Reluctantly Bobbi Morse (mimidae) wrote in knowhereic, @ 2017-05-16 17:21:00 |
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How long had he been sitting here, in this chair? This time it felt like a day, even if the reality was that it had only been four hours between the last time he’d obsessively paced around the hospital room. There were breaks in there, times when he’d tell Torunn and James to fuck off, or try to be polite when he told the Doctors that ’no he wasn’t hungry’ and ’Yes he was related to her so they needed to make sure she was okay’. He didn’t want to talk to anyone, he couldn’t really as most of his words came out clipped and pointed like the arrows he so accurately fired. He just wanted to be left alone. He just… He just wanted this stupid, fucking, woman, who was not his fucking Mom, to hurry the fuck up and get better so he didn’t have to fucking sit here anymore. He wanted to not have to be here, to smell this stink of medical equipment and somewhat sterile environments. It reminded him too much of hiding out in the ruins of Ultron’s metropolis, or at least that was the reason he was choosing to hate it. The real reason, the fact that he was upset that the woman was in the hospital bed, that he might lose her before she’d even spoken to him, pulled at him like the obsessive way he was rubbing and the worn and frayed scrap of purple nylon between his fingers. It was clearly, once upon a time, a bigger piece of a whole. There was even a tiny, metal, band around it, something that had once held a charm by the looks of it, but that too was long ago lost from whatever it had been. It, like whatever Francis might have been once upon time, was hard to tell by the shape it was in now. Maybe once he’d been a boy who kept his face clean, who listened intently to stories about movies and lessons about the world. Maybe once, he was a boy where his time practicing with the boy had been, even if dishonestly so, disguised more as something he could do for sport than for necessity. His Mom had always been the one to insist on that, to put her foot down about how he deserved things, and he always felt good about that. He’d always treasured their time, much more than he’d let on most of the time...and that had been something he regretted a lot since the day she died. And now, here she was, about to leave him again. She hadn’t even spoken to him and she was going to leave again. “If you fucking die...” His voice trailed slightly, his eyes still glued to the floor. “So help me I will fucking kick your ass.” He wasn’t expecting her to hear anything. He wasn’t expecting her to say anything. None of that mattered. If she opened her eyes and the Doctors said she’d be fine, he’d get what he needed, the confirmation of what was important. If that didn’t happen, well… “I’m taking your fucking staves back too.” The way Bobbi came to this time was more like slowly uncoiling a rope compared to the ripping a bandaid right off that had happened a bit earlier. There had been a certain level of shock to waking up at the pinch of a needle going into her hand and she didn’t exactly remember given Mercy a solid hit to the jaw out of sheer reaction, she’d apologize to the doctor as soon as she did actually remember, even she was polite enough for that - it wasn’t like triggers came with glowing warnings and it wasn’t like she was exactly chatty about what had happened to her. Bobbi and needles had never gotten along anyway, it just happened to be even less so now. Either way, that had been hours ago and all that remained now was a newly formed yellow and purple bruise and a few stray drips of blood on the back of her right hand. Nothing that would scar, just something that would be a nice daily reminder for a good week or two of everything. Something she wouldn’t want to think about. Something she wouldn’t want to admit was directly related to why she’d needed that time away in the first place. Bobbi had always, always intended on coming back - she just hadn’t expected it to be because of a nosebleed and a bit of vision loss. Frankly, there wasn’t much she remembered about the last day or so. She’d started feeling just… off… and she hadn’t gone far from the drop off point. She’d stayed close enough to make her way back but after that it… it all got sort of fuzzy. She remembered it being hard to focus on things. She remembered, vaguely, that she wasn’t the only one suffering symptoms but the rest… the rest was a haze that might come back over the next few days but as she laid there, eyes closed, half awake there wasn’t much that she felt like she was pulling through the mist. Laying there just sort of vaguely aware that she was conscious she wasn’t actually sure how much time had past, for all she knew she’d been out for days. Maybe even a week. Everything felt so off and it took a good several moments for her to not feel like everything was spinning around her. To feel like she could maybe force her eyes open and sit herself up and get her bearings and... Everything felt sluggish but she could make out that there was a voice in the room, not a loud one. Whoever was there was speaking in a way even she, half out of it, could guess was probably not meant to be heard. She was slowly coming to, however, so she could only make out a few things he was muttering. She caught the word ‘die’, the ‘kick your ass’ was unmistakeable, and she’d pretty much figured out who it was at that point. She didn’t recognize the voice, when she’d done a bit of lurking when him and Clint were at The Hovels she’d kept enough distance to not actually be able to hear them, but the little things were enough. Especially when he mentioned the staves. Letting out a soft huff through her nose Bobbi tried to sit herself up, failing almost immediately as her right hand gave out from under her. But instead of responding to her clear physical weakness at the moment, she huffed again, “Like hell.” The words were forced out. “There’s no way any version of Barton taught you how to use them right.” She mumbled, her voice wasn’t loud and it was clearly exhausted. Letting herself fall back against the pillow again, Bobbi reached slowly up with her bruised hand to push some very messy blonde hair out of her face. His lips immediately drew into a pensive line when he heard her move and, as much as he tried to make it look otherwise, even from under the slant of his downcast head, eyes were trying to pull at the sight of her. There was even the reflex to move, which one could have seen in the minute fraction of an energy burst sending his shoulders forward. He bit it back, too afraid of his own intensity to let himself move. It was better that way he told himself. It was better to not do anything more than what he’d done. He’d sat here. She was awake. He could tell the Doctor now. That was enough. Or it would have been until she’d spoke. “It’s not like it’d be a fight right now anyway.” The words flew from his mouth all sharp. He hadn’t even had a chance to properly dull them like he might have wanted to, even if he didn’t know how that was supposed to work. These were feelings Francis didn’t know what to do with and, like the ones about James or Clint, they would probably just come out as snappy little lines, threats...but...but this was his Mom. Only it wasn’t -- or was it? -- Did it matter? -- Of course it fucking mattered -- but wasn’t some version of her better than no version? Why couldn’t he just stalk her and make sure she was happy? Why did he care if she talked to him so bad? She’d made it pretty clear she didn’t want to anyway. “I wouldn’t even need the stupid things to kick your ass…” His voice trailed slightly as he pushed himself up to his full height. “But whatever. I’ll go tell the Doctors you’re up, and get out of here.” Because that was the dynamic she’d established. He’d pushed it while she’d been asleep, he’d selfishly indulged it, and now it was over. It was fine. He’d go shoot some arrows, maybe hang out up on that roof Torunn had showed him, maybe fight with James some more. Who knew. It didn’t matter what he did really. He just didn’t want to be hanging around here ruining her recovery with someone she didn’t want to see. There was no protocol for this situation. No muscle memory to pull from. The last time she’d been in a hospital room, or well for lack of a better term you could call Jemma’s recovery rooms hospital rooms for the sake of simplicity, it hadn’t exactly been the greatest experience. Just something intrinsically linked between what had been done to her and the present moment again. Wasn’t this shit supposed to get better over time? She’d been fucking fine, she’d been absolutely okay and then Francis had shown up here and something had… something in her had snapped and dragged her back down into a hole she’d thought she’d filled up months ago. Bobbi had been so sure she’d been okay, that’d she’d been over it or whatever and then… Ya know, part of her fucking knew better. Part of her knew every sign and every symptom and knew exactly what this was and what it looked like and how very, actually predictably normal, it was that this had all come to head here… ironically in a giant head… where she had no more distractions. No Hunter to feel like she was protecting or something by keeping a stiff upper lip. If this was happening here, it would have happened back in Chicago too. It had always probably just been bubbling under the surface. Maybe it was why it’d been so easy to sacrifice her career for the rest of the team. Why she’d been so ready to not let Hunter take the fall. Idiot had wanted to… Bobbi brought her hand down a bit roughly over her face, giving her chin a little rub as she looked up at the ceiling with a sigh. Some kid shouldn’t have fucked her up so bad. But it wasn’t really, it wasn’t really about Francis at the end of the day. It was more about the shock to her system that was Knowhere, that was being so removed from most of everything she knew, the kid had just been another nail in the coffin that had been the way she had been holding everything inside. Wrapped up and held together with some mishmash of scotch tape and some gauze that had probably been frayed at the edges when she’d picked it up. Bobbi knew better. The reason Ward hadn’t been able to break her was because she knew better. You couldn’t break someone who understood what was going on. You couldn’t break someone who knew what the effects of that very specific type of torture were. She was impossible to break because she’d made it so. If there wasn’t a reason for her to speak, when it came down to a mission or something S.H.I.E.L.D. related, she didn’t. Bobbi might have been a loud mouth in her personal life, around the base with other agents, definitely in the decision room if she felt like she wasn’t being heard but Bobbi was also someone who knew when to shut the fuck up. She really hadn’t known Agent 33 had been in that safe house. She had always known what details Hunter could or couldn’t know. She’d known what just the right amount of information to give H.Y.D.R.A. had been. Right now, however? Bobbi had no idea what to say. “Sit.” She said simply, letting her arm awkwardly fall back to her side. She didn’t like that she hadn’t managed to push herself up - laying there felt weird, it felt too much like being vulnerable and she, fuck, she just didn’t know what to do. Bobbi didn’t like admitting she didn’t know what to do in a situation. She fucking hated it actually and right now, this was probably the one situation her her whole adult life where she really had no fucking clue of what to do. It wasn’t like when she’d woken up the last time, demanding to Hunter she was quitting S.H.I.E.L.D. - obviously something that hadn’t happened. It wasn’t like having to think quick and find the way out on a mission that was going south. Hell this wasn’t even like when she’d had to manage to get her and Jemma out of H.Y.D.R.A. No amount of training could have prepared her for laying in a hospital bed, some kid that was her’s if she’d just been born somewhere slightly different standing in the room, both of them caught in some dimension neither of them were familiar with. “How long was I out for?” She asked, it was about the only thing she could think to say. ‘Why?’ He’d be proud of himself later, that he thought it and hadn’t just come right out and said it. He just stood there when she told him to sit. He wouldn’t move, not at first, not even to turn his head back and acknowledge her. Everything, every last fucking thing about this moment told him he should tell it to fuck right off. It was confusing and it was painful and he didn’t know what to do. It was why he was still pressing his thumb back and forth against the dog collar. It was an entirely autopilot kind of reaction, the only kind he really had for moments like these. Everything was tangled, nothing made sense, he should have walked right out of the room… He should have gone to get someone else, someone who could handle this better...but he didn’t. He couldn’t. No matter how fucking bad he thought he should, she had asked him to stay. She had told him to sit. She, Bobbi, his Mom, had told him to sit down. How many nights had he promised that, if she just came back, he’d do whatever it took? Certainly, after Arrow had...well...he’d been mad at her a lot. He’d cursed her and sworn at her and… And all those things made turning around hard. But Francis knew hard. His whole life had been hard, soft as the woman in the bed, or some version of her at least, had tried to make it. There was no amount of hard, or difficult, or even impossible the world could throw at him he couldn’t handle. Especially not for her. It was why, even if the movements were slower, even if he couldn’t bring himself to look at her directly, he followed the instruction and returned the chair he’d been previously sitting in. “A while.” He knew exactly how long it had been, but he wasn’t going to come out and say that. Or mention that he had a whole new appreciation for hooks. “You’re a pretty mean fighter, even when you’re asleep.” It was the nicest thing he could think to say and, much as he tried to quash it, there was a tinge of warmth to his tone. He wanted this so bad it made him angry. And...scared. “You sure you don’t want me to go get someone else?” Because maybe if he offered an out it’d hurt them both less in the long run. She was at least a little sure she hadn’t expected him to sit back down, she wouldn’t have blamed the kid for fucking right off that was for damn sure. She’d sort of been an asshole Sure, she had her reasons but she’d definitely been an ashole. She’d been selfish and she’d avoided him and she’d not known what to say after James had pulled that little stunt. Bobbi had read back over the comments later, before Nat had forced her to bed, and realize how bad it probably looked. How much it looked like she was probably avoiding him, in reality she’d just been shocked into overdrive and wanted James to confirm things, for whatever weird reason she’d felt like that was a good place to start, and then her chest and tightened and things had just sort of gone downhill from there. Bobbi hated not having control of a situation and she hated even more the idea that it was her own actions that had let things spiral like that. She’d almost let that happen with the way Hunter had gone off after Ward, but she’d had the piece of mind to spot the monster because it got to that point and she’d stopped it and… Well, damage control. She was thankfully pretty fucking decent at damage control. Unfortunately she also didn’t know what damage control looked like here. She knew exactly how to control Hunter, to pull him back. She knew how to do that with other agents. She knew how to read those situations. She knew how to read a fight. She knew how to read a battle. She knew how to read a mission. Bobbi had royally fucked up her marriage, how the hell could she be expected to read a situation where she was supposed to parent. She’d barely managed to pull off wife the first time. Granted, a lot of the worst parts of her relationship with Hunter had sort of… worked themselves out when he was on the same team as her but, that was purely circumstantial and she knew damn well that had that never happened? There wouldn’t have been a second time around with Hunter. Not a chance in fucking hell. She’d had to tell Hunter once that the games stopped with him and she figured, probably not another place for it to be god that they stopped. Bobbi was good at deception, admittedly, probably too good on her best days. She’d fucked up a lot of things that way, being too good. And somehow she’d ended up here and she resented that and even the two peaceful days before things had started to crumble had only left her with more time to think. Just, at least she’d had that time to think alone for the first time since… everything had happened. Not that she’d really wanted to be alone. Actually, Bobbi wasn’t sure she understood much about her actions right now and that fucking terrified her. Maybe it was just whatever drugs they’d given her or the exhaustion or whatever had happened that made them all sick or whatever. Yeah, that was it. Definitely wasn’t the torture or feeling alone here at some level or now knowing what made her life her life anymore since Siberia… Obviously it was everything from the last few days. “Uh huh.” She responded, inching herself up just a little and very slowly. Moving didn’t hurt as much as she thought it would - her arms must have just been weak. It wasn’t actual pain that stopped her from moving and that was somehow more frustrating to her. Either way, she didn’t believe his vague ‘a while’ answer. “Wait, what?” She said, turning to finally look over at him, her eyes not landing on him for more than a moment before she looked down at her hand - she’d felt the ache but didn’t put anything together until a little bit of memory flashed back when he mentioned her being a good fighter even when she was out of it. “Shit, tell me I didn’t punch Banner.” That was the last thing she needed to be doing, causing more fucking problems. As the words came out she managed to get herself on her elbows and moved herself back slowly - maybe she’d just sat up too quick before, testing that by putting a little weight on her right arm managed to only make it buckle again and she settled into a half sat up position. At least she wasn’t in much pain, Bobbi just hated, resented, feeling weak. “You’re the one who’s sat here.” She assumed at least, all the signs pointed to yes. Especially if she’d been out ‘a while’ and he was talking about a memory she vaguely remembered as being Mercy initially trying to hook her up to an IV. Clearly a mission that had been given up on as there wasn’t one currently in her arm. She wasn’t going to question how else they might have gotten some drugs into her. Either way, Bobbi could read it on him that he’d been sitting there. She may not have met him before but… she was a spy, her whole life was built around being able to read people, not that she wanted to be able to read everything she was getting off of him right now. That was also for damn sure. “Plus, you have to give me a minute to feel up to beating your ass for that threat.” Francis knew he was bristling unreasonably. Every time she spoke, he felt his jaw tighten. He wanted to yell at her and, at the same time, he wanted to say nothing. He wanted to know she was okay. He could see that she was and that...that should have been enough. He should have left, he should have gotten a Doctor. He should have just walked out. He should have said no to all of this, gone back to the family that wanted him. Bobbi didn’t, not this one, she’d made that clear. Clint had his own back home so the last thing he needed was dealing with a kid that wasn’t his probably. Francis should have just -- he didn’t know. He didn’t know but his default was to be anywhere other than here. If she hadn’t mentioned Banner, a name he actually knew, he might have actually managed it. “Hulk?” He scoffed, still not looking at her. “If it was, he’d be the one laying in the bed right now.” It was another reflex, a tie to his memories of her that couldn’t help but be colored in the golden shades in which he’d always painted her, ones the same color of her hair. He didn’t have a lot of memories of her, at least not ones he let himself think about often. They, like the scene right in front of him, simply cut too deep. They distracted him too much in a world where that kind of thing got you killed...and sometimes...sometimes he wondered if that’s what had...if he’d been her distraction and… “I sat here because I had nothing better to do and everyone else was busy freaking out about what happened.” He lied, trying to downplay what he’d done while not exactly realizing how else it might have been taken. Talking wasn’t really his strong suit, unless it was affectionate threatening. He’d never admit the affectionate part. Ever.Not even if he’d been tortured by robots for years. “I thought someone should be keeping an eye on everyone full time so I volunteered. Figure watching a bunch of sleeping people was better than…” He was talking too much and he knew it. “Whatever. You’re not kicking anyone’s ass right now.” He still couldn’t look at her and hands were idly stuffed in his pockets while he sat in the chair. “If you even try and get out of that bed so help me I will make the Doctor come back in here and knock you out.” He pressed his toes into the floor. “I’d do it myself but I figure the last thing you need today is having your ass kicked by yo--a kid.” Fuck why did he almost say that? “You want some water to whatever?” He tried to carve himself his own out this time, even if the fact that this one would bring him back, was entirely on purpose. Bobbi knew she wasn’t saying anything that she actually needed to say, she knew she needed to confront her own behaviour and maybe explain some things or explain some other things. Maybe at least tell him that it wasn’t his fault or something. That’s what parents did, right? That’s what reasonable people did, right? She could hear the little quips from the rest of the team about her being unreasonable at times. But none of them were here and she had to deal with this herself. Natasha had at least gotten it, or well, Nat had gotten that she’d needed some time to just sort her head out. She hadn’t even brought the idea of maybe taking a little vacation to her. She definitely hadn’t told Clint, no way in hell. She wasn’t sitting through a lecture he didn’t understand he was giving just to have to explain to Barton what… what had happened. No fucking way. Instead she’d just, well, done what she did. Bobbi had been deceptive. She’d rested on an old default that had never failed her before, except with her marriage, and well apparently it had betrayed her again. Deception had swallowed her up and spit her out again. She knew, she knew that that had to end here. She was serious, at least in her own barely coherent thoughts that she had to… this had to… exactly what had crossed her mind before. She’d said it to Hunter once and if Francis needed to hear it, she’d say it to him. The games ended here. She just, she didn’t know how to even broach that conversation. Right now Bobbi was just sort of… hoping it would happen naturally. That something else would bring it up and not force her to… there’d be more confrontation there than she thought she might be able to handle at the moment. There was a soft groan as she shifted again. Fucking bullshit. Why did she have to feel so, whatever. “That’s the one. Guess I should have known I hadn’t.” She forced out a weak chuckle. For all the shit she was prone to talking, she was definitely not in a good way at the moment. Most of it was just that she needed rest, but all the same, she didn’t like it. “There’s still a wall and all.” She vaguely motioned with her left hand around the room. She’d never actually met Bruce Banner, but she’d known about New York and she was very well aware of what the doctor was capable of. She may have said it as a joke but she was… relieved either way that she hadn’t maybe started more of a mess than might have been easily cleaned up at that point. Bobbi wasn’t in the habit of causing problems for people who didn’t seem to have earned them. The second chuckle wasn’t nearly as weak, both were genuine either way, “Really there, kid?” She huffed in a very amused way. Who the hell had taught this one to lie? The thought that followed wasn’t something she was willing to admit to herself but if this was some sort of alternate-Barton’s doing she was currently solidly mad at some version of Clint she’d never even met before because this kids ability to lie was an outright fucking travesty. ”Volunteered, right.” She managed to huff out before wetting her lips. She looked over to him again, she’d caught that little slip but she was pretty damn sure neither of them was in a good enough place right now for her to call him on it. Not right now at least. Maybe jokes could come at some point, but not right now. “I’m pretty damn sure that I could at least kick any of the doctor’s asses. A little woozy or fucking not.” Obviously, except Banner. But that sort of went without saying. There was an inkling in the back of her mind that maybe he was making excuses to leave. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to get caught being there. She didn’t want to force the kid to stay if he didn’t want to, but she also felt weirdly like she couldn’t really let him leave. She needed to say something that had at least a little substance to him. “I might accept some water.” Was all she could manage at the moment, maybe he just needed a minute in the hall to himself or something. She really didn’t know, if ever there was a foreign situation for her. This was sure as shit it. “Banner doesn’t really do walls.” The response was quick and dry, feigning a disinterest and doing so rather genuinely. It was easier to pretend this didn’t matter, even if was the most important thing he could think of that he’d done in quite awhile. Meeting James, Torunn, and company (the rest he still didn’t know how he felt about) was probably up there...but this was different. Even Clint wasn’t as big as this was, alternate Universe Not Dad or otherwise. This was Bobbi Morse. This was his Mom. “Last time I saw that guy he was living in a cave growing plants.” Francis just shrugged, rounding out the thought like he really didn’t give a fuck. Yet this whole thing was gnawing at his insides in a way that damn near redefined pain. “What?” He snapped, more than he’d meant to, at her. “I did. You don’t see anyone else sitting here do you?” Maybe it wasn’t volunteered in the sense that he’d told anyone he’d handle watching over her, but it was what he’d done. He didn’t even know why he expected her to care, why he thought she’d give him anything but shit for it. She didn’t want anything to do with him. She’d made that exceptionally clear. He should have just walked out the minute she’d woken up, like had been his plan. But nooooo, he had to let his emotions get in the way, he had to feel something about it, and now he was stuck in this fucking awful situation. “I’ll get you some water.” He paused before he pulled away to the task. “And you’d fucking think that, but that Doctor took none of your shit.” He needed to stop. This wasn’t helping. Every word he spoke was more reactive than it should have been. He was better than that. He could keep it together. He could...fuck it. No. He couldn’t. This was his fucking Mom and it was fucking bullshit and this whole fucking thing was just fucking…fuck. The minute or two it took to fetch the water, making careful to never once actually touch the other woman (reaching for the cup at her bedside had been bad enough), but that would buy him some time to think. He’d shut down the ache in his chest. He’d swallow the one in his guts. He’d relax his arms, unball his fists, and he’d go back to fucking nothing being wrong. Nothing was wrong. She wasn’t his Mom. She didn’t want anything to do with him as a result. It wasn’t like it didn’t make perfect sense. He probably would have acted the same way. Clint was arguably more confusing, what with his other family and still wanting Francis around, but Clint wasn’t his Mom. “Here.” The cup was set within easy reach and he’d retreat out of the distance quickly. The chair was sought out again and he looked at it like he was trying to decide which way to go all over again. Instinct said leave. Desire said stay. Francis didn’t know what to think. He didn’t know what to do. It was stupid. There should have just been something he could shoot with arrows, or -- or well he didn’t have the staves anymore. Those had gone back to their rightful owner. “Need anything else?” Living in a cave? Well, that didn’t actually sound too far off from the last she’d heard about Banner. Granted that was just him high tailing it and being completely unfindable. Living in a cave was probably on his option list at some point there, not that Banner was someone with spy reflexes, but a cave isn’t a bad place to run to when you want to be hard to find and need to make sure you have plenty of space. And well Bobi figured you probably needed a nice bit of space when you tended to more than quadruple in size and become a bit green when you got a little upset. She probably shouldn’t have been talking shit when she’d never really been properly introduced to him, but it wasn’t like any of that wasn’t fairly… well, it was common knowledge at this point. Bobbi’s face didn’t flinch, her eyes didn’t even drift away when Francis reacted the her little call out on his lying abilities. She hadn’t really expected that rough of a reaction, but she couldn’t blame the kid. She wasn’t exactly subtle - though, to be fair. Neither was he. Maybe she shouldn’t have called him kid, but that was sort of her default mode at this point because of James being such a little shit and it had just sort of happened without much thought about it. Apparently, he wasn’t a fan of her right now. Another thing that seemed pretty… well… fair. “No. I don’t.” She answered, it must have seemed almost out of place with the way Bobbi could turn herself off and on with a switch like that - but Hunter hadn’t spent all that time talking shit for a reason. She was good at what she did, even on a bad day. And this was no game, it couldn’t be. This was no time for sarcasm, she’d dropped it. She needed a few minutes probably as much as he did. There was a joke on the tip of her tongue as he’d started to walk out, something to respond to the quip about the way the doctor had handled her treatment. Bobbi didn’t bother with it. What she did bother with was another attempt to get herself actually sitting up - she needed to be sitting up for this. She wasn’t sure why, but she did. Maybe it felt more solid or more steady and maybe she needed that right now. As much as Bobbi figured she could get herself through anything, had gotten herself through anything she’d been through. She knew even she had a limit somewhere and she wasn’t really in the mood to find it when she felt like she was already dangling so close. She needed to be sitting up. It took her almost the whole time he was out of the room getting water to get herself shimmied so that she was mostly sitting up in the bed at this point, pillows haphazardly adjusted with nudges of her elbows because she was too tired for anything else. God she hated feeling tired. It must have been one of the side effects from being down there too long… she’d never felt tired like this before. She’d been beat half to death more than a few times, gone 3 or 4 days without sleep when necessary, and yet Bobbi had never felt tired like this before. Bright eyes watched when he reentered, Bobbi was assessing the situation in a way she hadn’t bothered before. Or not necessarily not bothered but, she had slipped into observation at this point. She hadn’t really just looked at the situation yet. She’d reacted. She’d read him but not really taken the time. She read the hesitation. She read the thought. She knew he was deciding what to do. People had a weird way of repeating motions like that, of stretching and unstretching their limbs, of little things. Like the way fingers might twitch towards the arm of a chair. “Sit.” She repeated herself. “Or don’t.” She added. The sarcasm and joke was gone from her voice, “Either way the game ends here.” It was taking all the energy she had to dig this up, find something to say that felt like it might actually make a difference. She wasn’t sure that it would. Actually, she was pretty damn sure it might do the opposite. But Nat was right about having to try and she knew Clint would be the first to ream her out for not doing right if she kept this up. “Already know you, that which you need, huh?” He half muttered out the Star Wars line, not entirely meaning to say it, but not being able to stop it either. She’d said it to him probably a hundred times, whenever he rolled his eyes about a lesson or something she thought was important to him. Maybe he’d never seen the movies, but that didn’t change that they had been a big part of the structure surrounding their life that he hadn’t at least absorbed them to some degree. The fact that he could combine it with a light and deflective sarcasm, a way to acknowledge her statement without actually… “Which game is that though? Is it the one where you’re not talking to me, because that’d be fine. That game sucks.” But there it was all the same. If she was going to try then, angry and resisting as he might have been at the idea, so was he. It wasn’t like anyone was around to see him be nice at least, so nobody would nag him if he actually cut her a break for a minute. Besides, the relief that she was okay enough to give him shit? It cut through his normally stony and barbed exterior just enough to let the person he swore he wasn’t shine through a little bit. “Look --” Because he knew he had to get out in front of it now. She’d opened the door and if he didn’t do his usual thing? Well, that would have been -- there was just -- it was too big for that still. “-- I don’t care.” And that could have almost been believed, except for what he’d said not seconds prior. “You don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine. I get it. I wouldn’t want to talk to me either. But you should at least fu--you should say that to people.” Because he was certain that’s what she wanted and, in calling her out on that, it was a piece of her coming through him. Certainly it hadn’t been his Dad to suggest being forthright, not when he’d been so busy trying to shield Francis from what he could of the world they lived in. “Hiding was pretty fucked up. Especially at the range.” Because he knew, and he’d just...let it slide. He was a Barton. Ask them to feel something, they’d avoid it all day long. Put them in a position where they needed to see something though? They couldn’t not. “It’s fine though. Everyone’s just going to be glad you’re okay now. We can go back to -- whatever it was or whatever you want.” He pushed the chair back with his foot and dropped himself into it like he gave no fucks at all… Despite the fact he was giving more about this than he even knew how to express. Bobbi was quickly learning that apparently she was a creature of many habits that apparently transcended dimensions. Not the least of which was an apparent affinity for Star Wars. James had mentioned it, he’d even quoted it at her in a way she could only imagine was like a parrot repeating something they’d heard over and over again without necessarily understanding the context. Then there was the way Francis muttered what would other wise have been a very amusing little quip. It wasn’t amusing here somehow and Bobbi didn’t like that. It made her uncomfortable. Maybe Hunter had always been more right then she’d wanted to admit, maybe she was just a bit irrational because nothing running through her head right now made sense. No, no, it was just the exhaustion. It was just her body trying to heal itself - that’s why everything felt the way it did. That’s why she had to bite back the nauseating bite about how she’d not wanted to talk to him. No, she’d just wanted to be… in a better headspace. She didn’t want to screw some kid up more than he might already be because she was screwed up. Not that she was admitting that, no she still wasn’t going to be admitting to that. The evidence was pretty damning though. Whether or not Bobbi wanted to be rational and admit to it, that was a totally different story that itself may as well have been in another universe. “I fucking earned that.” It was blunt, sort of said only in the way Bobbi would approach a situation like this. Other people may have wanted to make excuses for her over the year, but Bobbi had always been a fan of owning her own mistakes. “And that’s not some bullshit I’m telling you because I think you want to blame me without actually fucking talking about it, not that that isn’t true either. But its the damn truth, I earned that. I fucked up here.” Okay, definitely not the most parental response but, this was Bobbi and well, try as she might sometimes to real herself back in when she wasn’t focused, when she wasn’t on a mission, when there was no job. Bobbi tried to rein herself in without the rule book sometimes, it just usually didn’t work so well. At least once she’d been a part of Coulson’s team she’d stopped threatening people in debriefs as much? That had to be a perk, or something. Wetting her lips, Bobbi cleared her throat. “Well, apparently you’re a better tracker than you are a liar.” Maybe another ‘not so very parental’ statement, but she wasn’t going to hold back any little jabs at the expense of him thinking he was getting away with any of his. That wasn’t how Bobbi operated. She reached out and took the water, taking a slow sip of it before putting it back down next to her. The next part was the actual hard part, she didn’t have a beginning or an end to where she thought she should start and so she just… “I wasn’t ignoring you. The hiding, that I’ll cop to with an… admission that its complicated. I wasn’t trying to… not talk to you.” “Yeah, you did.” Francis’ retort was simple, but without malice to it. She admitted it, more than he’d been expecting, and more than enough to get him to let it go. He understood why, it wasn’t like he’d done any better. “Doesn’t matter if we talk about it.” And chair would be kicked back against the wall, balanced perfectly on it’s back legs while his own were kicked up, crossed at the ankles, and thrown over some nearby piece of junk. Really it was all for show, a good show, a practiced show, but a show nonetheless. It was the same way he’d acted around his friends when he first met them and now, finding his way back into that groove, he was hoping it would work with his….with Bobbi. He had to think of her as Bobbi. That sucked but it made it better for now. Anything was better than thinking she didn’t want to talk to him, no matter what form. Still feeling like that was a risk, in spite of everything she said, it still felt safer to try and put some distance there. It was what he spent the rest of the time doing while she was talking. He listened, he applied what she was saying, he moved past the idea she was his Mom...at least as far as he could. Part of him would always… “I can lie just fine when I want to you know.” If she was going to admit that she hadn’t been trying to not talk to him, he’d make that an even exchange. “It’s just…” His head sunk for a minute and the spunky way the chair was bouncing came to a rest. She’d always made him promise he wouldn’t lie to her and the action was so reflexive he couldn’t help it. Already his brain was filling in memories of her with this new shape, one that looked so close it could have been anyway. The visual side of his Mother had been lost to the hard life he led, but the way she made him feel, the person he had always tried to be in memorial to her? Those things...those things he’d never lost. “It’s complicated.” He parroted her answer back to her, not committing to what he’d meant to say and straying far off course. “But whatever. We’re floating in some big giant space head. Everything’s fucking complicated.” He was reasonably proud of that answer even. It wasn’t a lie and it made him seem way less bothered by all this than he actually was right now. That was what everyone, including Francis, probably needed right now. “You didn’t want me to know you were here at first and then didn’t say anything when you saw me or whenever we used this weird whatever the fuck stupid way we’re supposed to talk to people here…” He just sighed and, finally, got himself to look at her for the first time. Right in the face. “It seems like you were trying pretty hard to do that.” She’d said the games were over and, in a way Francis hadn’t been with anyone in a long time, he was trying to actually play it that way. “But whatever.” And that one, he actually meant. “It happened. We can spend all day with you telling me what you didn’t mean to do, or didn’t want to do. Why don’t we just move on to the part where you tell me what you do instead so I can get out of your hair and you can start feeling better?” Because he really, he couldn’t bring himself to think this was going to have a happy ending. He had to know it was going to go poorly, that he was going to walk out of here and know that door, at least this time, was closed to him. He had to know it because that was just the safe bet in a world that couldn’t handle the weight of disappointment anymore. Habit dictated that Bobbi reached the way he flicked the chair back, picked up every tonal change in his voice, the kid was trying way too hard to make it look like he didn’t care but everything coming off of him was of someone who did and didn’t want to admit to it. Bobbi hadn’t expected that to punch her in the gut the way it didn’t. It shouldn’t have been this wasn’t her kid, not directly at least, and Clint was off busy playing Dad to what was… god bless him a pretty fucking normal family all things considered and then there was Hunter and why did she feel like this was personal… She shouldn’t have. Bobbi played very few things close to the chest but this was, shit why was this affecting her. She didn’t want this kid upset and angry because she was some sort of let down or fucked it all up or whatever. If even a third of what James said was true, and frankly she believed all of it, then Francis had had a life she’d scarcely try and force on an enemy, let alone… Her eyes just watched, watched the way he pushed the chair back, watched how nonchalant he was. She recognized the movement, she knew it well. Deflecting. It was a good show, the problem with learning your good show in the apocalypse was that you didn’t get to test your good show against the best and the brightest intelligence agents on a daily basis. Bobbi knew good show, Bobbi knew practiced show. He was putting in a damn good effort and a lot of people may have fallen for it. She didn’t. Maybe, just maybe because she had a habit of swinging her feet up like that. “It does matter if we talk about it.” She said, a bit painfully. Sitting up was proving to be tiring, even if it felt better overall. But it was still, she probably did need more rest. Hell or high water she wasn’t getting it in the immediate moment, however. She wanted to have some defense she could retreat to but, there wasn’t one. Kid had every reason to be pissed at her. She’d been an asshole, a selfish asshole. Sure, she had a marginally good reason to have gone into panic mode and even Nat had agreed she needed some time to just think but… running off to Earth for a week without even mentioning to anyone was definitely one of those less than rational actions Bobbi was, well, semi-well known for. Even if only because Hunter went on about them so much. She’d hit some sort of partially unraveled thread, apparently, with the way he’d responded to her comment on his ability to lie. One she wasn’t sure she as apt to pull at but at the same time… at the same time she didn’t want to ignore anything that might be pertinent. She felt like she was going to be playing catch up to make-up for being so selfish while at the same time trying to avoid her own root of the problem. And again, she wasn’t sure why she felt that way. It was probably a combination of things, just more things Agent, or ex-Agent, Morse would never admit to. Probably not even under duress. Eyes found her hands, idly laying her her lap as she sat there. Incapacitated. Unable to get out of the situation. Unable to find some exit plan and in a very rare moment Bobbi just sort of sunk into it. “If you need to hate me that badly, I’m not going to dissuade you.” Her eyes didn’t lift up from their focus on the three specs of blood just above the distal end of her radius, the worsening bruise along the vein that spanned her third metacarpal. If Francis needed to hate someone because of all of this. It was better that it was her. She’d sacrifice herself to that. It wasn’t the first time she’d taken a bullet that wasn’t supposed to be for her, probably wouldn’t be the last. Clint was prepared to be a parent, he was great at it. And god forbid if he took his anger at her out on his siblings, she wouldn’t want to be the cause of that. Chewing on her lower lip for a moment everything just sort of settled on top of Bobbi and she straightened up, quietly gulped and looked over at him. “I know I said no games but…” She let out a soft breath, “I can’t tell you why I went. You can check with Cosmo, I would have been back in a week.” The psychological effects of being tortured on a long term level weren’t exactly something she considered to be great ice breaker conversation. Hell, even Clint didn’t know as far as she was aware. The only person here who knew even part of what had happened was Nat. She figured it was why Nat was going out of her way to handle her. “Eventually, just. Not right now.” She looked over to him, “The offer stands, if you need to hate me, I’m not going to try and talk you out of it. I know what its like to need to funnel your emotions somewhere.” She’d quash it eventually, just like she had with Hunter’s obsession with Ward. Or attempt to do so eventually, but if some anger was what he needed to process this? She could give him a prop to be angry at after she’d fucked up so bad. A little personal atonement or whatever. Francis didn’t say anything for a long moment. He stopped looking at her, instead fixating on something behind her head. It was something he remembered his Father doing whenever he had to listen to things he obviously didn’t want to hear. It made it look like he was still present, still uncaring, but Francis knew well enough that would only last so long as he didn’t look her in the eye. If he did that, everything she was saying would get too real. He’d think back on things he didn’t need to think about, things that made him want to avert his gaze even further and… Fuck. He’d miscalculated where else to look and, true to the form of his Hawkeye name, he bumbled his gaze right into hers. It made his head drop immediately, Thankfully he had enough hair to obscure his face for a moment. It was enough time for him to think up a way to cover it in a yawn, like he was just tired, or maybe what she’d said was so boring he’d napped out for a minute. It was another trick he learned from his Dad, right up there never answering questions about why you yawned and to just do it again if you got asked. “If I wanted to hate you, what makes you think I’d sit here?” He thought his point was a good one. It wasn’t the truth but that, the fact that he had already spent time hating her, in both forms he’d known her in now, and all that did was make the ache in his chest worse. “Besides, hate’s letting you off too easy for that.” He tried to deflect again, to turn this away from just how close to home her words had hit and the emotions that had come with them. “So if you want me to leave you alone, and you want a reason why that’s not your fault, you can just say that and I can act like I hate you just fine.” He hated that he said it. He hated that he sounded so cool when he said it. He hated that he pretended like none of this mattered. He hated that he was so scared of what this could represent that he could see the way he sabotaged it and just couldn’t help himself. Letting people get close to him, letting himself feel a form of attachment to anyone, but especially to her? That was just...he didn’t know how to do that. In his world, in his life, nothing was permanent. People were fragile, there one day, gone the next. Even his friends, the few people he was willing to act like he cared about, there were walls there. Admittedly there were often less with Torunn than anyone else. Her lack of physical fragility alone made that easier. James was next, though that guy could be such an idiot sometimes. The others? Aside from Pym, who Francis thought just talked too fucking much, he didn’t really have much to say yet. He’d look out for them because they were part of the group, because they mattered to people who mattered to him, but caring wasn’t easy. It was a million times worse when it was your Dead Mom though. He was finding he couldn’t not care. As hard shelled as he acted, this was just...she maybe wasn’t the woman he’d known, who’d never known him or his life or had any of his memories, but it didn’t fucking matter. Or did it? Should it? Had it with Clint? Was that really just different because Clint already had a family? Was he really mad about Bobbi ignoring him at all? Fuck. “You sure it wasn’t just to get away from me?” Fuck. Why did he say it like that?. “Look. It doesn’t matter why you went. Whatever. You’re okay. That’s what matters.” There, that was better. “But quit acting like I’m going to hate you. It’s fucking stupid.” He huffed a strand of hair out of his face, the neutral and seemingly disinterested cadence returning to his tone. “And don’t act like you know what I need to do with my feelings when you haven’t even talked to me.” That was more honest than he’d meant it to be, but..well. This was hard. He’d never had to try so hard in fact, just to seem like he was fine on the outside. “Seems like maybe you’ve got it backwards. I get that. Strange kid drops in on your life and you want nothing to do with it. You got your own shit I’m sure. Everyone does. So you don’t want it, it’s fine, but don’t try and talk me into giving you excuses not to deal with it…” It was probably the most he’d said to anyone in one go in years, but it was years of pent up feelings trying to shove the words out of his mouth. “You just have to say you don’t want to.” And god did he hope she didn’t. On one hand, she wasn’t sure why he was bothering so hard to just try and not look at her, to try and pull off whatever act this was he thought he could manage. Actually that was quite possibly the most stupid thought she’d had in all of this. Bobbi, Bobbi Morse had just managed to wonder why someone might be bothering to put walls up, to be deceptive, to keep people at arms length. She practically wrote the book on that. She’d trained agents on how to do just that. It was one of the reasons that she’d made such a damn good S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. Bobbi could compartmentalize at a level that was comparable with very few other people. It was probably why, at the moment, she felt like Natasha was the only one here who understood even a sliver of how she felt. She wasn’t really looking forward to that interaction either. To getting verbally bitch slapped because she’d been stupid enough to think she could ghost for a few days. To be fair, she definitely hadn’t thought that one through. She should have at least said something to Nat, about only going for a few days. About just needing that time and space. If she would have said something, maybe things would have gone a little less… rough. She could only imagine that this was only her first rough conversation to have. Maybe one day she’d learn to be rational in the face of emotions - today, today was probably not gonna be that day, to be fair. God, why was she so good about this in the field and on missions and when she needed information or something and then the second it actually meant… turning herself on into a situation, not just a cover or a code name. Bobbi Morse wasn’t known for emotional competency and that wasn’t something that was just going to show up and happen in a day or a month, hell maybe not even a year. But where she’d managed to get better with some people, apparently it wasn’t as much personal growth, but interpersonal. Or maybe Hunter was just enough of a fucking asshole with too much experience of her brand of less than stellar decision making to put up with it. Love was a bitch. Something to that effect. “Hey.” She said, a little look crossing over her features, “Don’t try and turn my words around like that. I wrote the book on doing that shit. I’ll give you an autographed copy if you want.” There was a way Bobbi just defaulted to that tone of her’s, somewhere between sass and sarcasm and total seriousness. “I’m not trying to pretend I know what you need. You’re right, I don’t. I don’t even know what I need right now.” Nothing she’d admit to at least. “So don’t expect me to sit here and make excuses and all that bullshit, because I’m not going to do it. I’m not playing games with you, Francis.” It all just sort of came out all at once. She brought her legs up slowly - she was feeling so much more with it at the moment. But she still felt weak, she at least felt the haze in only light tendrils now. Bobbi managed to get herself sitting somewhat comfortably indian style, her elbows leaned against her knees - the awkwardly thin hospital-esque blanket stretched awkwardly between them. Clicking her jaw Bobbi sighed, “I’m only saying this once and then it’s uh…” She sighed again, more obviously this time. “Its not coming up again, not for awhile.” Bobbi honestly couldn’t believe she was about to bite this bullet. The exact bullet she’d gone running from - granted, it wasn’t the first bullet she’d ever taken, probably not likely to be the last. Emotionally or physically. “So just, once and for all. It had nothing to do with you. And fucking frankly, torture isn’t exactly a great first conversation to have so you might want to just trust me on this one.” She cleared her throat harshly, her voice was starting to crack just a little bit and she didn’t like it. Clearly it was just because it was a little dry. “You can still confirm with the dog with the shitty taste in snacks that he was supposed to come and get me in a week. I was coming back.” Bobbi didn’t like the way she felt in her chest saying any of that. But, in particular, saying the word torture outloud. She hadn’t even wanted to bring it up she… had been hoping to avoid it a little longer but, she had a feeling that the shock effect of blunt honesty might be the only way he might even start to believe her. She knew that because, well, frankly - that’s what would be just about the only thing to work on her. “Sure fucking looks like it.” Like Bobbi, he hadn’t meant for that to be his reply at all. It was quick and immediate. She said his name and, in its own way, the jab had been directly in response to that more than anything. He’d always secretly suspected she didn’t like his name, or that there was at least some kind of tension between...between her and his Dad…about it. That didn’t change the fact he’d promptly regretted saying it as soon as the sound had rushed out of his mouth. This wasn’t how he wanted their conversation to go, this wasn’t what he’d told himself it would be like if he ever got to see her again, but he’d never quite factored in the fact she’d try and disappear on him and the first time they actually spoke was her in a hospital bed. “....Sorry.” And his tone was quiet, soft even, in a way it never had been with Clint and wouldn’t likely ever be with anyone other than the woman in front of him. “...Torture sucks.” It was probably not the best segue or response to things, but...Francis was out of his element. More than that, he knew it. He knew he didn’t know what to say, or think, or feel. He knew he didn’t want to be his usual mean, sharp, self. He knew he didn’t want to be mad at her. He knew he didn’t want to shred this one, probably last ever, chance he was going to have to hold up a relationship with her. That was what he wanted, more than he’d ever wanted anything really. “So why’d you hide?” He finally looked up at her, the lean of the chair’s legs dropping some while his actual focus settled on the conversation -- they were having an actual conversation -- going on here. “Fu-forget it. I can’t say I blame you.” He couldn’t blame her. For so many reasons, and there was an honesty to his tone, sad and heartbroken as it was, when he said it out loud. If he’d been better, or maybe if he’d never been born at all, she would have been better prepared for what had happened. Maybe she would have stopped it even. It was a senseless way to think, the world was dead and gone and so was she and there was nothing he could do about that… ...Except she wasn’t. Not here. She was right there. If he’d been able to bring himself to do it, not that she probably wanted him to, he could have moved across that gap between them, set himself down on the bed beside her, and actually touched her. He wondered if her hands would still feel the same if… Fuck. Francis sighed openly. “I believe you anyway.” Even if it was because he wanted to believe it wasn’t him, because he didn’t want to be anywhere near Cosmo ever, more than because he actually thought it wasn’t about him, he was willing to just…”Like I said, even if it was, can’t say I blame you. Surprise kids are probably not the kind anybody wants.” All of a sudden Bobbi was just tired, she didn’t really want to know why and she wasn’t sure she was happy with the sudden realization she knew why. Her brain wanted to shove it off on having sat up, that had been a bad idea but she’d wanted to not feel so prone, she’d wanted to feel like she at least didn’t look as weak as she felt and Bobbi felt so fucking weak. Everything about this made her feel fucking weak, she hated it. “You don’t need to apologize.” There was a resignation in her voice when she spoke - she felt bad, this really was all her fucking fault for being almost completely emotionally incompetent. Hunter or Mack might have even said she was handling this pretty damn well, all things considered, for herself. As it was, neither of them was here and Clint had no idea what she’d gone through and Nat only knew pieces and… fuck shit was she tired. Fuck shit did Bobbi just want to go back to sleep, or well, no she didn’t. Bobbi didn’t want to sleep, but her body did. Her body wanted to collapse back down and it had been such a stupid fucking idea for her to sit up. There was no hiding the exhaustion either and she wasn’t going to bother. If she was going to be honest with him, she was going to be totally honest with him. She realized she had a lot to make up for, even if she’d only really done the one thing and she had no idea how to do that than to just drop the veil totally. She said no games, but that also meant no mask to hide behind. No steely exterior and no deception and no lying and she figured that may as well start with not sitting here and putting on the I’m fine bullshit that she damn well knew was a farce. She couldn’t help it when she had to lean back against the pillows again, she couldn’t sustain sitting up like she was. She could have tried but she just, she couldn’t. “Because I’m shit with emotions.” Bobbi wasn’t typically the type to just admit to that, granted usually Hunter got to telling people who shit she was with them long before she’d ever get a chance. But right now, right now she had to do it herself. She was actually wondering at what point she should actually bring Hunter up… maybe she just… shouldn’t? If he wasn’t here and apparently wasn’t a part of her life in his universe and it wasn’t like her and Hunter had kids and technically they hadn’t gotten remarried… Right now definitely wasn’t the time, as it was, he already knew her and Clint weren’t together and hadn’t ever been so at least it wasn’t something she needed to disclose because of that. She wasn’t of a mind to hide any information from Francis just… be smart about when she brought it up. “I’ve always been sort of shit with emotions and on some level it helped make me fucking great at what I did, but its sure as hell screwed up a few other things in my life.” Francis was getting the sort of rare honesty that just, wasn’t necessarily natural for Bobbi on some level. Without realizing it, Bobbi let out her own sigh and looked back over to him again, “I hope you do, believe me that is.” She said a bit weakly, bringing a hand up to fuss with her hair a little awkwardly. |