get a truly useful prosthetic limb, and this was the cheapest option, and he already hated himself for a hypocrite, so was there really so much to lose?
When the doctor asked Barret what he was planning to do with it, the larger man hemmed and ummed and changed the subject. The doctor smiled in a way that suggested he knew more about what Barret planned than he said, and though he didn’t like the man, Barret found himself filling the quietude with rambling, first about his wife and his child and Marlene, awkwardly dancing around the details. The doctor never said much, but Barret thought from his replies that he, too, had lost a wife and a child.
On the third visit, the doctor announced the prosthetic was ready for connection. He let Barret look over the gun-arm before instructing him to take of his shirt and climb on the table.
“You done this before?”
“Only once before down here,” he said, gesturing to the clinic. “A gentleman wanted his left arm replaced. I’ve performed it on a number of MPs, however.” Barret nodded and laid down, eager to have this finally finished.
The operation itself went quickly. Pain flared up Barret’s arm as the nerves were activated. The doctor took his arm gently and massaged it until the nerves calmed and the muscles relaxed. His hands lingered on the large man’s chest for a long minute. The fingers were long and thin and actually reminded Barret of his wife’s touch, how she used to hold him.
He shook his head and pulled away from the doctor, reaching for his shirt.
“Be careful with that,” the doctor said quietly. “When you become a weapon, you need to watch yourself. You are, in a sense, always cocked.”
Barret blinked at that, not entirely comfortable with the tone in the doctor’s voice, and left the office quickly.
