Chapter Text
Rome, Georgia, USA
3:00 PM, Late June
A rhythmic creaking and squeaking interrupted the afternoon quiet as Bobbi Morse gently swayed back and forth on an old porch swing. Having discarded her beat-up canvas sneakers half an hour ago, she used her bare toes against the porch's floorboards to lazily propel the swing back and forth. She wore her best "good, local southern girl" costume: frayed denim shorts and a loose, blue t-shirt. The normalcy of the scene was only betrayed by the heavy, black knee-immobilizing brace trapping her right leg.
The brace was growing hot and uncomfortable in the heat of a Georgia summer afternoon and the humidity led sweat to start lightly beading on her forehead. Bobbi found that she didn't mind, however. There was something comforting and familiar about the heat, and it was a welcome change from the cold sterility of hospitals and underground secret bases. Still, she mentally debated going indoors to mix up the pitcher of sweet tea that her current setting seemed to demand. But, figuring she was too clumsy for breaking and entering in her current condition, she decided to wait. She had survived far worse conditions than a humid summer afternoon with far less before.
Somewhere in the distance, the keening buzz of a cicada hummed through the air.
Bobbi knew she probably had about an hour to wait, still. She doubted that anything had changed, and the old summer routines and habits would still hold true. Despite that, years of training and experience told her to show up early, just in case people break their routines. Also, you should always bring a book. However, the book sat on the floorboards, beside her shoes and a pair of crutches. Bobbi ignored it and instead put her sunglasses back on, leaned back on the swing, closed her eyes, and let the sun warm her face.
***
The Playground
5:00 AM, Four Weeks Earlier
"Bobbi," a voice whispered.
Though she heard the voice through the fog of sleep and painkillers, Bobbi kept drifting on the edge of unconsciousness and failed to respond.
"Bobbi..." the voice repeated itself.
Bobbi felt a hand gently squeeze her left wrist, the one not tangled in IV tubing and the wires of a pulse monitor. Only then did she finally open her eyes. Most of the lights were off. She blinked several times before her vision finally came into focus and the blurry face looking down at her finally resolved into Phil Coulson's. She drew in a shallow breath, unable to draw the deeper one she wanted to, and licked her desert-dry lips once before finally speaking.
"Coulson?" she asked groggily.
Bobbi looked to the side and saw that Hunter was still there, standing behind Coulson. Hunter's jaw was tightly set and he was fidgeting - as if he was desperate to be doing anything but standing still. It took far longer than it should have for it to register, but even in a drug-induced haze Bobbi could read her ex-husband like a book. He was agitated. Coulson, seemingly the world's most unflappable man, had his tells too. Bobbi looked back at him and realized she could see it in his eyes. Something was wrong.
"What's wrong?" she asked. The lethargy had faded from her voice already, but it was still hoarse.
"We have a problem," Coulson stated. Bobbi's eyes wandered as Coulson began speaking. She realized his arm was in a sling. It took her longer than it should have to remember why. She hated morphine.
Bobbi's eyes moved back up to Coulson's face as he continued talking. "Something happened to Simmons last night." Bobbi opened her mouth to ask for details, but Coulson offered them unbidden. "That monolith that was in the Iliad's hold. It... swallowed her." Coulson shook his head as he said it, as if he didn't understand it himself.
"What? How?" Bobbi's blue eyes darted back and forth between Coulson and Hunter.
"We only have the security camera footage. We don't understand it yet either, but --"
Hunter interrupted, abruptly breaking his silence. "Bob, you can't do anything about it right now."
Coulson agreed. "He's right, Bobbi. You don't know how much I wish I had your help, but for now your job is to rest and heal. Which brings me to why I'm here, and I'm sorry to have woken you up but we need to do this now."
Bobbi's attention briefly wandered. The drainage tube piercing her chest wall between her ribs was starting to ache again. Her focus snapped back to Coulson when she noticed Hunter had begun to pace.
Coulson continued. "Bobbi, I've talked to the medical staff we have left here. As short-handed as we are, with the lab destroyed and now with Jemma missing, they're not confident that we have the resources to give you the level of care that you still need."
"You need a real orthopedic surgeon for your knee," Hunter offered, still pacing. "And a... and a pulmonary or thoracic... whatever."
With most of the waking fog having cleared from her brain, Bobbi was able to fast-forward to the end of the conversation on her own. "Where are you sending me?"
"I contacted Maria Hill and she called in a few favors. We got you a bed at Walter Reed in Bethesda."
Bobbi knew it made sense. There was no point in wasting what little energy she had on protesting. So many of SHIELD's own facilities had shuttered and SHIELD medical was no different. She wouldn't be the first SHIELD agent ever to end up in a military hospital anyway.
"They'll give you the best care there, Bob. They'll get you back on your feet," Hunter chimed in again, telling Bobbi what she already knew. He wasn't trying to convince her, she realized. He was trying to convince himself.
"You need to stay here," she stated, looking at Hunter, finally understanding the source of his agitation.
"I'm afraid so," Coulson answered instead. "We can't spare anyone else, not right now."
"But if you really need me--" Hunter started, looking imploringly at Bobbi.
"No," she cut him off. "The team needs you." Under better circumstances, she probably could have laughed at the irony of her and Hunter going their separate ways again, not because of her promise to SHIELD, but because of his. She briefly realized she was probably supposed to have said something different.
"I'll come as soon as I can," Hunter insisted.
"I know you will." Bobbi gave Hunter a weak smile that likely wasn't as encouraging as it was supposed to have been. Hunter approached the bed and leaned over to leave a lingering kiss on Bobbi's forehead, then another on her lips.
"I have to go pack your things," he mumbled, brushing a hand over Bobbi's blonde hair before stepping away.
Coulson looked at them both apologetically. "I'm afraid we need to put you on a quinjet within the hour."
She was leaving the base to be put in cold storage in a hospital, she was leaving Hunter, and something terrible had happened to Jemma. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Bobbi knew she should be more distraught than she was. Morphine did have a way of numbing more than just the physical pain. Without lifting her head from her pillow, Bobbi nodded slightly to Coulson before giving the only answer she could: "Ok."
Somewhere on the quinjet flight towards DC, Bobbi remembered. The day SHIELD fell, she was supposed to die to make sure that alien monolith stayed buried. Instead, she decided to live. Now Jemma was gone. Those thoughts would haunt Bobbi for awhile.
It was a lonely flight.
***
An hour later, Bobbi's eyes snapped open as she heard the sound of gravel crunching beneath the tires of a car. She sat up on the swing to see a silver sedan working its way up the long driveway. Upon seeing the car, something seized in her chest and it was as if her nerves caught on fire. She closed her eyes again for a moment and tried to draw in as deep of a breath as her weakened lungs could. Failing to find some calm, she leaned over, grabbed her crutches, and hauled herself to her feet. Nerves or not, she had a self-imposed mission to complete.
The car pulled to a stop halfway up the gravel driveway as Bobbi awkwardly hobbled down the porch steps. As soon as the engine noise halted, the driver's side door swung open and a thin older woman with greyed blonde hair scrambled out. She hurried up the path leading to the porch and gasped, "Barbara?! Is that really you?" The older woman stopped short in front of Bobbi, as if the crutches supporting her were some kind of barrier.
Bobbi pushed her sunglasses up, leaving the yellow-tinted aviators perched atop her head. She smiled warmly at the other woman, but her blue eyes betrayed something else: something both a little sheepish and a little sad.
"Hey momma," Bobbi Morse finally spoke. "I'm home."
***
Bobbi shifted one of her crutches, placing both of them under her right arm and freeing up her left. Susan, her mother, immediately took advantage of the opening and enfolded Bobbi into a tight bear hug. Bobbi felt a dull pain blossom in her chest as the hug put pressure on her ribcage. Despite that, she stood still and refused to display the pain, not even with the faintest wince. Instead, she returned the embrace, letting her mother cling to her for as long as she needed to. When she heard a sniffle, Bobbi pulled back. "Oh mom, don't cry. I'm fine. I promise." Somewhere in the back of her head, she chastised herself. You're already telling lies.
Her eyes glistening, Susan pulled away a little and Bobbi settled herself back onto both crutches. Still, Susan kept both hands clasped on her daughter's shoulders. "I'm sorry, honey. It's just been so long and you were the last face I thought I'd see to today. And bless your heart, look at you. Honey, what happened?"
Bobbi's smile faded and she glanced down, taking a moment to collect her thoughts. She had the whole story rehearsed in her head, but the glib response that was supposed to be there had somehow disappeared. "It was just a car wreck. Research van versus delivery truck," she lied instead. A faint twang appeared in her voice as she continued, as if she had flipped a mental switch to a restore an accent that had been long-since erased. "I'm all right, but they wanted to send me back stateside for the knee surgery. That's all." As soon as that lie left her lips, Bobbi felt an unfamiliar heaviness in her heart. She said she couldn't do this anymore, but apparently she could.
An awkward silence settled between the newly-reunited mother and daughter for a moment. One was too overcome with emotion to find words, the other uncharacteristically afraid to speak. Only the distant buzz of the summer cicadas filled the air instead.
Finally, Susan broke the stalemate. "Come on, let's get you inside. I'm sure you're not supposed to be on your feet like this." In her mind, Bobbi tried to forget that it was true. She wasn't supposed to be.
Susan hurried up the porch steps and Bobbi followed her, shrugging off her mother's attempts to help. "Going up stairs is easier than down," she explained. Susan picked up Bobbi's discarded shoes and duffle bag and dutifully carried them inside.
Bobbi passed through the front door and felt a burst of welcome coolness from the air conditioning hit her in the face. When her eyes adjusted to the change of light, she realized she had limped her way into another lifetime entirely...
... and it seemed devastatingly normal.