The wig she had worn sat on the helmet of some failed Iron Massacre Hammer had attempted, lending it, Bobbi thought, a personable charm that it had been entirely lacking, and keeping them company in the lab that Bobbi had commandeered as her clean space. Saying it, though, didn't make it true, especially when Hammer insisted on lounging around with his feet on her work. That was what did it, what got her to look up from her microscope rather than ignore the useless idiot and turn on him the hairiest eyeball that I human could actually survive. Somehow, her not being his employee still hadn't really translated in his fuzzy little head. If anyone in this room should have been getting the other coffee it was definitely him.
"Why don't you hit up a Starbucks?" Bobbi suggested dryly. "I'll take anything tall, black and hot." There was something else lacking around here, but that wasn't new for Bobbi. At least now she had an excuse. Maybe when she figured this thing out she'd-- well, let dumbass over there soak up all of the attention, because she hemorrhaged more than sponged. Anyway-- God-- she locked Hammer in a painfully sharp glare until he got the hint and took a hike, taking his dirty feet to contaminate something of less importance, and his commentary to distract someone who didn't have an important job to do.