18093/He Knows When You're Sleeping

He Knows When You're Sleeping
Date of Scene:	28 May 2024
Location:	Ready Room: Triskelion
Synopsis:	After a failed operation, The Boss comes in to debrief the team and tells them to get ready to have another go at it.
Cast of Characters:	Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Nick Fury, Camille Russo, Tessa

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Natasha Romanoff has posed:
It's a debriefing after an aborted strike on a Hydra base with bad intel that turned into the team deciding to cut their losses and pull out. Sometimes missions go that way. There had been no major losses of personnel or equipment, though some had come out with some bandages on them. And whomever had arranged the intel for said operationw ould be roasted over the coals for it later once debrief was done.
    But now, those members of the team that had just finished a general detox were sitting around, sore, and having finished their debriefing taking a few moments to catch their breath.

Clint Barton has posed:
At least they were able to be pulled out. Clint can't count how many times he'd been dropped into an area with 'plausible deniability' written across the top of his briefing white paper. That meant, in not so many words, 'nothing to lead back to SHIELD, find your own ride home'.

Now, Clint is stretched out on a rolly-chair, his legs forward, ankles crossed with his boots unlaced. He's in his SHIELD blacks, though his jacket is unbuttoned, the black t-shirt underneath looking a little dirty. For a few long heartbeats, he's quiet, ignoring the general low chatter of the others as they make the grand attempt to lay blame. He's staying completely out of it. Instead, "Why don't you all just hit the showers? Geez, you all stink." Though, after that, he does give himself a quick check... just in case.

Nick Fury has posed:
The shadows were his friend. The dark overcoat. Back pants and "corded" shirt. Belt. Hidden side arm, top secret of course, unseen to all except the best "trained" eye. Eye patch. The whole deal. The smell of "cigar" smoke preceeds his arrival.

The man that moves from the darkness was none other than Director Nick Fury. Moving without making a sound, Fury stands in the background, letting the senior officers give the debriefing, but watching and waiting for those who were perceptive to notice him. A test?

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
Natasha Romanova is currently wearing a set of supports over one arm and her ribs. She's not limiting the usage of her hand as one should, but as far as she's concerned it will be healed in a couple of days, and it's more efficient to finish things this way. "We've gone through decontamination. Do you want to go in there and smell of bleach once it's seeped into your skin from the water?" She would snark back at her best friend.

It's easy to match Fury by the smell of the cigar as Natasha turns over to him. "Cubans?"

Camille Russo has posed:
Camille's tattoos itch as she senses someone watching. Before she can look around she hears Natasha speak. The scent of tobacco hits just after, and she swivels her stool rather than attempt to swivel her banged up torso. "Non," she adds to the banter. "The bleach stink lingers for days, until you can smell nothing else, even in your dreams. I will wipe down again at home, something that will keep the smell out of my nose."

She waits a beat, then cracks a smile. "At least I didn't lose any more of my hair. I did my service time bald, that's enough for a lifetime."

Clint Barton has posed:
It's not so much 'notice' the Director. It's more //feeling// the steely eye as it scans the room, landing on each individually as if checking their worthiness. When it lands upon him in the scan, Clint exhales in a sigh and pushes forward, his legs pulled in so he's got two on the floor.

"Bleach? Enough to burn nose hair. It builds character," he returns quickly enough, though he's got other things on his mind. Like, well, the disturbance in the force that is the presence of the Old Man himself.

Rising to his feet, Clint looks tired, but ready to face more at a moment's notice. Like Natasha, SHIELD is his home, the Avengers is a side gig requested by Fury himself. "Sir," he acknowledges.

It's when Clint moves that others see the potential reason for it, and some do the mad scramble to attempt to comport themselves correctly.

"Sir.."

"Sir..

And so forth down the line.

Nick Fury has posed:
Fury grunts non-commital to Natasha's ask. Always was the unspoken comment. As in, always Cubans. But they were illegal, so. It would be unbecoming for the Director of SHIELD to be smoking them. No one could see the cigar, but it was obvious he had been smoking one.

"Report?" His eye looks at Clint, and he frowns. Deeper than his everyday, normal default frown. He doesn't comment, but his disapproval was obvious as Clint's feet drop to the floor. Then he stands. "Agent Barton." Almost a hint of approval now. Then the sirs. Fury nods to each Agent, returning the respect.

Looking back at Natasha, Fury adds, "You okay?" His eye looks at her arm.

Camille's voice brings Fury to her. He pushes his left hand over his bald scalp. "Good call Agent. Hair is irreplacable." Was that Fury...joking?

"Everyone okay?"

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
As the chorus of 'Sir's' goes through Natasha joins it in a more informal way. The mission, in her mind, wasn't highly critical and it's botching isn't something that will significantly set them back. WHich means that Fury is here to check in on them which.. Seems a very unlikely prospect for her superior, he's come to test them for soem reason.. Or he has something more specific he wants them to handle. Natasha evaluates, considering the likelihood that each might be the case, assigning a mental probability..

"No major injuries. Personnel were extracted in a timely fashion." An op with bad intel is an op with bad intel. She's been on countless ones of those, and she'll likely be on many more until one time comes where she's not quite so good and she's a casualty of them.

Camille Russo has posed:
She cracks a tired grin at that. "You rock it much better than I did, Sir. Damn convenient, but that's about it." Natasha's concise answer didn't need any add-ons from her, so she nodded in agreement, then tipped her glass in the redhead's direction. "Next time I'm bringin something better than a damn Sharpie with me. The good ink's at home." More magical mojo, just in case they got more bad intel. "You too, Barton."

Clint Barton has posed:
"Site had more than intel suggested, sir. We tried to play it, but the risks outweighed the benefits. Easy enough to go back; we can call it a 'visual'." And they did get their eyes on the site. "Observations were uploaded."

Clint's on his feet, and he does look like he's more than ready to grab his gear and head back out into the field. Still, he can't help himself, and there's a ghost of a smile playing on his face, underlying his tones, "You should have seen the other guy."

Camille gets a quick grin, there and gone.

Nick Fury has posed:
"Excellent Agent Romanova. I would expect no less from one of your missions." High praise indeed from Fury. "Thank you Agent Russo. It takes a lot of work to look this good."

Wait for it...here it comes. "I know there was bad intel Agent Barton. Our intel team failed you, the Field Agents. You all got out of there alive, so that is a positive mission outcome."

Fury paused. The other guy. Indeed. "However, the end game was unfinished. Do I have any volunteers to finish this mission successfully? SHIELD needs this intel. Lives are at stake." The other shoe fell. Lives were always at stake.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
Natasha Romanova would look over at Fury then and let out a sigh, "I'll require some time to heal. Not more than seventy two hours to reach an efficient level for field operations." She's gone into missions hurt worse, and she's more than willing to do so again. And she's not going to suggest that Fury look to any other agents. He's asking them for a reason.

Or it's a game that he's seeing who will stand up now to a personal request despite a portion of the team being injured, and several also exhausted.

Camille Russo has posed:
"Nothing's broken, just more bruises than a peach in a bucket," Camille added. "I can go back out once Agent Romanova's healed. It'll give me time to work up some better protections for the team that goes, too, and we'll all be better rested." Exhausted soldiers were dead ones, prone to mistakes. Three days wasn't perfect, but it was enough rest and recovery for at least the group of them with the lightest injuries. "If we can stretch it to five days, we can make sure the majority of us are healed and well-rested."

Clint Barton has posed:
Clint looks over at his partner of years, his best friend. One of the few he trusts implicitly; if she can't do it, it simply can't be done. There are stories about the two taking on what could be considered insurmountable odds and coming out on the other side.

And ready to do it again.

"Sir, if you're willing to give Agent Romanova the time, it'd be easier." Though... and Clint turns his head away, looking at the others standing silently like deer in the headlights, before, "I can get a team together and have her meet us if you'd rather a quick turnaround." Which, sounds more likely, thus Clint still leaving that door open for Natasha, once she's cleared for work. After all, 'when lives are at stake', it's usually a dead giveaway that he might be able to grab that quick shower before stowing his gear onto the Quin again for a quick take-off.

Thus is the life of a globe-trotting SHIELD agent.

Nick Fury has posed:
Fury's eye takes in each one of them. Nat. Russo. Barton. The others. With a nod, Fury says, "Excellent. I expect no less from my best Agents." His eye looks back at Nat. Then at Russo. Finally at Barton. "Very well. You all have 96 hours. I expect a positive outcome. Good work everyone."

Fury then turns, and walks back towards the door. Opening it, he turns back and looks over his shoulder at the team. "Everyone. Make sure you come back. That is all. I look forward to reading your reports. Get some rack time."

Then, Director Fury was gone, the subtle smell of cigar smoke lingering in the room.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
Natasha Romanova would watch him leave over, "We'll need to prioritize intelligence gathering. The previous team will be in debriefing and their raw data might be questionable. Barton, Russo, pull out the data and I'll arrange a drone overflight of the area. Likely Hydra will have evacuated the facility and moved thier operations elsewhere. This may leave them open as they'll have to spread out their assets to nearby bases and we can hit them en route or while they're having to shuffle logistics. I'll keep an eye out on message intercepts. We'll meet in eightteen hours to review preliminary data. Get some rest."

Tessa has posed:
"Yeah, that works." Camille drained her drink. "I know y'all warned me about That Presence, but daaaaaaamn," she drawled, letting out a low whistle. "Hits different in person." Her head thunked onto her arms. "That level of smooth competence is equal parts attractive and scarier than the demons of hell," she continued. "And on that note, my rest time's gonna include some real pretty friendship bracelets that y'all don't need to know the ingredients of, but are gonna be wearin next time we go out, even if it's just tied to a bra strap or somethin."

Clint Barton has posed:
"Thank you, sir." Clint waits until that door is closed behind him before he relaxes a little more. Not that he's afraid of the man, he's not. Clint's one of those that Fury can call in the middle of the night, during a raging thunderstorm, and know the archer will do whatever is not only asked, but at times, needed.

Once that door is closed, however, Natasha's barked orders receives a quirked brow in response. He moves slowly, but deliberately, and turns to Russo as 'stuff rolls downhill'. "Russo, grab the data. I'm going to track back to see where along the way it was either corrupted or it didn't get flagged as error." He nods at Natasha, "We'll piggyback on Stark's satellites to watch movement." Just so no one officially catches where they're looking.

"And, after that? I have a date with Dog Cops, the girlfriend, and sleep." In that order?