Overestimating S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Bottom Line, Imagination Limited by Poverty

The next day, Aaron was awakened by his biological clock at six in the morning.

After a quick wash, he took Abei to find Coulson.

"He's not here?" Aaron stared at the agent in front of him in disbelief. "Did Coulson leave any message? Like assigning me a car or something?"

"Um... no."

"Heh!" Aaron curled his lip and muttered, "What a fucking bastard!"

"What did you say?" Coulson walked over, looking perfectly composed. "You weren't cursing me, were you?"

"Of course not." Aaron gave him a smile that did not reach his eyes. "I just suspected you didn't want me to leave, so I was planning to drive off in a car later and have this agent pass the message along to you."

"How little faith do you have in me?" Coulson said irritably. "I do want you to stay and help, but I wouldn't resort to something like that!"

He had originally planned to swallow his pride, but the director had suddenly come up with a better—or rather, more sophisticated—method, though it was even less honorable.

"Come on. I'll take you."

"I judged a gentleman by the standards of a petty man." Aaron smiled sheepishly. "Pick up the hair-growth potion from my shop next week. I'll give you fifty percent off.

Let's hope you're still alive after the Hammer incident. Good luck."

Coulson merely smiled and said nothing as he started the car and drove toward Bridges Town.

Watching the scenery fly backward outside the window, Aaron felt himself getting farther and farther from danger and exposure, and his mood lightened slightly.

About an hour later, just as the car entered Bridges Town, Coulson's phone rang.

He answered it naturally enough, but his expression changed noticeably. "All right, I understand."

"What happened?"

"Uh... you might not believe this,"