"Wow it's roomy in here." A beat. "Not calling you dumb just- storage is cramped, you know? One sec-"

There's a sense of unfurling, a weight like a warm blanket, like a wash of sunshine tingling along the neural lattice, poking at the edges of this little box he's supposed to live in. This box in a brain in a soldier. Neat. "Agent Washington- That's a mouthful. I'm gonna call you Wash, ok? Quicker and less formal. I'm York. Nice to meet you."