Sitting at a table and eating with Jefferson was a new experience. Food was usually a concern only because it was a required commodity. Agent Barnes ate because it was necessary and only when it was necessary. He didn't eat for enjoyment, or pleasure. He ate what was handed to him and that was sufficient.
Having something that had been cooked specifically for him was also new. What he was handed was usually part of an MRE or an otherwise pre-prepared foodstuff. You didn't cook fancy food for a weapon.
He looked down at the food: fish and salad, something healthy and reasonably fresh. He picked up his fork and poked at the salmon, separating a smaller piece off the larger fish with his fork. He took a bite and chewed, and it was surprisingly nice to have something with flavour again. Again? No. Now. Just now.
The request to move the gun away was disconcerting enough that it broke him out of his thoughts. He looked down at the weapon and then back up at Agent Jefferson. “Oh.” He picked up the weapon and moved it away, content in the knowledge that he was still carrying grenades and a pair of hand-guns.
This thought was enough to make him pause, though. “Would you like me to disarm myself entirely?” The question was voiced neutrally, but Agent Barnes was more than a little afraid to hear a yes. Though he was himself the rough equivalent of a weapon, being disarmed made him feel naked and unprotected.