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Bobbi unlocked her hotel room door.
Inside, just as expected, sat a Black man calmly cutting into a steak.
Nick Fury glanced up when she shut the door. "Bobbi. The target didn't follow you up?"
"Nope," she said, tossing her coat onto the bed and kicking off her shoes with zero grace. Barefoot, she padded across the carpet. "He said he had to go home and feed his cat."
Fury stabbed a piece of steak. "Hope you don't mind — I got hungry waiting for you two."
"I don't mind. It's on the agency tab, right? Unless you're about to tell me to file this under my expenses."
"Of course not."
Bobbi muttered, "Good thing he didn't come up. Otherwise he'd walk in, see us like this, and think I lured him here just so some old sugar daddy could ogle his white butt."
"Ahem." Fury swallowed sharply. "Agent Morse-in-training — your report."
If he weren't still chewing, he might have sounded dignified.
Bobbi poured herself some of his wine, downed it in one go, and began,
"Well… if I say this guy is actually really great, and pretty smart — would that surprise you? His pop culture recall is ridiculous. On the Walk of Fame he rattled off biographies like a machine.
"Unless he was just making it all up. Hard to tell. I didn't catch any obvious lies. Honestly? If he weren't a target, I'd say he'd make a decent boyfriend."
"You're serious? That is your briefing?" Fury stared at her — this brilliant girl who got on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s radar back in high school while assisting Dr. Wilma Calvin's serum research — now sounding every bit her age.
"Of course that's not all. I just gave you the conclusion first. If I say the useful intel at the end, you'd feel cheated."
"…Meaning?"
"You want me to say he's unsuitable, right? A bad choice?"
Fury sat forward slightly. "Are you saying he is? That he has issues?"
"Not quite. His political stance isn't clear yet, but he definitely doesn't trust the government.
"Not in a dangerous way — he just likes to mock it. Nothing extreme.
"What I am saying is that recruiting him? Not easy."
"How so?" Fury resumed slicing.
"Distance. He jokes around, sure, but the brakes are always on. He keeps people at arm's length, always. There's a wall there.
"And in our line of work, without trust, nothing works."
Fury didn't disagree, just asked, "Do you think you can recruit him? He doesn't need to be an official agent — even a friendly asset is fine."
Old Fury's words echoed in his mind: build your own team, one the agency doesn't know about.
Bobbi answered,
"With someone like him, even a small lie is still a lie. If I later confess I approached him just to recruit him, he'll shut the door in my face.
"And if you show up? Same result. The moment he realizes my motives weren't pure, he'll reject the whole thing."
Fury raised a brow. "Then what do you propose?"
"Let me actually be his girlfriend."
Fury choked. "What?"
"If he's my boyfriend, helping me will feel natural. No lies, no manipulation — just relationship dynamics. That's the cleanest way."
Fury massaged his temple.
"You are not a Red Room swallow. Our honeytrap operations only cover the opening, not… long-term services."
"But I'm not being forced — I want to," Bobbi said cheerfully.
Fury stared at her. "Look at you. You're literally glowing like a lovesick teenager."
Bobbi leaned back, dreamy-eyed.
"You didn't see it, Fury. His muscles aren't gym muscles. They're something else — dense, explosive, like—"
A certain Kryptonian: NOT BECAUSE OF OVEREATING.
"—like the kind you only see in high-tier athletes or… something more."
"Enough!" Fury snapped. "If you take on this role, and someday his actions conflict with S.H.I.E.L.D.'s mission… do you have the resolve to eliminate him?"
Bobbi's serious expression lasted exactly one second.
Then she giggled. "If that ever happens, obviously the agency is wrong. The man I pick would never be the one at fault."
Fury dragged a hand down his face.
She's ruined. The intern is officially ruined.
Bobbi clapped her hands. "Oh! And I'm meeting him again tomorrow. I need budget approval."
"Hell no. If you want a date, pay for it yourself."
"All agents get operational funds. If I pretend to be a rich woman and financially support an unemployed guy, don't you think he'll open up?
He even told me he has no diploma and barely gets by with odd jobs. Poor thing."
"He's the Patchwork Doctor!" Fury snapped. "He conned Andrew Saxon out of a million! He should still have six hundred thousand stashed somewhere!
How much money do you plan to spend 'supporting' a man who lies for a living?!"
Bobbi ignored the accusation and instead teased,
"Did you just say —— you want to f— me? That's workplace harassment."
"F— YOURSELF!" Fury barked. "I'm canceling the mission. You're on your own."
He shoved his chair back and stood to leave.
Bobbi grabbed him. "Wait! At least leave my flight back to Georgia!"
"I should ship you by FedEx! Cheaper!"
"Sorry, sir! I'll behave. Please don't cancel the op." Bobbi's eyes shimmered with fake tears.
Fury froze, defeated by the crocodile display.
"Fine. One more chance. On your last day of vacation, I'll lure him to that illegal clinic."
He jabbed a finger at her.
"You then sneak into his apartment — via your fake connection with the landlord — and plant surveillance devices. Understood?
You remember how to install them from training, right?"
"Yes, sir." Bobbi nodded sweetly… then added:
"Buuut… maybe tomorrow you shouldn't stay in my room waiting for us?"
"Mission canceled again…" Fury muttered.
This blonde intern was hopeless.
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