1963-11-02 - Not a Negotiation
Summary: One final interrogation of Barney Barton. Decisions are presented, agreements made. He still needs to shower.
Related: All the Barney under lock and key logs.
Theme Song: None
heather peggy barney 


Barney has arrived.

*

After a surprisingly pleasant chat with Barney — that was taking liberties, Heather knew that much, but she hoped Peggy wouldn't mind — Heather sits down to write up her observations. They're probably not what most people would expect. That Barney is, under it all, probably more of an idealist than he wants to be, or that he wants anyone to know about. Maybe idealist is the wrong word — whatever's left after a potential idealist finds out the truth a few too many times.

Barney can joke all he wants about joining SHIELD but no one jokes about that if they really think they're on a different side. It wasn't sarcasm, not entirely. And, yes, he is made of shades of grey but no more than Heather. Bad people are fooling themselves as much as good people are. People like Barney — and people like Heather — are just fooling themselves a little less. Doesn't make them one thing or another. It does make them good at their jobs.

"Here you go," Heather says, when Peggy approaches her desk. "Account of my conversation with Mr. Barton. He was making life difficult so I intervened, I hope you don't mind that I brought him a little something to eat and drink. We seemed to get along well enough."

*

"No… I don't mind. We want to wear him down, not kill him. Stay there a minute." Yes, Peggy is going to make poor Heather wait and stand while she reads the whole damn report, but she might have other questions. Her brows arch as Heather answers questions she didn't even get to ask yet, and not exactly with answers she was expecting. She continues to read, taking it all in and adding more shades to the rather complete picture she's been painting of Barney Barton over the last three days. She finally gives an approving nod, setting the report down. "Fine work, Heather, as always… I'm sorry about your old job but damned if I'm not glad you're here." Peggy confesses, truly having trusted and relied upon the woman more often than not since she started.

"…I… had a feeling he's not the vicious killer that most would paint. If I thought he was in it just out of the joy of killing? He wouldn't still be in that cell. He'd be gone. But…he does have a lot of… valuable information. He has been cooperative. He could be a resource…" Peggy quietly voices those thoughts, trying to convince herself as much as anyone. Her dark eyes drill quiet holes into Heather's gaze as she finally asks, "Do you actually think we'll ever be able to trust him enough to have him work with the team? Can he *actually* be redeemed, after everything?"

*

"After what? Doing the same thing he was doing all along, only outside whatever passes for government sanction these days?" Heather perches on the edge of her desk, arms crossed over her chest. "As far as I can tell, he just got his orders — free range, so to speak. One thing I see all the way through his story is that — he takes orders. He likes to do his job and go home at night, that seems consistent in what he's done. He's not some kind of rogue agent, even if he doesn't follow the law, he does follow orders. You give him orders he thinks he can trust? I think he might be of use."

Heather thinks a little harder and then shakes her head. "The guy is on the run from the FBI. He's got people trying to kill him. He could have left the country. He could have taken up work somewhere else. Instead, he just does the thing he knows how to do, finds someone else to give him orders. That says something about him. He makes his own little team. Finds his own medic. Makes a little bolt-hole. Right?"

*

Steve has left.

*

"Clint said he couldn't trust his own judgment about Barney because of… well… The situation. It was remarkably clear headed of him, but I can also understand. Your judgment… however, I do trust. Unless he was in there sweet talking you since his medic gave him up like last week's bad habit?" Well, his address, at least. That was useful, even if there wasn't that much in the bolt hole. Peggy stands, apparently still planning on going back into that cell with this killer. She's done it several times before, this is no different. Pregnant or not, director or not, she's never been scared to get her hands dirty.

"You know he killed Williams. Yeah, it was… some form of self defense, but he still killed one of us. Knowing that, knowing his history… Everything you've seen. Do you think he's worth the second chance?" It's probably a question she's asked more than one person, but the tone of her voice and the look in her eyes as she rests them on Heather, it all feels like Heather is the most important person in the world. Judge and jury on this man. Peggy wants it to feel like it matters that much.

*

"Barney Barton is a tool," Heather says bluntly. "I don't mean that in the colloquial way. I mean that I think he is exactly as good as the person who handles him, and the people who have handled him have been complete bastards. You know them, Peggy. You know what they're like. Has he done bad things? Yes. He killed Williams. He kills people. If you want a killer, if you want a man who can take orders and not question them and go home and sleep at night instead of curling up in the bottom of a bottle, then I think he's worth taking a chance on. I don't know if that man has ever had anyone go to bat for him, Peggy. You could be the one. If you are, then there's no telling what you can shape him to be."

*

Silence lingers for several heartbeats, staring over Heather, and Peggy finally nods. "Good work, Heather. I… I think I should go back in there and talk to the man myself. Ultimately, if this call is a fuck up… well, it'll be on my shoulders. But I have to agree with you. And god knows, right now, we could use all the help we can get." Peggy looks down to that file folder one more time, exhaling quietly, and then she slips out of her office and down the hall. "You are welcome to come. If you want." She adds to Heather. It's the young woman's option to follow or not.

Down to the interrogation room. Barney's been kept there through most of the day, mainly just put in his cell at night to pretend to sleep and eat whatever rations the prisoners get around here. She stops and actually pours out another paper cup of fresh coffee and balances it with a few sugar packets in her right hand. No one gets milk around here, Peggy keeps all that for her tea. She steps up to the interrogation room, studying him through the window for another heartbeat or two before finally pushing the door open. Silent. She brings no words, just the scent of coffee and sound of high heels as she walks into the room.

*

*clink*

*clink*

By now, it's a game. Handcuffed to the table, one-way mirror watching all his movements during the course of the day. His bruises are fading, though the broken nose is a joy forever. Welts from 'falling down the stairs' have gone from red to pink, and they are fading fast as well. Scrapes, cuts, well, they've scabbed up. Other than the multiple days growth of beard and the lingering 'bleh' of not having taken a shower in a few days, and nowhere near enough sleep, he's not doing too badly. Left arm is still held a little closer to his body than his right… the only indication that the shoulder is still sore.

With the door's opening and closing, and the *click*click* of heels on the floor, Barney doesn't turn around. The smell of coffee hits him again, and he can almost taste the memory of that cup he'd had earlier. He knows those footsteps now, though, and his jaw shifts as he stares at the table before him.

"So. 'M'gettin' outta here, or getting prisoner swapped with J. Edgar?" His voice is low, but there isn't a hint of 'break' in it. More like.. nearing the end of his own patience. He's ready for whatever at this point.

*

Heather is just a step or two behind Peggy — she's the one with the coffee, again. She's really a little ginger coffee-goddess, that's the truth. Her own footfalls are silent, though, the crepe rubber of her sensible boots doesn't make a sound — and gives her traction if she needs to run someone down. She steps to the side, in the shadows, and waits for Peggy to get things sorted.

*

The director dares to come close enough to him and not in a way that she's readying for a fight. If he lunges for her, well, he's probably going to seal his fate. But she's not trying to lure him into it this time. She just, instead, motions to Heather to setsthat paper cup down on the table and the sugar packets beside. That's either really good news or really awful news. Maybe a last meal? Who knows. She then steps back, however, and leans her hips against the wall, staring at the ragged man before her.

"I wouldn't give anything to J. Edgar if he invited me to Christmas supper, so I think you are safe from there. We aren't sloppy enough to lose our prisoners to the FBI." Oh yeah, there's some real inter agency rivalry going here, though Peggy simply outright thinks they are better than the FBI. She might be right. "But… we can't just let you out of here. Considering your record, and what you did to one of ours… AND the fact the FBI really is going to kill you the moment they can, you are too dangerous an asset. So… we look for other options."

*

Barney doesn't look up from the table as the coffee is set, complete with the sugar. He does take note of who is there; just the two. Heather and Mrs Carter. Eyes narrow, but he doesn't move. There's no lunging for either of the women, but he does lift the hand with the cuffs, just for that last *clink*.

The coffee is a lure, however, and he reaches out after a few heartbeats, not bothering with the sweeteners. "I don't know how much manpower they were expending. After the… what… fifth guy they sent, I think they closed out my file and had an Irish wake for me." But he's sure they certainly weren't going to give up. "That was just in case anyone asked about me." Either he has delusions of grandeur, or, well, he's got delusions of grandeur.

Barney takes a tentative sip of the coffee before he takes another one. Blue eyes remain forward, and the question comes out more of a statement, "What're we lookin' at. Place in the Caribbean? No thanks. I burn easy. France is nice, if it weren't for the fact those fuckers got us into 'Nam. I'd probably end up getting thrown out. Which would bring me right back… well, here."

*

"I'd expect nothing less," Heather says, with a bit of humor. "No one can say you don't know yourself, Mr. Barton." She reaches in her suit pocket for a lighter and a pack of cigarettes — which she doesn't smoke, herself — and then glances to Peggy for permission before offering Barney a cigarette. When she gets the nod, she lights the cigarette herself before offering it to Barney.

*

Peg does, indeed, give that permissive nod in Barney's direction. See? She's no so horrible. At least, not when the death of one of her agents isn't fresh in her mind. She clears her throat, stepping back just a touch from the smoke, but keeping her dark, evaluating eyes on the ragged man across from her. "Yes, it does bring you right back here. So…why don't we skip the middle men and *start* here? SHIELD. You've made a few jokes about working here. Were those jokes, or do you actually want to get back into service? You know we can't let you walk free… but we're a good team of creative solution finders. I'm sure we can come up with something… Inventive. And useful."

*

Barney raises his hand that is caught with the handcuff again; he's doing all this one handed at the moment. On his off-hand. So, there's another swallow of coffee as if it's his last warm drink for some time before he sets it down, and he takes the burning cigarette. A long draw on it is taken, and he sits back in his chair finally, his legs straightening underneath the table. He's got no leverage if he was going to pounce at the moment, so it's pretty fair to say that right now, he's calm.

"Heather and I had an interesting conversation earlier…" Barney begins softly, "What I do is only legal if it's the 'right' people giving the orders." Pulling his feet under him, he shakes his head and lifts the manacled hand, "No.. it's only acceptable to certain people if it's the 'right' people giving the orders. So, now, I get a chance to come in from the cold." It's a statment. He doesn't look at either of the ladies, however, as he draws on the cigarette again. The smoke lingers around him before he lets it out, "What do you have plans for? That way I know whether I'd rather live or die rather than take the chance." There's a bit of a dry sense of humor under that last thought, and with the last drag on the cigarette, rather than stubbing it out on the table, he crushes the end with his fingers. "You know you're gonna piss J Edgar off if he finds out." A feral smile rises and he gives a single-shouldered shrug, "He's an easy target, you know. Practically dares people to take the shot."

*

"The best people in this business are pragmatists," Heather says quietly. "Hoover is no different. And for all that talk, Mr. Barton, I think you want to live. What you're not expecting is getting to live well. Maybe you should raise your standards a little — try something new."

*

Heather's response to Barton gets a slightly skeptical hum from Peggy's throat. She might not call it living well, but then she's become harder than Heather over her time. She looks back to the sandy man in front of her. "Whomever has been giving you orders for hits? You keep taking them. Same way you did, nothing changed, and you tell us. We need to trace back who thinks they've got enough power to decide who lives and who dies…" Who, well, isn't THEIR agency, "And put a stop to it. Especially is the corruption is coming from inside. I realize that if they catch you, you'll probably be dead there too. That is a risk you need to be willing to take. Meanwhile…you work with us. You'll be assigned a handler. Partner and… monitor. To make certain you actually *want* to be a part of the table, follow orders, and don't go off the reservation. You'll be trained the same as any other agent and be given a junior agent's salary while being trained — we'd prefer you not accept outside mercenary work other than the 'special' jobs you are investigating for us. Lastly, you write and sign full testimony against the FBI for everything they had you do both above and below board. We might need to clean house. I need that on hand."

*

Steve has arrived.

*

Steve leaves, heading towards Wing Sing - Back Room [UP].

*

Steve has left.

*

"If they come at me, they're gonna be dead," is said flatly, and finally he lifts those blue eyes and looks at Peggy. "I'm not gonna lie down an' let 'em kill me." Which means there'll be more FBI deaths by his hand. Barney looks back at the table and retakes that coffee before anyone takes it from him, and he lifts it for another swallow. He's silent for few heartbeats longer before, "I want immunity from any federal prosecution. I'm not gonna be a scapegoat if something goes wrong and I'm hung out to dry." Again.

"I work alone. If I've got someone shadowing me, or if it looks like I'm reporting in to someone, I'm gonna find more than just the FBI wanting a piece of me." It's a dangerous game, and without affiliations, Barney could … sort of navigate. "SHIELD isn't the most widely trusted agency, you know."

*

A slight smirk pulls at the director's lips and she shakes her head quietly, "You seem to think this is a negotiation. It's not. These are the terms. My people are good — damn good in fact. We're not the most widely trusted because we are young *and better* than most everyone else out there. So, you get a partner. They will stay back, quiet and be careful, but you don't get out of the rules just because of your past." She also gives a quiet shrug, "I can't promise federal immunity. We're not a federal agency, we're an international agency. I can promise that if you manage to get yourself caught or in trouble federally, we can get you out of this country before anyone else is the wiser. I can also promise if you get your stupid arse captured *elsewhere* in the world, we can extradite you back here and… Handle things on our end. That's the offer I make. You take it or you leave it." Leaving it means probably turning him straight over to the FBI. But maybe they would still kill him here. Peggy's eyes are icy enough she's not giving any hint either way.

*

Barney takes notice that she doesn't directly address the fact that the chances are better than even that more FBI agents will probably die, and by his hand in the quest for self-preservation. Big difference now, and he glances at Heather. This time, under the auspices of SHIELD, it won't necessarily be an issue unless he's sloppy. When he was out in the cold, it was prosecutable by everyone. Same action, different outcomes.

For a long moment, the 'rogue' agent stares into the black liquid that is his slowly cooling coffee before he takes a deep breath through his nose and lets it out slowly through his mouth. Barney reaches up and runs his fingers through his hair in a weary gesture, it lingering finally at the back of his neck in a vain attempt to reduce tension.

"I suppose I can't kill Irish, huh." It's … sort of a joke. Mostly. Maybe.

*

"We all have people we're refraining from bumping off, Mr. Barton," Heather says with some amusement. "It's good exercise for the self-restraint."

*

That smirk only deepens from Peggy at the comment about Irish, but Heather gives a far better response than her tired mind could grab right now. "You still killed one of ours. I cannot promise that your welcome on this team is going to be… Full. You're going to have to earn every last scrap of trust and independence around here. I am not certain you are up to the task, but… I do think it's worth the try. The choice remains yours, Barton, and it's only on the table tonight. Along with those affidavits." Peggy isn't even letting him out of an interrogation room until she has those full reports. She gives him an almost sweet smile, "Consider it a test of your report writing skills."

*

"Self-restraint, huh?" Barney looks back at Heather as his arm drops back down, his hand slapping the table in its weight. "I'd die a happy man." He won't do it, though. He'll probably think it a whole lot, but actual action?

Sadly, no.

Barney lifts his left hand only as far as the handcuffs will allow as they're attached to the table leg. "Can you.. uh.." He rattles them again before, "Left handed." It's attached to his dominant hand, by design. "I'll do it." There's a pause before, "Did you release Hilde?"

*

"She's been taken home, yes," Heather says. "So she didn't miss work. She's very loyal to you, Mr. Barton. And very fragile. I'm sure you know that, though, don't you?" Heather actually seems concerned about Hilde. "I know she'll be relieved that you're all right. She may have a few choice things to say about me but I do hope she's all right."

*

Not having much spoken to the other, Peggy's brows arch at Heather's assessment of the situation. Her lips rest in a bit of a line, but there is no need to add anything to the matter. The woman was still consorting with a criminal, she's not too worried about it. She does, however, walk over and show the first bit of actual faith and trust in Barney Barton she's show the whole time. She grabs the cuff keys from her pocket and leans down, unlocking the hand cuffs and shoving them back into her pocket with the key. She doesn't even do it violently, not adding to his injuries. He's, slowly, becoming one of the team. "There."

*

Barney nods slowly at the assurances that Hilde was allowed to leave and was taken home. "Yeah," he concedes. "She'll have a few choice words for me too, I'm sure." Assuming she'll talk to him again, that is. He's not assuming a thing, which is probably one of his saving graces.

When Peggy approaches, Barney sits up in his chair, watching warily, muscles tensing again. When she reaches for the handcuff, however, and it's unlatched, he exhales in a soft breathy sigh, but doesn't move until she's out of range. Then he pulls his hand up to rub at the area again.

"This'll take awhile."

*

"We value thoroughness. Would you like me to wait with Mr. Barton, Director?" Heather gives Peggy a smile that in no way suggests that maybe Peggy should be off her feet or having a sandwich or not breathing in dank, close, cigarette-smoke-laden air. She slips the pack of cigarettes onto the table in front of Barney. "Company might be wise." Leaving Barney uncuffed and with a pen in hand is — well, it would be a risk if it was Heather so it's definitely a risk if it's Barney. At least until everything's settled.

*

"I'll get you the paper. It will take us the night to set up a shadowing schedule anyway, but you can go in the morning. You won't know who is following you… and if they are doing it right, you won't even realize they are there. But you'll be covered and have back up. We'll get you a comm as well. And… a regular training schedule. If you run, you no show, you decide to change our agreement one inch… well, we finished what we started. And we *are* better than the FBI." Yes, that was absolutely a death threat. Peggy doesn't shy from it.

She then looks to Heather and gives a short nod. "If you wish, Agent… I need to go set up other arrangements. He is your charge now. Good luck." And, with that, Peggy turns on the ball of her foot because yes, the cigarette smoke is less than pleasant and she can't dare let anyone see that. SHe'll send another agent in with the paperwork in a few minutes but, for now, Barney and Heather are left to their own devices.

*

A pen is a weapon. That single strike-anywhere match was too. As were the burning cigarettes. Hot coffee.

See? Barney isn't all bad!

Barney listens to Peggy's words, a touch of a smirk rising at the threat. At some point, he may end up testing that, but now is not the time. Tomorrow neither. Or next month. Probably not even next year. But there will be a time when he and SHIELD will part ways.. whether by choice or design. That will be, however, when the world truly falls in on him.

Reaching for the pack of cigarettes very much like a drowning man to a life raft, he pulls one out before looking for the matches. So, it's unlit for the time being, but it still soothes the need. For the time being, anyway.

"In the morning, huh?" Barney's got no idea how far away that is, and he sure as hell isn't looking forward to another full night awake. He's operating on the edge as it is, and his handwriting sure is going to show it. Should Heather look over his shoulder as he begins to scrawl-scribble again, there are names coming out, current names. Jobs within the last few years.

Barton was reasonably connected. Seems SHIELD might have gotten the better end of the deal?

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