Author's Note: Thanks for all of the favorites and reviews, I really appreciate it. Please excuse the lateness of this chapter; I had a friend visit for a week and the priority was to spend time with her more than anything else. I'll try to update every week or two (Hopefully on Sunday nights), so feel free to send me horrendously threatening messages until I do.

Note: I had a review from mercuryfire asking for the translation for the Arabic in the last chapter. Sorry for not including that at the end! The first exchange is pretty much rote threats against Americans ("blahblah you will all die by my hand, there is no escape blahblah") followed by Coulson telling the insurgent that the insurgent's mother is a whore who slept with a Jew. The last bit is a politely worded demand to release the child. Anyway, I'll add translations at the end of chapters from now on.

To Meet An Agent

Chapter 2

14/04/2003. 0819 HRS (Local Time). Tikrit, Iraq.

Now Phil Coulson considered himself to be a reasonable man. Sure he had his faults, but then his employers demanded perfection on a daily basis, so he thought a few flaws could be excused. But underestimating a person (specifically, an Army infantryman with a big mouth) had never been listed in the repertoire of SHIELD Agent Phil Coulson's inadequacies.

(Watching the grainy surveillance footage of Barton after all was said and done would remind him that crow never tasted good.)

That would come later, however. Right then he had bigger priorities, such as the noncombatant being used as a hostage by a bomb-nut, though he was reasonably sure that the vest used a firing trigger and not a pressure switch. If it had been the latter, the irate Iraqi wouldn't have had the ability to hold the child at all, due, of course, to not having three hands. Reasoning with the man wasn't working.

Coulson nearly jumped as his frantic pondering was broken by the sniper's voice crackling over his headset. Barton sounded a trifle winded but was coherent enough as he recounted the situation.

"Target is approximately 2000 meters from my position. Windspeed is negligible. Target is adequately positioned for a shot sparing loss of civilian hostage life. Do I have authorization, sir?" The iteration of data was delivered in a thoroughly professional tone. Blank. Calm. Completely focused.

Despite the situation, Coulson was impressed. He glanced once more over the side of the car and spared a glare at the – still yelling – coward holding a child hostage.

He felt no remorse when he activated the comlink and said, "Take the shot."

Coulson was unable to observe the actual shot, but it was easy enough to guess when it hit. The insurgents went ballistic and started firing wildly on the overturned vehicle serving as cover for the Americans, and Coulson took several deep breaths before rapping out orders. Satisfied with their strategy, he took a moment to appreciate the faint echoes of the snipers rifle. His meditation shattered when he heard a high-pitched scream and a gunshot, and he jerked his head up and around to try to see the child that he had, unfortunately, temporarily forgotten.

She was crumpled in the dirt near the smear of blood and bone that used to be a human cranium. A large hole in her thigh was leaking blood as one of the insurgents screamed abuse at the world and waved his rifle at her. But before Coulson could even think of what to do, the man jerked and spun in a complete circle, ending in a broken jumble of limbs as blood fountained behind him. It was several seconds later when the echoes of the gunshot reached the courtyard. The rest of the Iraqis abruptly went silent and still.

Coulson took the opportunity.

The sadly depleted American unit came out with guns blazing. In the thirty seconds that followed, Coulson couldn't determine just who did the majority of taking down the insurgents, but the stopping power of a high-caliber was unmistakeable in several cases. Blinking away the dust and grit, Coulson grabbed the arm of the Lieutenant next to him and scrutinized him. He was shaking but uninjured, brown eyes a little unfocused, but he responded to the touch without panic, so he would do. Sending the man to look after the little girl, Coulson tapped his comm and murmured a string of digits that would patch him through to Fury himself.

"Agent Coulson. Care to explain the royal SNAFU you just made of your original mission specs?" Coulson nearly rolled his eyes at that (but didn't, because rolling one's eyes at one's superior officer was an excellent way to be reassigned. Permanently. To Siberia. No matter how good you were) and could just imagine the twitches that were trying to destabilize Fury's eyepatch. Fury's tone was almost pleasant as he said, "I don't have time to hold the panties of every two-bit Army general you've ever spit on, and there's one on my other line that is just dying to meet the – and I quote – "F****** shirt-lifting poofter" that commandeered his sniper unit. Care to explain?"

Coulson idly ran his eyes over the unit as they secured the courtyard and replied in his blandest tone, "I saw a few soldiers pinned down and was happy to assist in a couple of small ways."

(A fit-looking soldier near the body of the second of the sniper's body-count nearly spit out his mouthful of water as he overheard the comment. He personally did not count 'strolling through a blockade made of salvaged Hummer parts while blasting a large hole in a vehicle full of insurgents with a RPG' as a small way to assist members of the Army.)

"Bull****, Coulson," Fury sighed, and a faint squeaking could be heard. Coulson could envision the Director of SHIELD seated at his desk and slouching just a little, rubbing his eyepatch. "Your orders were to gain the information that indicates the location of Saddam Hussein, not to allow yourself to be pinned down. You're just lucky that sniper unit was in a position to help."

"Speaking of the sniper unit, I want to meet him. And it was just him, Fury; he didn't have a spotter. He climbed something in a hurry, and there wasn't any noise that would indicate a second."

Fury's following silence was contemplative, finally broken by, "I'll see what I can get out of the ****** general here."

Five minutes later, a unit arrived from a secured part of the city and took over, allowing the exhausted firefight survivors to fall back to the FOB, and Coulson took the opportunity to grab a bottle of water and loosen his tie a little. His comm chirped and spat a little static into his ear as Fury got back on the line.

"Your cuddly sniper's name is Clinton Francis Barton, Coulson. You'll get the chance to meet him in 20 minutes. Make sure he's debriefed."

Clinton Barton, Coulson thought. Sounds like a promising beginning.