1963-12-26 - Paperwork Woes
Summary: Bobbi chats with Coulson and Barney. Insults are slung. Paperwork is bemoaned.
Related: http://marvel1963mush.wikidot.com/log:1963-12-26-you-ll-do
Theme Song: None
bobbi barney coulson 

Bobbi reclined at her desk, at least whatever increased metabolic needs had eventually worn off after Wanda had healed her leg. It would seem she would in fact, not have to keep eating like a super soldier. Which was a relief. Still, from a biological standpoint Bobbi had been fascinated and was in the middle of typing up her handwritten notes on her experiences.

How useful that degree in biology and biochemistry was!

Blue eyes glanced toward the Director's office briefly and she sat up to finish off the page she was typing. A huff of irritation covered her expression, and she cracked her neck before the tell tale tap tap tap of the keys followed.


'Control' before 'Get Smart' was ever a thing. Back room, down the stairs and everything. All it was missing was a phone booth, but that is easily excused by the fact that a pint of pork fried rice could be had at almost any hour of the day. So, armed with said lunch, a 'dressed down', unshaven Barney Barton arrives before he moves over to where his brother had once sat and settles in, leaannning way back in the chair while leaning forward, pulling the top drawer out for some paper. "Hey," is grunted in greeting, though it may have been 'hi', what with the food in his mouth. A quick swallow is taken, and he swivels in his chair, "If I give you somethin', could you type it up? I mean, so it's done faster."


From the hallway that leads 'elsewhere' comes Phil Coulson. Dressed every bit to fit his status as a Senior Agent, today he's sporting a bow tie instead of the conventional necktie, with a pair of shades tucked into his breast pocket.

The man walks with experience toward his old desk, at the back corner of the room, and in passing he notes who is present. Keen eyes linger upon Barney for a bit longer than others; clearly, behind his disarmingly pleasant expression, his mind is piecing together multiple pieces of information.

Once at his desk, he flips up the briefcase from his left hand and begins entering the combination.


A sardonic look was spared for Barney and Bobbi paused in typing up her report. She leaned back in her chair, an arm folded over the side as she stared at him from between the space of their desks. "After I finish doing /my/ report, I'm going out. I've got a mission to finish." A pause, and she considered the unshaven man.

"How good are you at hand to hand?" She arched a brow, "Actually, don't answer that. Come spar with me, Barton so I can tell for myself. The Director told me to pick someone to come with me. You look like you can take a hit." She murmured.


Barney looks briefly disappointed, and he exhales in a put-upon sigh. Rising from his spot after finding nothing he could use in that top drawer, he glances at Coulson. Suit. Bow-tie. Brows rise and he shuffles off to the side to get what he needs out of - oh, hey look! A filing cabinet. Probably not the one he's looking for, but he won't know that until he opens it, right?

A hand lays on the handle, thumb on the 'lock' to pull it back before Barney glances back towards Bobbi. "Sorry, darlin'. I don't hit girls." He offers up something of a smirk before he adds, "I'd rather give a hit than take one. Trick is to -not- actually get hit. So if that's what you're lookin' for?" The drawer is *clicked* and he makes to open it before, "Not my job, though."


"Something tells me you'd have a hard time hitting her." Coulson's remark comes in an offhand way, and as he retrieves a piece of paper from the briefcase, that disarming smile melts into something resembling disappointment. He sighs and sits down, sliding the briefcase aside and feeding a fresh piece of paper into his own typewriter, cueing it into place.

"Nice to see you on the mend, Agent Morse," he adds, a brief glance sent Bobbi's way, before he begins typing up a report of his own.


Bobbi rose from her chair, rolling her shoulders back, a hand settling on her hip. Before she could reply however, Coulson's comment picks up and Bobbi smirks. "Yeah, it was a regular Christmas Miracle, Coulson. The Director wanted the details on how it affected my metabolic rate. So I had a blood test done and compared it to my samples on file. Pretty interesting results. But either way, I'm back on my mission."

A glance was spared for Barney and she arched an eyebrow upwards. "Well, this 'girl' can kick your ass, Barnes."


Barney opens the file drawer fully and pulls out an empty 'incident report' sheet, after digging through the levels of files, and once located, he slams the steel and asbestos file drawer home. Now with paper in hand, he roots around to find a pen, and once that's located, he's headed back to Clint's old desk. The chair is pulled up and he settles back down into it with a shrug. "Not saying I can or can't. I just don't. I don't kill 'em either." Blue eyes raise to the pair, and his brows rise, "Know how much money I passed on because I don't?" He smiles tightly and raises a hand to make a little gun with his fingers. The 'trigger' is pulled and he looks back to his paper, and at the same time, digs into a pocket to pull out his pack of cigarettes and book of matches.


Coulson seems to be studying Morse for a long moment. He knows her file, but is questioning how much he could trust her. Back to the report, he gets to typing it up quickly, fingers dancing over the keys with speed and precision. "Have you compared those results yet with Agent Simmons?" he asks, before ripping the paper free and studying it. "If not?" He looks up. "You should."

The briefcase is locked and brought with, as Coulson stands and walks up to the Director's door. The report is slid into a slot marked 'INBOX', and then he glances back toward Barney. "We all make choices, don't we?" he asks. Lord knows Coulson has had his hand in more than a few deaths. It's no secret he served as an Army Ranger in the Pacific.


A shrug at Barney's words and Bobbi walked toward him as she sat at the desk, leaning a hip against it. "That's all very well and good that you've got /some/ morales Barton, but refusing to spar me 'cause I'm a girl is bullshit." She muttered dryly.

Then her gaze shifted back to Coulson and she smiled. "I left a copy of my notes and the blood samples down in the lab for whenever Simmons gets a chance to look at it. Since I'm pretty sure I'm stable, and not going anywhere, I don't particularly feel as if it's a rush job. There's lots of other shit going down that the lab has to take a look at." She waved a hand.

"I'll be sure to compare my report when it gets done. Want a copy Coulson?"


"Yeah, we do," Barney nods towards Coulson as he pulls a cigarette out and takes one of the cardboard matches in the little 'book. It's quickly lit and after the first couple of puffs, he's drawing on it and setting the spent match into the ashtray. "Sometimes it puts us behind the eight-ball, but at least I can say it in all honesty." No women, no children.

Brows rise as Bobbi saunters towards the desk he's at; the only part filled out is his name at the top 'B. Barton', and that's in pretty much scrawl. "I'll fight you, but it's not gonna be a knock-down, blow out. I'm gonna make sure you don't land a hit on me is all." He's willing… mostly. His tones are a little hesitant, but not from concern or fear. "'S'not something I usually do, though. I don't spar."

Though Barney holds up his paper, "I gotta do this first." And then, his pork fried rice. "When's good for you?"


"I'd like that, yes," he tells Bobbi. "In addition, Simmons has some actual samples of that street drug, vigor. Along with blood samples taken from known… users. It's imperative that we find a solution to this problem." He nods his head her way. "Maybe you can help."

Theres time for a few pleasantries left. Coulson joins them at Barney's desk, studying the makeshift nameplate. "Barney Barton? Phil Coulson, Senior Agent."

No hand is given; Barton seems to have his hands full.


A smirk pulls at her lips and Bobbi folds her arms. "We'll see how well that plan of your's works. But whenever you're done with that report, I'll be ready to go. I need a good workout." She glanced away from the Barton, her gaze falling to Coulson.

"Sure, I'll swing by the lab later. There haven't been any new leads on the ghost I'd been chasing, so I've got time." Her hands slipped into her pockets and she arched an eyebrow upwards.

"Got any preliminary reports on that drug kicking around for me to get a debriefing on?"


It's not so much Barney's desk as one that's opened up, thanks to the departure of his brother. Someone, actually, that he hasn't seen over the holidays, not that they mean much. "Agent Coulson." His eyes raise to study the man again, cigarette in the one hand, pen in the other. Slowly, the report is being scratched and scrawled out. One, two words are easily passed over: poison. Deceased. And more scrawl as to the provenance of said 'poison' and 'deceased' individual in order to paint a larger picture as to the goings on of one, two agencies, perhaps? "Barney Barton. Mad dog on a leash." That's given with a straight face before the man smirks. "'S'what the Director calls me." He looks to the pair before he adds, "Not an agent." Just in case. "Hell, I don't even know if this is the right form. God, I hate these fucking things… more goddamned paperwork."

A nod is given towards Bobbi, but it's not enthusiastic. Don't people like having an excuse away from paperwork? In the cosmic scheme of things, this Barton seems to hate both equally… And he's more than happy to fall silent while the pair talk. Not here, nope.


"Well," answers Coulson, "paperwork is an essential, if not unfortunate, aspect of running an organization," he quips, before smirking toward Barney. "I don't think anyone really enjoys it."

Now back to Bobbi, Coulson considers her request for a moment. "The only official report is… above your clearance level." A pause. "What I can tell you? Highly addictive. Gives the user powers, much like mutant abilities that are naturally forming. Amps up abilities when a powered user takes it."

He turns aside then, studying the bullpen as a whole. "Seems the mob has their hand in distributing it. Surprising, considering Italian and Negro gangs are typically behind vice distribution, but also, not surprising considering the turmoil within the mafia. Ever since the repeal of prohibition, the mob's been… struggling."


A glance was spared back toward Barton. "Eh, the upside is that most of it isn't paperwork." She drawled, before her attention returned to Coulson. A low whistle escaped her and she pushed off the desk.

"Well shit. Do we have anyone trying to track where it originally came from? 'Cause I can be all over that, Coulson, if you'd like." She dragged a hand through her hair, before she folded her arms once more.

"I'll definitely take a spin down in the lab with Simmons then. See what the hell is up with the chemical makeup of this. I wonder if it's .. hmmm, maybe?" She squinted her eyes in thought. "I'll have to check in with lab, but if its enhancing pre-existing powered individuals.. That could be pretty nasty."


Barney looks at Coulson during his spiel.. really looks at him for a long moment, and can't help himself. Brows rise, and his voice is low. "Are you kidding? Mob is struggling? RFK uses 'em all the time. Sinatra is a high-profile gangster. Shit, they're all over the fucking place. Yeah.. as much as the ex-president's brother is all about getting the mob, he uses 'em just as much." Still, not his gig, so he leans back and pulls on his cigarette again. "That's just me. Not my job." He honestly doesn't care.

And it's back to his paperwork. Time, date, but not method. That's his own gig. And at the bottom of his incident report, he adds a couple more names. Agents, apparently. FBI. J Edgar won't be happy.


"Yeah, they're struggling," Coulson insists, now looking directly at Barney. "Maybe not nationwide, but here? For some reason, I haven't pinned it down yet, but they do not turn to selling narcotics. It's kind of a rule. I'm guessing the development is unique to New York and the Five Families." He looks between the two. "I'm sure you all saw the courtroom assassination of Paul Cavassini."

That was a big deal, after all.

Coulson turns then toward Bobbi. "We have an inside man," he tells her. The way he says it seems… conspiratorial. "See what you can work out with Simmons, first. If the time is right, we can insert you, but for the time being, I want you on the Barnes case. Of anyone, you got the closest. That means you at least have some idea how he thinks. That's valuable."


A nod, and Bobbi glanced sidelong over Barton's scribbles briefly, "Hmm, well, the mob is always splintered by the families." She murmured, before her gaze shifted back to Coulson and she nodded.

"Got it sir, though right now there hasn't been much luck with what I've gathered. My guess is that he went to ground for now, since there hasn't been anything explosive. We have to assume that rather than speed up his time table, that run in slowed him. It's been quiet." She exhaled a sigh, shifting her weight.

"I'll bug Simmons. I've got a couple of ideas what to check for. See if Simmons hasn't tested them yet."


Barney shrugs; a true sociopath. He doesn't really care unless it directly concerns him. Good. Bad. Everything is the same in his book. There's little to recommend him other than 'he's good at what he does'. In that case, he's back to scrawling the finishing touches, the cigarette set down in the ashtray for the moment. One, two.. and then something that vaguely resembles his signature is set at the bottom. He can't type, so it'll have to do.

Rising from his spot, Barney pulls the piece of paper up and the cigarette from the ashtray. "Yeah, saw it." Cavassini, that is. "Just know that if the mob's weak in the city, might not stay that way if J Edgar has his way. Probably didn't pay up enough and is payin' for it." He waves the paper. "One less." With it, he walks it over to the Director's door and pushes it under. Not very secure, but his report is officially filed.


"Which means he no longer has the element of surprise," answers Coulson regarding Barnes. "Also means he might be taking the opportunity to adjust his plans. We'll have to double down on the ambassador's security." Troublesome, considering Skye's… predicament.

A curious tilt of an eyebrow is given to Barney at mention of Hoover, again. He doesn't remark on the matter, but it would seem clear the gears behind his eyelids are spinning.


A nod, "It's all speculation at this point, but we've got eyes on the ground. We haven't found whatever safe house he was using prior to my startling him. So it's possible he hasn't given it up. He'll have to go out for supplies again eventually is my guess, given that he certainly didn't keep the cans he was getting." She smirked and then glanced toward Barton again as he slides the report beneath the Director's door.

"I'll get out there for a shift or two soon, though the Director made it clear I'm not to go alone."


J Edgar Hoover. Inarguably the most powerful man in the country, even when President Johnson is counted. Rules the FBI with an iron fist, and while the CIA is the agency that works out of country, it's not strange for the FBI to be working not side by side, but in some cases, counter to their agency brothers. IndoChina, South America. Keeping the country safe at home, for the man, means sending his men abroad.

Barney Barton's been there, done that. Speaks Chinese, Russian and French, courtesy of the Bureau.

He's got a hand in his pocket, and the cigarette is finishing up, to be stubbed out in the ashtray soon after. A tight smile is offered the pair, and the chinese rice is taken hold of once again. Sure, it's cooled, but it's still more than edible. "Sounds like you'll be too busy to spar, -Agent- Morse."


At this, Agent Coulson grins. He takes a step back, gesturing between the two. "Don't let me stop you. There's always time for maintaining one's skill in fighting."


Bobbi glanced once at the box of food in Barton's hand and rolled her eyes upwards. "Sparring you won't take long Barton. I can drop you in less time than it takes to get down to the training room." She smirked, and flashed Coulson a grin.

"Besides, I haven't had a chance to work out since I got 'on the mend'."


Barney digs his spoon into his fried rice and when it's pulled out, he shoves the food into his mouth. One, two.. and he chuckles between bites. "You ain't gonna dig at me, darlin'. I figure I'm still alive, so I'm still good enough. Better'n those who are trying to kill me, anyway."

A glance is spared for Coulson and he shrugs, dropping his spoon back into the rice. "I use it every day, Agent Coulson. Not just when I'm called for an assignment. See… I don't have the luxury of sitting on my ass." But that's his life. He's not looking for pity; it's a statement of fact. He smiles, though, a grin creasing his face as he looks to Bobbi. "But, if I had your ass?" He whistles softly.


Well. At that one, Coulson lifts an eyebrow. If one had popcorn, he'd certainly be munching. For the moment, the Senior Agent is quite content to simply observe how this one plays out. He knows better than to rush to anyone's defense here.


A dry look was shot toward Barney, and Bobbi remained silent for a long moment. "You've got less than three minutes to get /your/ ugly ass downstairs before I make it even uglier Barton." She pushed away from the desk, back toward her own as she tapped once, twice and pulled the report from the typewriter and tucked it into a folder on her desk.

A two fingered salute was offered toward Coulson before she made to depart with a purposeful stride.


Barney's grin turns lopsided, and he sets the chinese food 'box' down on Clint's old desk and closes it up, balancing the plastic spoon atop it. He spares a glance for Coulson, looking all the world like he's looking forward to it. Hell, for him? It's a win-win. "Lead on." He'll … let Bobbi go in front of him.

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