It was only the knowledge that the incompetent agent and the identical man were his handlers that let him drop the gun entirely. He holstered it again. Flexing his fingers, he moved his hand entirely away from his weapons. If he was told to put it away, he would put it away. And if there was a danger of him pulling it out again, he would keep his hand as far away as possible.
The name of his handler, Jefferson, lodged itself in his mind; he would not forget it. If he was given a name, it was important.
But he was never assigned a name; he was told the names of everyone else. He was not named. He jerked his head sharply to the incompetent agent. Bucky. His name was Bucky? Wasn't that what the man--no. Bucky was just a pet name of some sort, but it was not his name. Neither was Barnes. Agent Barnes. The incompetent agent had given him a first and last name, and a title.
Assets didn't have titles and weapons didn't have names. It must have been something manufactured. This mission must have been long-term.
"I'm sorry," he said, although he didn't feel particularly sorry for nearly shooting the man with his face. He didn't try to excuse his behaviour. There was no excuse for losing focus. "Jefferson." He spoke the identical man's name as he stared at the face identical to his. Clones, he thought. That made sense.
He turned his head back to the incompetent agent, expression blank. "With respect, I've never needed a name before. Is this assignment different?" Maybe it wasn't his place to question, but he highly doubted the incompetent agent would find it necessary to inform someone higher up. He had worse crimes to answer for than questioning a superior officer, anyway.