Learning Curve

Summary:
November 2, 2014: Agent Triplett talks to Director Fury about a possible Op. It goes, uh, well?

The Triskelion

The Headquarters, Armory and Fortress of the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division is, for the most part, an unassailable tower in the midst of the diplomatic sprawl that is Midtown East. The primary intelligence clearing houses and most of SHIELD's senior leadership are all housed hear, along with a veritable army of agents and staff to keep the place running, the world spinning and the weirdness at bay.


Characters

NPCs

  • Nick Fury

Mood Music:


Doesn't matter what the weather is outside at the moment. Sunny. Rainy. Windy. Cold. Inside, there's work to be done. Outside, there's work to be done. Even on a Sunday, the Triskelion is hopping. No such thing as a 'skeleton crew' for an operation this expansive, nor should there be. No weekend secretaries from the 'pool', no part time scientists, researchers, PR people, the works.

While the dedication and commitment isn't asked for—

No. It is. Asked for. Demanded. Every SHIELD member is expected to give the organization a large portion of their time and efforts, from Field Agents down to the custodial staff. Everyone plays a part. There is nothing asked of every single employee of SHIELD that isn't given by the top personnel; even Director Fury is 'in' on a Sunday. He's striding down one of the myriads of corridors, finishing up a 'conversation' with one of the medical personnel, or at least the moral equivalent of doing so.

"I don't care if he has to crawl. Tell him to get his damned ass in here. We've got work to do!"

Agent Triplett is more or less hanging around medical because that's where he hangs out on Sundays. He's always there to lend a helping hand to the med staff, as well as learn some new things. You never can learn too much and that's something that Trip has never been ashamed of doing. He's always capable of learning more and when he spots the Director hitting the halls, then it is definitely time to learn a bit more.

"Excuse me, Sir?" Yeah, that's probably not the best way to open but Trip isn't really in the business of doing anything else right now. He's stepped right out of one of the medical labs to stand in the corridor and make his visual presence known as well. He's got a slight military rigid stance when addressing Fury, as if that'll help with the being worth his time right now.

"Can I walk and talk with you about something?" Trip asks the question even as he steps out to walk alongside the Director. He wouldn't dare ask him to stop going where he's going. "It's about Rasputin. Mikhail." He's hoping the name drop will help push this into the realm of being pertinent.

The 'yessirs' that are left in his wake are either unheard or, more likely, unremarked. Of -course- it's 'yessir'. The Director doesn't expect anything less. As a result, there are at least 3 people getting on the phone and making -that- phonecall. At 10 in the morning, on a Sunday.

See above.

Agent Trip is given the briefest of glances out of the corner of his eye, but doesn't say anything. There's no encouragement, but there isn't any discouragement either. It's a wait-and-see for the moment.

"You are, Agent Triplett. Don't ask for something you're already doing." The Director continues to stride down that corridor, heading towards the banks of elevators at the end.

Rasputin.

"He's dead." Stopping to push the buttons on the side of the wall, Fury's attention falls completely on the junior Field Agent. "Been dead for years."

"Right." Trip comes to a halt when Fury does, though he's on the edge of his toes like he has something more to say. He does. "But Operation Black Valley isn't." He doesn't know if that's going to ring any bells with Fury or not. But he's not one to mince words too much. And the more information he gives, the more likely he'll be to get what he needs for this mission.

"Agent May and I met with a contact the other day. Says that Operation Black Valley is still alive and kicking. Or might be." Trip offers a shrug. "We're requesting to take a small team to check things out. We've got intel that supports that there may be some serious bad news comin' from across the water. We'd like to see if we can't put a pin it before it becomes a bigger problem."

And even with all that knowledge dropped, Trip still seems like he's wanting to say (or ask) something more.

Fury looks as if that single eye looks straight through the young Field Agent, boring into the man's soul. The elevator doors open, and the Director takes a step in, his expression dead set, his tones low and quite serious.

"My office. Now."

Triplett doesn't really know if he struck a nerve or anything. He doesn't know much about anything except for what he heard via the contact when he was with May. But he certainly doesn't hesitate when he's given the order. He's on the elevator just as quick as Fury is. He holds any questions, though. Also doesn't say anything more. Not while he may or may not be in trouble for the knowledge that he just dropped.

If Director Fury could be read, he wouldn't be that good of a spy, now, would he? He's quiet on the elevator as well, and when the doors open, he steps off with that same deliberate gait as in the downstairs. These corridors are slightly less traveled as they do require a higher clearance rating, but so far, Agent Triplett is accounted for.

The moment the office is reached, and the door closes behind the pair, Fury doesn't even get so far as his desk when he wheels around on the younger man, his words concise,

"If you -ever- come out with something like that downstairs, I'm gonna boot your ass out of this building and off this block. Do I make myself clear." It's a statement rather than a question as it's phrased.

"I wanna know who this contact is and -where- you spoke."

"Understood."

There's no sense in apologizing. Directors like Fury are not about apologies. They are about results. Just state that you understand and don't do it again. So he's all about just nodding with Fury and adjusting his stance in the office to one that is ready to receive orders and information. Or punishment. Whatever comes first.

"The contact is May's." Not blaming, just informing with actual facts. "Jericho, I believe is his name." Triplett thinks back to the meeting. "It was a cafe. About a block away from here." Just give the information asked for. Nothing more, nothing less. It's all about keeping Fury from destroying his face at this point. May must've set him up for this. /Revenge/.

Director Fury takes the man in for a long moment before he chuffs a breath. "Jericho. Man's all over the place, and not all of it in a good way."

Now, the man with the world upon his shoulders moves round to look out his window over the landscape that is New York City. "He happen to tell you -how- he knows and why he's coming to you with the information?"

"Said he was looking into some black operations. Specifically, Russian. Didn't say who for. Probably on purpose." Trip just throws a little bit of speculation into it. This is not exactly going the way he was hoping it would go, but he's trying to make sure he doesn't make any more mistakes. "As far as why? He trusts May, I guess. Or maybe he just wants us to save the world." Perhaps trying to use humor around Nick Fury is not the best idea, especially when things are looking grim. But he can't help it. Too much tension is bad for his skin.

"Did it occur to you that this guy, Mikhail Rasputin -might- be related to his current girlfriend, Illyana Rasputin? So, what you're tellin' me is that he got you, and May involved in something that -might- be personal, rather than to let it go." In a civilian cafe. Fury doesn't look at the junior Agent; doesn't have to to know that the man is not happy about being put in the hot seat. His tones don't get any softer; as far as he's concerned, he's saving the kid's life. If not now, later.

"Rule number one. Do your damned homework. I expect who, what, where, when, why and how before I move this organization in any direction."

With that said, however, Fury turns around slowly and takes a step forward to lean on the desk with fingertips. "Yeah, I know who the guy was. And is. There isn't a damned bird that flies that I don't know it's genetic makeup. And you tell May that before I send you all anywhere without the -right- intel," as far as he's concerned, it's his intel, "I want you all in my office for a briefing." Beat. "Including Trent."

"Yessir."

That's all there really is to say to Fury's words. He's not about to argue with the man or defend himself. He made a couple of mistakes and now he's going to have to learn how to not make those anymore. But! The important thing is that he didn't get a no and that means he can go tell May about the briefing request. Which may mean that they actually get to do this Op. Possibly.

"Thank you, sir." Yeah, he also has to make peace with what he's been told before he turns to make with the exiting. Here's to hoping that this all doesn't go downhill because he dropped some info and intel downstairs.


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