Logs:Operation: T.E.A.M.
| Operation: T.E.A.M. | |
|---|---|
Telepathic Eavesdropping And Meeting | |
| Dramatis Personae | 2020-10-26 "We've met." (Part of Rift TP.) |
| Location
<NYC> S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ - Times Square | |
From the outside it could be just another office building obliquely overlooking the world-famous plaza. The signage in the lobby gives a directory of the obscure and prosaic businesses that have their offices there, but mysteriously none of them will take visitors who do not have appointments. All day long, people in sober business and work wear come and go, both through the front entrance and the highly secured private garage. Even inside, past the cover and the security high tech and low, it still looks like an office building. Only a select few locations -- labs and training spaces and most notably the immense command and control center -- betray the true nature of the organization operating here. Phil Coulson has just exited the director's office with Steve Rogers in tow, and he is over the moon. << Captain America! Large as life and twice as -- unimpressed by us, I think. >> He's dressed in a neat, well-tailored, but deeply unfashionable black suit, looking as bland and put-together as ever. "I gotta say, it's such an honor to meet you. Officially." << Oh no, why did I say that? Shut up, shut up! >> He glances nervously aside at Steve. "I sort of met you, I mean, I watched you while you were sleeping." Steve has deigned to put on a suit today -- he's even chosen a black one, in deference to the unofficial dress code that he's observed in his numerous visits to S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ -- with a silver tie covered with tessellated stars to match the star on the shield slung casually across his back as he follows Coulson down the nondescript corridors past all the nondescript agents. << I'd wager on how long it takes him to ask me for an autograph, but I guess you have an unfair advantage, >> he tells the presence in his mind that he cannot actually feel right now. At Coulson's last addition his eyes snap aside to the smaller man. << My God, was he on my surveillance team? Why would he say that...?! >> "I -- beg your pardon?" Coulson pales. << Stupid! Career spy and I can't keep my big mouth shut... >> "I mean, I was..." he stammers, "I was present. While you were unconscious. From the ice. Just briefly -- I led the team that brought you in. Science and Tech took it from there." << Stop talking about that it's probably traumatic! >> He licks his lips. "You're meeting your team first, but I hope you like your new uniform when you see it. I had a little design input." He blushes furiously. << Oh no, I definitely cannot ask him to sign them now. Maybe tomorrow. >> "Ah! Here we are." He comes to a stop in front of a door marked "Conference Room 37A", his relief palpable even without psionic insight. "These are among our best field agents, you're going to love them," he assures Steve as he opens the door and sweeps inside. "Agents Barton and Romanov, I present Captain Steve Rogers!" Agent Romanov is looking, at this moment, not nearly so professional as the pair who are entering. She's in boots, black jeans, a deep red blouse with a black leather jacket over top, leaning back in a seat with her boots up on the table. She doesn't exactly snap to attention when the door opens, though she does set her bottle of Coke down on the table and swing her legs to the floor. The flutter of (vaguely amused) memory that flashes in her mind is very brief. "We've -- met." Agent Barton is slumped in a chair at the conference table, looking half asleep despite the large cup of coffee half-drained before him. << Oh, good Coulson didn't make off with him. >> He's in a white dress shirt, no tie, and blue jeans, a black leather jacket tossed over the back of the chair. His head is pounding, a deep bruise in his side throbbing with every breath, and he is running on little more than caffeine and willpower. "We've met," comes almost exactly in time with Nat's. Steve manages to conquer the urge to side-eye Coulson again when he explains. << Is that less creepy, or more? >> "Ah," he makes himself reply, "I see. Then I have you to thank, in part, for -- saving my life." << -- bringing me back from the dead. >> He is dully grateful for arriving at their destination, and steps inside after Coulson, closing the door behind him. He registers Clint's presence with mild, reluctant approval, but then fix on Nat with surprise. "What they said," he manages after an awkward half-beat, fighting down the vast, empty swell of grief that follows his recollection of when he had met those two. "Thank you for escorting me, Agent Coulson, but I think we can handle it from here." Coulson looks from Steve to Nat to Clint and back. << They've -- met?! Romanov was undercover and I guess their circles may have overlapped, but where on earth would he have met Barton? >> Finally he opens his mouth again, though it's a slight delay before any sound comes out. "Oh! That's um...convenient?" Very skeptical, here. "Well. I guess I'll just..." He arches his eyebrows. << How did this get so awkward? Well, I guess he's in good hands, at least. >> "Leave you to it! Once again, Sir, it's a huge honor to have you on board. I'll see you -- later!" With that he exits, just a little too fast to seem entirely dignified. Natasha studies Steve pensively through a swig of soda, her neutral expression contrasting with a sharper flash of images -- Clint in a blanket nest on the floor surrounded by whiskey bottles, Steve's warm smile as Dawson blinks back to a table (Ticket to Ride spread out on its surface) to hand him a beer. "Someone's excited to have --" Just the faintest beat of pause, "Captain America here." "Coulson's a fan," Clint says slowly, righting himself in his chair, eliciting a sharper stab of pain from his side that does not show on his face save in the faintest twitch of one eye. "He's not the only one around here but he takes it more seriously than most." He lifts his mug for a long draught. << God, coffee is not strong enough for this kind of day. >> "Heard the team that was supposed to catch you up screwed the pooch, and the one sent to bring you back euthanized it." << Damn surveillance analysts just want to blame it on Flicker... >> "What changed your mind?" Steve unslings the shield harness from his shoulder and hooks it over the back of a chair before sinking down into it. "I'm a celebrity. It comes with the territory." This comes out somewhat stiffer than he really intended. "You changed my mind," he admits. "I had no reason to believe, before I met you, that S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't just another shadowy government agency out to hunt mutants." He pauses deliberately, raising one eyebrow. "Though Fury still hasn't explained exactly how we are supposed to be 'saving the world' here." << -- hunt a lot of things, >> is an absent musing in Nat's mind as she straightens. Sets her soda back down, reaching instead for a tablet that she flicks at to shift it to holographic display. "Any luck," her tone is light now, "and we'll get to save two worlds for the price of one." | |
