'Taken care of' wasn't something Bobbi had thought to be disconcerting. Those agents were, after all, working in defense of S.H.I.E.L.D., and as much as they were dim and trigger happy and just about could have killed her if they were any better at their jobs, they weren't Bobbi's trouble. They could use a shitty reassignment to the middle of the desert somewhere, which Bobbi assumed 'taken care of' meant, or maybe a thorough decommissioning so they could drive school buses for the rest of their lives where they wouldn't be counted on to be able to aim a gun. Bobbi's trouble was more sinister than a few uninformed grunts. And a squid.
"The rogue agents?" she prompted at the Director's question, unsure whether that was still something on the table and her mission wasn't complete yet, or if she had missed the best part and payout. It was all right, she could take a few hits if Fury was going to swoop in and put an end to it, but if that job was done, Bobbi felt at something of a loss. The squid, raging away outside of the Director's window, would keep her entertained for an afternoon. After that, she didn't know what her place was here.