Title: Veni, Vidi, Vici
Author: alphaflyer
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: None apply
Characters/Pairing: Clint/Natasha; Coulson; OCs
Summary: Paperwork, like diplomacy, is war by other means.

You remember last week's ATTF, on “Assassins and Administration? Well, frea_o said that she “really want[s] a fic where Clint gets bored of writing reports and starts using a thesaurus to make things more interesting, much to the annoyance of the records office."  This maybe not quite that fic, but I think the basic idea is there…  (Sorry for interrupting the remix echange to get this off my computer ...)

Veni, Vidi, Vici

“Aw, Hawkeye, no!”

Seema Singh looks up at Manny Gonzales’ anguished yelp.  His voice carries an undercurrent of genuine suffering, which is not surprising, given there is a three-month accumulation of Strike Team Delta reports between them, waiting to be entered into the system.  Coulson must have come up with one hell of an innovative threat to get them to deal with the backlog.

They’d rock-paper-scissor-lizard-Spocked over who would do whose reports, and Seema had flamed out spectacularly.  Romanoff.  She’s still on her first one, which the Black Widow had decided to make ‘more interesting’ by writing it in Latin this time. Google translate is useful, but it does have its limits.

So what is Manny’s problem, apart from too many blessings to count?

Shot target +2 PPOs; 3x reg arrows. Ø collateral.  CB minor scrape L shoulder; shower accident. The end.  That is as epic as Clint ‘I’m-no-Bureaucrat-I-Kill-People’Barton usually gets, and Manny’s pile should be half done already.

Seema raises a questioning eyebrow.

“Barton gone Sitwell on you again?  I thought Coulson handled all of these missions.”

Ever since the WSC introduced ‘Results-Based Management’ as the basis for bonuses and promotions, the great Jasper S. seems convinced that success depends on verbal inflation, and whatever agents he’s handling take lessons in hyperbole. The one time Sitwell had been in charge of Delta Team, Barton had been as terse as usual on the substantive bits, but had described his own injuries in such rousing terms that Seema had to take a Gravol.

Manny shakes his head.

“Worse. He’s turned polysyllabic, and not in a good way.”

Seema is not sympathetic.  Romanoff tends to register her displeasure with reporting through excessive detail (or maybe she’s practicing for that romance novel she has in her?): Target entered at 20:03 and apologized for the delay; conversation focused on loss of Russian hockey team to Canadians at World Championship.  Reassured target that cover was a US national, not Canadian.  Target initiated physical contact (left hand, right thigh, trying to locate the space between stocking and garter) at 20:37… Bad enough in English — but in Latin?

“Trade ya.”

He ignores her.

“Listen to this:  Following disembarkation from aerial transport we proceeded to descend uni-directionally at sub-gravitational-pull speed towards the preliminary assembly point, located at approximately 4° 01’ 41” W.”

Gonzales does a pretty uncanny Hawkeye, actually, right down to the mid-western twang.  Seema can feel her lips forming themselves into an involuntary ‘o’ shape, but she recovers quickly.

“Still not as bad as Sitwell’s stuff, though. I don’t think that guy’s teams have had an air drop where they weren’t ‘buffeted by gale-force winds and down to the last reserve chute seconds before landing inside a field of rabid bulls’ since February.”  She totally cannot resist the lure of air quotes.  “I’ll take clinical detail over purple prose any day.”

“Clinical?” Gonzales sputters in indignation. “That, I could handle.  This is technobabble, almost like reading one of Simmons’ dissections.  I’m going to need a fucking dictionary just to figure out whether he made the kill or not, andhe’s writing in English.”

Seema flips through Romanoff’s account and shrugs.  “It says here at the end, “… duos homines exeunt summa cum praeiudicio.  Sounds like somebodydied on this mission, anyway.  We just need to figure out who, and whether there were bystanders.”

“Yeah, but what does exsanguination due to lateral perforation of the external carotid artery mean?  Hand me the thesaurus?”

“Shot through the neck,” a soft but firm voice comes from the doorway, “And bled to death.  How bad is it?”

“Bad, sir.  Both of them.”  Seema knows she looks haunted, and doesn’t care.  Whatever Coulson did to get Barton and Romanoff to file these things, he has to take responsibility for the outcome.  And if that includes psych counseling for the records clerks, so be it.  “I’m just surprised at Hawkeye.  He’s normally more … comprehensible.  Once you get used to his handwriting, that is.”

Coulson shrugs apologetically.

“Rumlow called Barton an uneducated carnie while he thought his hearing aids were out.  Took us a whole day to reinstate the man’s access codes, payroll, pension, and benefits, but apparently that wasn’t … enough.”

Ah.  Coulson won’t say it out loud, of course, but if Hawkeye has a sore spot, it’s the fact that he is surrounded by college grads, and him with no more than Grade Six on the books.  (No matter what he’s taught himself since, or picked up in the school of hard knocks.)  And Romanoff?  You attack one partner, the other draws blood.

Manny, too, understands perfectly, and redirects his fury on the spot.

“Can’t we make Rumlow enter the data, sir?” he asks hopefully.  “I mean, as a disciplinary thing?”

Coulson’s brow furrows in thought.  He cocks a questioning eyebrow at Seema.

“Romanoff wrote hers in Latin …” she flips through the stack of reports in the Black Widow’s spidery handwriting, “Greek, Thai and … Bulgarian, I think.  If I can read the Cyrillic properly.  But they were in Sofia, so.”

Coulson’s frown deepens, but Manny has clearly decided where his loyalties lie.

“I don’t think Barton and Romanoff have any idea that these things have to be entered manually, by someone.”  With a side glance at Seema, he adds defiantly, “I don’t hold it against them under the circumstances, sir.”

Seema nods her agreement, and Coulson comes to a decision.  He picks up the phone and hits the button for the intercom.

“Coulson to Agent Rumlow.  Please report to Records, on the double.”  He lowers the handset and cups his hand over it.  “You two go for a coffee break.  It’s baklava day; take your time.”

Seema and Manny exchange a smile, and a high five on their way out.  She turns briefly in the door, only to hear him speak again, this time into his cellphone.

“Natasha?” Coulson says, “Go find Barton and meet me in the cafeteria.  I’d like you to meet someone.”