Giving the other woman a little nod of acknowledgement, Bobbi settled herself against the wall about a foot back from the door. Close enough to be in earshot of the commotion which sort of seemed to be tapering off a little, but not quite yet. “Lady Sif.” She said with a smirk that lingered on her features as she kept her gaze over towards the dark haired Asgardian, a soft laugh emanating from her lips as she leaned there. “Lucky for him - I might even feel too bad to yell at him now…” She trailed off a little, glancing back towards the door and then to Sif again, pondering on the whole situation for a moment as she stood there.
It’d been a shit show since the other woman arrived and they hadn’t really gotten time to get past the whole ‘yeah she’s another Thor’s kid its a bit complicated’ part of a conversation that Bobbi saw as, well, inevitable. It was just sort of when was it going to happen at this point and with everything that’d gone down? With Sif getting a bit beaten up, with Francis getting so injured, with Torunn most likely being a mess (Bobbi didn’t have to hear or see the two of them to know there was no way either of those kids was emotionally equipped to handle this shit, not if it meant one of them might die - anything else aside, those kids both had some pretty fucking ridiculous abandonment complexes and that shit would be turned up to 11 in a situation like this). She could have predicted the question when Sif asked it. Should have known, at any rate.
“Oh, uh…” She turned on her shoulder, her back now against the wall, “He’s sorta my kid. Sorta.” She nodded towards the door, “Apparently in his timeline I’m dumb enough to marry Barton or something and dumb enough to somehow let him name our kid fucking Francis.” Bobbi was still convinced there was no way any version of her would have agreed to that. No way in hell. She must have been knocked the hell out after giving birth and Clint must have just done it because there was no way that Barbara fucking Morse would allow any child of her’s to have to suffer the same fate she did with a horrific name.
She huffed softly and changed the conversation back to the more direct situation at hand, “Well I’m fucking cross with his decision making too but, if he’s already getting chewed out - maybe I’ll save the lecture on how he’s not leaving the house for a solid month until he’s had a nap.” She could help but soften that smirk into a smile, as much as parenting had sort of vaguely been just thrust at her… and how bad she’d… how actually just like crushingly bad she’d done at first… she felt like she was doing a better job? She wasn’t trying to overdo it, definitely not replace herself in any fashion but… the kid really needed some guidance and so she was trying to provide that - despite full and well knowing she was probably not the best source.