At least James was a name for a human and not a rabbit. But it became more and more apparent that dear James here, his clone, twin, doppleganger, was little in the way of a right mind. So maybe some realities weren't all that alternated. Jefferson might have even felt bad, if he saw why it was his problem.
"Don't count your chickens, Agent." He didn't know how old his twin was, but technically, Jefferson wasn't exactly twenty nine. He'd been twenty nine for a very long time. Not that it mattered at all.
By the way Clint proceeded to blabber, it appeared that yes, his twin was a danger. Lovely, all the more reason for him to want to take him, right? Yet the wheels in Jefferson's head began to turn, how he could turn this to his advantage. If his counterpart was more of an assassin lap dog than a man, he knew exactly whom he could tell him to assassinate. Especially if James thought that he was the one in charge.
It seemed that there was to be danger in it for everyone if he didn't accept this little task, so, probabilities weighing in the balance, he rolled his eyes, jaw setting with a defeated nod. "Fine, I'll babysit. But if he gives me trouble, I'm going to make your life a hell." Jefferson may not have been a highly trained assassin with a metal arm or fanatically skilled archer--but he was a devious sonofabitch, and he would figure something out.
"No." He addressed James for the first time, independently before Clint could make up some other lie he'd have to live with while watching his twin. "We're just alternates. Dopplegangers. In all the worlds and realities, I suppose with everything that's possible, it isn't unusual there would be a copy of a face."