She looked a lot less like a woman in physical therapy than a woman in intense training. Awkward Bambi stage was six months ago when the bullet holes hadn't healed yet, and since then it had been like the most monotonous embed position of all time. Wake up, ask to be discharged, given porridge, given pills, sent to therapy, sent to physical therapy, given jell-o, given pills, sleep. Try to be good, don't let anyone know you're here. Against the back wall, Bobbi counted her last chin up and dropped from the bar, bouncing on her toes and shaking her hands out before she turned to smirk at Agent Phil. "Took you long enough, sport," she said. "Did you get lost?"
She didn't need to tell him how she was beginning to think they weren't going to come back for her. They were paying the bills, though, so S.H.I.E.L.D. must have still had some use for her. Not that she was expecting any smiling faces and a welcome back party or anything. At least her mom would be happy to finally see her. Missing Mother's Day might have stung a bit, but she would recover faster than if this little vacation lasted through Thanksgiving. Bobbi would be able to tell her all about it eventually. Until then, "Let's hit the road, cowboy." She took the lead, nonplussed by Coulson's sour appearance, bouncing on by him to pull open the door and skedaddle before Jell-O time.