Profession

Decision

"Fury sent me here," she said quietly, just loud enough for me to hear her. "A courtesy to James and Steve. When they find out what's happened--and they will, whether or not you tell them--it's conceivable that they'll be upset, and Nick wants to head off any ire directed at him. But also to make sure that it was clearly explained that you'd be working with American services as well. I don't believe, although he might not have said anything, that he knew about Jenny. It's certainly something I wasn't expecting. What do you know about her?" I shrugged.

"Very little, just what you heard in the meeting; William was the youngest brother. As far as I knew, she was a nurse in Vietnam, killed in action. I don't now know if that grave was always empty, or if she was killed on  her side job. I noticed that she didn't give any details." Aunt Natasha nodded.

"Well, I'm here as an official representative," she reiterated. "That's not to say that I'm not here for you as well, but I have to be circumspect. We won't be discussing whether you want to accept the offer or not, but I'd be happy to answer any general questions that you might have about it, keeping in mind that I've never personally had that job. I worked as a spy for the Soviets, the Russians, myself, SHIELD. Not a civilian asset." I chewed reflectively and got my thoughts in order.

"Do you think the parties involved can be trusted?" She made little 'maybe' nods with her head, frowning a bit.

"You can trust that they mean what they say right now." And wasn't that illuminating.

"How long do you think it would be before just listening became specific, like 'listen to this person' or 'cultivate that one,' or before asking for specific actions?" Her smile was wry, proud, and melancholy.

"These are excellent questions, ones you should consider carefully. I doubt, personally, whether it would be long. It's my private opinion that you'd be quite good at the job; you're famous, whether or not you want to be, you're friendly and can, demonstrably, make important friends, and you're skilled in your careers. Whether or not you'd be happy with this side job, whether you could sleep at night, is something only you would know. It would be very difficult to get out, once you got in."

For dessert, we went to the handpie place and bought sweet dough, deep fried around a supercooled custard, dusted with cinnamon and powdered sugar. She left in a cab and I went home. John was out, at the grocery store by the look of the fridge, so I went over to my grandparents'. Only Alfred was there; he said that everybody was off doing preparation for the missions. I went home and made a few calls.

Half an hour later, the solicitor who'd helped me when I'd been chucked in jail came over and I showed her the bugs in the locks. She looked very irritated. Then we sat at the table and I called the number on the card.

"Jenny Barnell," the voice on the other end identified herself. Now that I had more information, I could recognize a certain similarity in timbre in common with Uncle Bucky, Grandpa George, and Aunt Becca. Just enough to provoke a faint good feeling fueled by association with the relatives I loved, even though I didn't see them much.

"Lys Wayne."

"Ah. Have you determined whether to accept our offer?"

"I've carefully considered it. I'm going to decline."

"You may want to rethink that," she said, hardness sliding into her voice. "It's not just a matter of patriotism, it's a matter of necessity. We need somebody who has access to a more rarified world than most of our operatives."

"Are you saying that I'll regret it if I don't?" 

"It would be to your distinct advantage to accept. Watching and listening isn't a hard job."