What the fuck is wrong with you? It was a phrase he'd heard before, something in a warmer place. He thought the boy with the turkey was nearby. He shook the memory loose by taking a step forward, forcing himself back into the moment. He had a job to do, something to focus himself on. He would do his job and then he would take stock of himself. No. The handlers did that. No, I do that.
"Regardless of whether you are impressed," he said, slowly moving his flesh hand behind him to remove the knife from its hidden sheath in his belt, "you are paying attention." Yeah, 'cause you stormed in here-- The voice, the one that tickled in his mind, getting stronger. But it was still easy enough to push down and choke until it didn't matter, until he couldn't hear it.
He flipped the knife free and twirled it in his fingers around to the front. He held the knife in a gentle, easy manner. The better to move it quickly if Agent Orange tried to strike out at him. But he doubted she could disarm him. "You should not pretend to be what you are not," he said. "And you especially should not pretend to be an agent of HYDRA. I'm not interested in making you fear me. I'm interested in reminding you that a weapon needs someone togive the kill order--and HYDRA is very willing. Don't play at games you can't possibly understand, little girl." He flipped the knife in his hand and pointed it carefully at her. "Or the next time we meet won't be as friendly."
Yeah, because waving a knife at a teenager is totally friendly.