"Actually--" Bobbi interrupted before he could get too far or too comfortable with the idea. She stood to join him, pushing her work back away from the edge of the table where little hands mind find it and held up a finger for Hammer to wait. He was going to need help.
A search through her salvaged box of medical supplies later, she approached Hammer with a dramatically long needle and plastic tube. "I want an LP," she announced, as if getting samples wasn't traumatic enough. The blood was barely telling her anything, though, never mind the skin or spit. Whatever this was was undeniably in the brain. This was going to be fun. Maybe next they could open up her head while she trashed around on the table for Bobbi to take a look around.