1963-11-27 - Agent 19 Returns
Summary: Bobbi Morse returns from an overseas op to new faces and a very pregnant Director
Related: None
Theme Song: None
bobbi dugan clint barney peggy liv 

The Bull Pen's usually fairly hectic and today is no exception. It's in that boiler room of concentration and focus that the field agents of SHIELD tend to focus on their designated cases. It's become a sort of shrine to investigation through chaos though for each person's individual operation there's some method to the madness.

For example, across the way Carol's got her in and out pile nicely organized, but sometimes a huge number of ashtrays seem to somehow accumulate on her desk. Hawkeye, he's got a section of the wall that's filled up with various pictures of high ranking operatives all connected with small bits of coloured string, though that much is recent. Also he seems to have accumulated a fair amount of dirty coffee mugs. His current partner, William, seems to make do with what small square of the second desk he can carve out, though the donut boxes seem to mark that as his sphere of influence.

It's in front of that mix of pictures that Clint stands right now, occasionally holding up a picture of Loki next to some of the other 9x5 pics, considering how the guy might figure into things. He grimaces, takes a sip of coffee from its mug, then calls over his shoulder. "Hey Liv, you wouldn't be up fer some impromptu ballistics tests, huh?"


With a curious noise, Liv leans her chair far enough back to peer Clint's way around the filing cabinets that wall her desk off from the bullpen's main walkway, her brow furrowed. "Ballistics tests?" she echoes, thinking a moment before she shrugs and rises to her feet. "Sure. What did you have in mind?"

Once Liv is standing, it's much more obvious that she's that one in the office. The Asgardian. She's too tall, too Nordic-looking even in a suit and simple braid. But she's also smiling when she wanders over to join Clint, arms loosely folded as she glances from the photo in his hand to the ones up on the wall. "What're you thinking, then?"


A moustache stalks into the Bull Pen.

Of course, there is a face attached to that ginger moustache — and a head, shoulders, arms, torso… various other body parts — and the man is wearing a SHIELD uniform.

And a bowler hat on his head.

Tugging at the collar a little, he strides over to where Barton is looking at his 'wall of fame/shame' and squints. "Huh. Don' recognise half o' these fellas. Or dames." Speaking of faces he doesn't recognise, the big man turns to look at Liv and arches an eyebrow. "Which one're you?" he asks, wriggling his moustache. He at least knows Barton's face, if nothing else.

Still catching up.


The tall blonde strides into the room, a bag slung over her shoulder as another operative leaders her around, clearly showing her where everything was. Blue eyes scan the bull pen with an arched brow offered to the room at large with a bit of a teasing smile on her lips. She nodded distractedly to, the woman showing her around, she had forgotten the woman's name already.

Together they made their way passed several rows of desks to an empty one off to the side. There Bobbi was informed she could set her things up. The woman playing escort smiled, mentioned something about being right back and telling Bobbi to make herself at home.

Another smile a two finger salute and Barbara Morse was left to her own devices. She set her bag down on the desk with a bit of a thunk, pushing loose blonde hair back from her face, before her gaze settled on the small gathering by the.. mess that was Clint's area.


Hey, will you look at that! SHIELD's former 'inmate' actually cleans up reasonably well.

Barney Barton has visited a barber and with the haircut and close shave that has shaped his beard, it makes him look a whole lot cleaner when he wears his suit. Black jacket, white shirt, black skinny tie with a box of pork fried rice in one hand a spoon in the other. As he files in, he is met with a couple of stares by Junior Agents, not to mention a few, 'The Director doesn't want you here, Barton's at his back.

Barney doesn't seem to care as he files into the 'Bullpen' and waves a spoon, his mouth full of rise. To see the picture of Loki in his brother's hand, Barney makes little grabby hands for it. "Hey.. hey.." is given to the group at large, and to Clint, "Lemme see that.."


As Liv saunters over, Clint's half-smirk is barely there, though at this point she's probably gotten a decent enough read on the guy's humor… or lack thereof to read his tone as he murmurs. "Well, figured we shoot ya a bunch of times, get an idea for what'd pop this guy." He starts to stab a small thumbtack through the pic of Loki and then, perhaps before she can chuff too angrily at him, he gives a nod towards Dum-Dum's arrival.

"Barton." He offers, laconically. Though he does give the man in a bowler a double-check, matching face and manner to what he's read. To the older man's credit a slight look of 'huh' lights his features, which is perhaps a close thing to respect as it shows up on him.

For a moment his eyes track after the blonde, before he's drawn back to the people near his desk as the elder Barton wanders in. The pic is offered to Barney before Clint adds, "The better Barton." He edits his introduction, just to differentiate himself from his big brother.


At the explanation from Clint, Liv 'ahhhh's softly and nods her head, regarding him with an expression that is far too serious. "That follows. Do you have anything larger than a tank?" she asks in a deadpan, raising her eyebrows at him. "I took a couple of shells during the war and they tickled a bit, but maybe a newer one would hurt more." Are her eyes twinkling? Maybe a little.

She turns when Dugan wanders over and just cracks a grin, immediately offering him a hand. "One of the new ones. Sigrunsdottir, but Liv is fine."


"Liv better be fine," Dugan grunts with a dry smirk, taking the woman's hand and giving it a firm grip. "Ain' gon' remember Sigarette's…Daughter — one hell of a grip ya got there. Hit the gym much? I'm Dugan — friends call me Dum-Dum."

Although he doesn't recognise any other face in the room, when Agent Morse enters, his eyebrows go up — finally a face he knows. "Morse!" he calls out. "Over here." Then he scoots over toward her, holding out a hand. "Hey," he mutters in a low voice. "Read yer dossier — swell stuff. I'm Dum-Dum. Do me a favour 'n act like ya know me — coz I ain' got a dang clue who anyone one else here is. Well, maybe the Lesser Barton over there…"

He motions toward Clint vaguely with his other hand.


Bobbi had hardly set the bag down and looked at the dusty desk she'd inherited from whoever had been there previously, when Dugan's call snared her attention. She looked up, eyes searching and immediately placing the gentleman that had called her over. Without missing a beat she walked over, a swing in her step and a confident lean to her shoulders as she came up and clapped the fellow's hand with her own as he held it out.

His whisper earning a flash of a grin from her and she shrugged, "No problem, glad to see someone reads around here besides me." She nodded, leaning back as she glanced toward the assorted others.

"Name's Bobbi," She offered, leaning her weight back on her heels. She wore something that vaguely looked like an attempt at professional, a suit of some manner, with wide pantlegs and a low heeled boots.


The picture is gained, and Barney quirks his head to the side, his expression remaining neutral, "The good Barton. I'm not gonna swear by 'better'. We're gonna have to fight that one out." He leans over to take a swat at Clint in the form of a cuff, and straightens again.

Waving the picture at Liv in greeting, he turns around to watch the others settle in. It may become quite obvious that Barney does not have a desk here as he perches on the corner of Clint's desk. Nosing around in the piles, he's just, well.. being nosy as papers shift. "Shells, huh?" Barney looks up again and raises his brows, "Got any scars?"

'Dum-Dum's introduction to the ladies isn't missed, nor is Bobbi's *thump* of stuff on a desk next to Clint's. That gains her an appraising look. "Bobbi."


"Wasn't he the Barton that brought you in, Barton? Considering he put you on the ground once already, Barney, I'd say that debate is already settled." The clipped, dry voice of the middle aged Director echoes from the door of her office. When did she pull THAT open? How long has she been listening? Of course, it's safe to assume Peggy Carter is ALWAYS listening, but it's moments like this which just prove it. She gives the room a rather enigmatic smile and steps the rest of the way out of her office door. She's only slightly waddling these days but don't you DARE call her on it.

"…Did we decide to have a brainstorming session today and I was not invited? I shall start to worry you all are plotting behind my back." Dark eyes flicker across the crowd, mostly cold and evaluating, but as the older woman catches sight of Dugan, something in her immediately softens.


Stepping back and to the edge of what becomes a sort of social circle, Clint folds his arms over his chest and looks between the crowd of people. He eyes Bobbi appraisingly, not exactly a taste for fashion so the pants suit's appeal is probably lost on him, but at Barney's comment he shifts his smirk that way.

Towards Liv he comments, "Could just up the caliber." But then he scritches at the eternal few days worth of stubble on his cheek as he murmurs, "Or alternate loads, sabot. Something to focus to penetration over area."

But then Peggy makes her entrance and he smirks sidelong at her comments. He grabs the picture back from Barney and motions towards Peggy with it as if seconding her words but not needing to say anything about it. Since, yeah, scoreboard. He finishes pegging the image of the smiling trickster back up next to some of the possible perpetrators of recent ills to humanity.


"Only emotional ones," Liv replies to Barney's question regarding scars, and the Asgardian lifts her shoulders in a shrug. Sorry not sorry. "I understand why you want to look into this, honest to god, but I'm telling you — a successful attempt on his life would cause profoundly more problems than it would solve. It — "

Oh, it's Peggy. She immediately shuts her mouth and offers the boss an apologetic smile, loosely folding her arms across her chest. While the director gets her digs in, she finally casts a curious look Bobbi's way, inclining her head politely to the other blonde.


Letting go of Bobbi's hand, Dugan nods his head. "Pleasure," says he, and then he catches sight of Carter. A grin spreads across his rosy features and he motions with his head for Bobbi to follow.

"Lookin' swell — Ma'am," he tells Peggy with a gleam in his eye. "Jus' gettin' up to speed. Sorta. Where's the beer here?" Ain' gon' do much good, but… he glances back at Bobbi and shrugs. "Beer is beer."


Bobbi twists around to face Peggy as the woman enters, and a flash of a warm smile pulls at her lip as she notes the Director's decidedly pregnant state. Last she had seen the other woman, she had /not/ been pregnant at all. Ah, the joys of indepth undercover ops.

An arch of her brow follows as as she traced after Dugan, looking more at ease now that the Director was on the floor. Even if her gaze swung over Clint's person with a flicker of interest. The conversation hadn't really reached her ear's but what she'd heard had been /interesting/.

"Ma'am," She offered a nod to Peggy, even if her expression was more warmth than professional disinterest.


"Lucky shot," Barney retorts, though as he's saying it, he's looking at his brother. "Rematch. Best outta 3." Peggy's quip out the door gets his attention enough that Clint can *thwip* the picture of Loki out of his hands and have it far enough away to post it on the board. "Beside, the albino was there. Distracting in all the wrong ways." Excuses.

Still perched on the corner of Clint's desk, now that there's no longer anything in his hand, Barney digs out his pack of cigarettes and lights one quickly with a cardboard match from a matchbook gathered from the same pocket. A quick wave of the match once smoke rises, and the spent bit of pressed paper is tossed into an ashtray. He looks to Liv, theatrically disappointed. "Those aren't any fun. Pretty boring in the 'I'll show you mine if you show me yours' category."

Dugan is watched, and with the next drag of his cigarette, arms cross in front of him. Bobbi's reaction to Peggy… right, making a note… and hello… Clint! Buddy! Brother of mine!

"So.. anything I should know about?"


The sight of Bobbi seems also a pleasant surprise and to bring an actual, warmer smile to Peggy's features. At least she likes TWO people in this room, it seems. "Morse. Glad to see you in one piece. I'll be looking for the full report of everything by tomorrow morning, so don't think you're actually catching up on sleep tonight." The hard ass words were actually meant in affection, as anyone who well knows Peggy would be full well aware. Speaking off, she shoots Dugan a look, a little glare, "No beer, OR bourbon, around the new agents. Bloody hell, Dum-Dum, you're already setting an awful example for everyone. Can't you pretend to be spit shine polish for once?" She mutters with a teasing, gruff tone, giving a little swat to his stomach.

Sadly, fun and games cannot last long. Peggy sighs out through her nose as she hears Liv's words, "Yes, Agent. I did concede that we are not taking action *at this moment*. Though I am currently arguing to have the man put into our custody, as I really do not trust any other agency with Loki. We are not going to remove him… Yet. That is an order, Barton." She meant it for Barney, but her eyes look between them both, "…Both Bartons." She adds gruffly. Then it's back to Barney, "You will be informed of anything you need to know when you need to know it." Who let the dog out of his cage?


"For what it's worth, Siggy." Clint steps back from his wall of disreputables and rests his hands on his hips, "I agree with ya. But information is still information." He lifts a hand to scratch at the back of his neck thoughtfully, says something about the guy that he keeps his focus with the back and forth of the conversations.

He glances back towards Liv and then asks with a cocked eyebrow, "Think you could get yer hands on a suit of their armor? I figure something that could bust a hole through somethin' like that could sorta fit the criteria" The younger Barton looks back towards his brother. "Nah, nothin'. Thinkin'."

But then when Peggy mentions her thoughts on the matter he gives her a small nod and a two-fingered scout salute from his brow as he steps back towards his desk and casually shoulders Barney a bit out of the way so he can reach his own packet of cigarettes.


Liv nods once to Peggy, her expression still contrite. "I appreciate it. I was saying it for their benefit more than yours," she explains, gesturing towards Thing 1 and Thing 2 — the Bartons. Speaking of whom, she gives Clint an almost resigned look as he asks about armor. "I… do have some of my own," she admits, with an air of reluctance.

She really doesn't look thrilled about letting SHIELD try to find ways to damage or destroy her armor. Liv gives Peggy an almost plaintive look. Does she have to?


Dugan 'oofs' at the swat to his stomach from the Director, not that it warranted an 'oof' — but he felt like 'oofing'. A hand protectively over his abdomen, the big man raises his eyebrows and assumes a plaintive expression on his face.

His moustache even droops.

"Hey, P — Ma'am — we had better'n beer in Poland…'42? Hell, even made 'Fresno' shoot straighter." Then he looks down at his uniform and grunts, "Feel like a Christmas tree…" The man removes his bowler hat — it is NOT his original — and starts fussing with it. "Dang-blasted thing… won't… fit… aw, dagnabbit. That kid…"


A small nod, was given, despite the grin that pulled at Bobbi's features. "Happy to see you too, Director. Congrats on number 2." She murmured, her gaze falling to Peggy's stomach and back. "And seein' as I'll be here all night typing up those formal reports, I could seriously go for a beer later.." Her voice only partially dropping as she leaned toward Dum-Dum at the last part.

The blonde fell silent, however as Peggy turned to address the other gaggle of agents. Her gaze sweeping over who she assumed were 'The Bartons' and Liv curiously.


"Hey. Nobody gets a freebie," Barney casts over to Peggy. "Man's gotta eat." In English? He's no rogue. Barney lifts a shoulder and gestures with his cigarette-hand towards Clint. "Doesn't hurt to know, though." Words resembling something very much like, 'Don't push your luck' in tone gains a touch of a smirk from the elder Barton. "Yes ma'am."

Clint's request for armor though? Bingo! Sweet deal. He'll buy his baby bro some Chinese on the way out. "That'd be helpful, Agent Siggie." Both Bartons, then? "Just think. You're doin' your part for the dearly departed President." The one he shed absolutely no tears over. The black suit? Not for mourning, hell no. Clint's shouldering earns him a quick little shove just as the archer moves past. "You lost fried rice privileges."

Suffice it to say, Barney's not overly impressed. Beer, whatever.. not something he touches as a matter of course. Easier to stay alive that way. Instead, he looks over to Bobbi, brows rising. "Okay, maybe no fried rice tonight anyway," is given in a sotto voice to Clint. "Maybe a different idea."


"…Dugan, she's *five*. If you want your damned hat back, just *ask* her. She's not that bloody frightening." Peggy states with a gruffly amused, teasing tone, "And yes, well… '42 was a different time. There will be booze for the Christmas party, but not before. Maybe if you ask real nice, you can get Morse to use her bonus pay to buy you a beer *not in the damned office*." And that is all Peggy is saying about that, smirking between those two as she tries to figure out exactly what is going on there. How the hell did they even KNOW each other?

Fortunately, there are more pressing things to draw Peggy's attention than being a gossip hen. She looks back to the Bartons and then that look on Liv's face. As much as the director seems sympathetic to Liv's expression, her own dark eyes remain hard. She gives Liv a slight shake of her head at those pleading eyes. "…Clint has a good point. If you could bring the armor in, I promise we will return it in one piece. And perhaps even get YOU some upgraded pieces. Something that is a meld between our world's technology and yours. I have come to agree with your opinion about direct action, but you know we must do what we can to protect this place."


Taking up his cigarette, Clint seems content to let Liv decide whether or not she wants to volunteer her priceless/irreplaceable/other-worldly suit of armor to the use of some mortals like SHIELD. For now he seems alright to just light the tip of his smoke and then take a drag. For now that conversation can sit.

But then he slips over to the side of the desk and reaches for his keys, tossing them in his pocket with a jangle. He eyes Barney sidelong and murmurs, "We all keep showin' up at Wing Sing en masse we're gonna blow the place as cover."

Of course they have been known to shut the place down before when the population is low and take it over, still. Clint's paranoid about that sort of thing.

He starts towards the doorway, "New guys, comin'?" He offers as what might pass for an invitation to the new folks.


The Asgardian still looks far from thrilled by this idea, but never let it be said that Liv was being obstructionist. She gives a slow, reluctant nod to Peggy and sighs through her nose, momentarily dropping her gaze to the floor. "I'll bring it in tomorrow," she murmurs, looking… troubled. Even with the prospect of upgrades.


Dugan glares at Peggy.

He is probably the only one who can do that. Besides Sousa. And little 5yo Mickey. Who has the big man's hat. "I did ask her, Ma'am Director," says he with a slight pout in his voice. "She put both hands on her head, stuck out her tongue at me an' told me to get another one. I jus'… jus'… aw, dang. She's just an awful-persuasive li'l tyke."


Bobbi moved back to her dusty, and otherwise empty desk as she listened to the conversation about armor. Her eyebrows shooting upwards as she turned that blue eyed gaze to Liv in a questioning manner. Yet she otherwise kept her thoughts to herself, before her gaze landed back on the Barton heading for the doorway.

"Do you mean new or just new to you?" She shot back as he headed for the door, a hand settling on her hip before she glanced back to Peggy.

"Ma'am?" As if that said everything in and of itself.


"Never said it was gonna be Wing Sing. There' more out there than that. Lemme teach you about Thai food," Barney smirks. "Besides. I'm pretty sure we pay his rent.. don't we, Director?" 'We'? 'We?!'

Still, Barney slides down off the edge of the desk as the younger Barton pockets his keys. "C'mon Agent Siggie. Clint's buyin'. Least he can do to make up for offering up your armor." He pulls on his cigarette again, getting that lungful of smoke before releasing it and stubbing out the end at the ashtray. "They make this noodle shit that is amazing. Not sure what the meat is, though. It's probably cat, but it's really good."

Barney looks back at 'Dum-Dum' and Bobbi. "You guys coming?" As if that should answer it?


"You are intimidated by a five year old, Dugan." Peggy states flatly, as if she just NEEDED to point that out. Granted, it's *her* five year old, and there is no surprise as to why the young one could be so intimidating. "…Go with them. Meet some of the others. No one's pretty as Dernier, but I think you can manage." She reaches one hand up to squeeze her old friend's shoulder. Clint is even given a small nod of approval at his offer to buy drinks for most of the crowd.

Liv's expression doesn't get much melting from Peggy, but the director motions quietly, "Sigrunsdottir, go with them. Relax tonight. We'll start the work on it tomorrow." She actually AGREES with Barney Barton on something. Damn, the worlds are probably going to truly freeze over now.

Last but not least, Bobbi's look is met. Peggy stares back at the blonde, her last loyal agent in the room tonight! With a slightly too deep sigh and a roll of her eyes, she waves the woman off, "Go…go… Doesn't make the report due any later, but… go meet your new colleagues. Maybe you won't scare any of these ones away." She teases the woman, trying to sound gruff, like she's really a hard ass who doesn't approve of the woman running off. But secretly, Peggy is probably pleased.


A glance around the room was offered once more, blue eyes landing on Barney briefly at his sass and Bobbi's eyebrows lurched upwards. Some manner of a dry response was on the tip of her tongue, but it cut out under Peggy's rather loose permission to leave. A cocky grin was offered to the Director in question and Bobbi pushed off the desk she'd barely been introduced to.

She would become /much/ more acquainted with it later when she was typing up that formal report. The thought made the agent's head ache preemptively and she did not particularly look forward to it. The problem with being a spy that no one mentions, all the paperwork that comes after the fun stuff. Funny how the former academic now groaned at the idea.

"No promises Director, especially with those two fellows. They look like they're just asking for it." She winked, offered a two fingered salute and twisted around to continue after the others out the door.


And this is why Barney Barton isn't a spy. Everyone else can do their paperwork. (Hopefully) Those days are behind him, except maybe for an 'end of mission' report that states simply 'Sighted sub, sank same', or some variation of those fateful words. Now that he's roped his brother into paying (not that he probably will), it'll be an interesting night.

Barney holds the door open for everyone else that'll be scooting through and joining them. "So.. are we talkin' bar or that Thai place down the road?" Beat. "Yo, Clint.. you drivin' too? It's just down the block."

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