“OK, that’s it - Barton, are you sure you’re in the right frame of mind for this mission?”
Barton looks up from the photograph, surprised. “Are you kidding? I’ve been going over this file for four days now.”
“Exactly. This file. No language skills, no location assessment. No weapons inventory either, which was due on my desk yesterday by the way.”
“Coulson, c’mon. You really need me to write ‘the usual’ every time I--”
“Yes, Barton, I do. It’s protocol. It exists for a reason. It forces you to prepare properly.”
The archer gestures to the file spread out in front of him. “This is preparation.”
“It’s somewhat single-minded.”
“She’s an expert assassin. A professional. You don’t think single-mindedness is a good idea?”
Coulson chooses his next words carefully. “You don’t think you’re taking more than a professional interest in this mission?”
Barton frowns, then laughs, bemused. “The hell? No.”
There’s a pause, as Coulson opens his mouth to speak, stops, closes it again. He changes tack.
“I want the weapons inventory and the location report on my desk before you leave in the morning. And I want you to do a risk assessment.”
Barton scoffs. “I can do that now. ‘Brief: take down deadly and highly effective assassin who’s been known to kill 27 troops using only a nail file. Risk category: high.’ Happy?”
“Not particularly. This woman is deadly and highly effective, Barton. And you seem to be more interested in enjoying her exploits than planning a mission to take her out.”
“Coulson, you know how this works. I need to know everything about a target: how she operates, how she’ll react, that she’s capable of killing 27 armed men with a nail file.”
“You seem unusually preoccupied with that detail--”
“Why aren’t you? You’re the one who wanted the risk assessment!”
“Listen to yourself Barton! I’ve been listening to it for a week now and to be honest, you’re starting to sound... Well, you sound...”
“What, Coulson?” Barton snaps, his temper fraying. “I sound what?”
“Fannish.”
It’s a moment before Barton can speak.
“‘Fannish’? ‘Fannish’--”
“--and I think it’s clouding your judgement.”
Barton glares across the table at his handler. Several seconds tick by before he takes a deep breath and shifts his attention back to the file.
“You’re dreaming it, Coulson. And you’re forgetting that I am also a deadly and highly-effective assassin. Relax. She’ll be dead by Sunday morning.”
Coulson seems to think about speaking, but thinks better of it and gets up to leave instead.
Alone in the rec room, Barton looks again at the Bucharest photo, at the redhead smiling so convincingly at her mark, and mutters to himself.
“Doesn’t mean it’s not a waste, is all I’m saying...”
FIC: Agent Barton's Strictly Professional Interest (Part 4/4)
Barton looks up from the photograph, surprised. “Are you kidding? I’ve been going over this file for four days now.”
“Exactly. This file. No language skills, no location assessment. No weapons inventory either, which was due on my desk yesterday by the way.”
“Coulson, c’mon. You really need me to write ‘the usual’ every time I--”
“Yes, Barton, I do. It’s protocol. It exists for a reason. It forces you to prepare properly.”
The archer gestures to the file spread out in front of him. “This is preparation.”
“It’s somewhat single-minded.”
“She’s an expert assassin. A professional. You don’t think single-mindedness is a good idea?”
Coulson chooses his next words carefully. “You don’t think you’re taking more than a professional interest in this mission?”
Barton frowns, then laughs, bemused. “The hell? No.”
There’s a pause, as Coulson opens his mouth to speak, stops, closes it again. He changes tack.
“I want the weapons inventory and the location report on my desk before you leave in the morning. And I want you to do a risk assessment.”
Barton scoffs. “I can do that now. ‘Brief: take down deadly and highly effective assassin who’s been known to kill 27 troops using only a nail file. Risk category: high.’ Happy?”
“Not particularly. This woman is deadly and highly effective, Barton. And you seem to be more interested in enjoying her exploits than planning a mission to take her out.”
“Coulson, you know how this works. I need to know everything about a target: how she operates, how she’ll react, that she’s capable of killing 27 armed men with a nail file.”
“You seem unusually preoccupied with that detail--”
“Why aren’t you? You’re the one who wanted the risk assessment!”
“Listen to yourself Barton! I’ve been listening to it for a week now and to be honest, you’re starting to sound... Well, you sound...”
“What, Coulson?” Barton snaps, his temper fraying. “I sound what?”
“Fannish.”
It’s a moment before Barton can speak.
“‘Fannish’? ‘Fannish’--”
“--and I think it’s clouding your judgement.”
Barton glares across the table at his handler. Several seconds tick by before he takes a deep breath and shifts his attention back to the file.
“You’re dreaming it, Coulson. And you’re forgetting that I am also a deadly and highly-effective assassin. Relax. She’ll be dead by Sunday morning.”
Coulson seems to think about speaking, but thinks better of it and gets up to leave instead.
Alone in the rec room, Barton looks again at the Bucharest photo, at the redhead smiling so convincingly at her mark, and mutters to himself.
“Doesn’t mean it’s not a waste, is all I’m saying...”