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It’s past midnight. Exhausted from the twelve-hour training, then the fourteen-hour mission briefing, Bobbi Morse stumbles through the halls, keys in hand, debating on whether she’s capable of driving to her apartment or whether she should just crash in her office.
Her bed’ll be so comfortable, but her office... she’ll be asleep in a minute.
Plus, there’s the benefit of not having to wake up to come here tomorrow morning. Yeah, the office’s sounding good, musty couch and all.
Groggily, Bobbi puts one foot in front of the other as she sleepwalks to her office. Three more hallways... Two... How the hell did the old SSR base get so big anyway?
She’s one and a half hallways down when she passes the lab. The light’s still on. Curious, Bobbi pauses outside the door- who could be up at this hour?- just in time to see Jemma Simmons hurl something small and brown at the wall, where it shatters into a million pieces.
“Jemma!” exclaims Bobbi, startled. She leaps into the room, sleepiness gone, with her staves in hand and ready to protect the scientist from the danger she’s facing. Because, after all, Fitz has been known to build little helper robots that turn into menaces of destruction when their programming glitches.
But... as Bobbi looks around, she can’t see any sign of the robot menace. In fact, she can’t see any sign of danger at all. She straightens out of her fighting stance and looks at Jemma.
Eyes wide and oblivious to the fact that her bloody fist is dripping onto the stomach of her gray sweater, Jemma stands pressed against a lab table. Her lips part slightly. “I can explain,” she whispers, mortified.
“You okay, Jems?” Bobbi asks cautiously, loosening her grip on her short sticks and stowing them back in her boots. Okay, so there’s no immediate danger, but clearly something’s up. Jemma Simmons isn’t the type to go around throwing things the second she gets pissed.
“I- erm, well, I was trying to... You see-” Jemma sighs, making to slap her uninjured hand on the counter but instead letting it thump down softly. “It’s nothing. Go to bed.”
“I’m not going to bed until you tell me what’s up,” replies Bobbi. She steps closer. “Lemme see your hand.”
Jemma looks down at the fist, somewhat surprised. “Hmm. I didn’t even feel that.” She turns her back to Bobbi, bending to grab a package of gauze one-handed from the drawer beneath. Rising, she huffs out a laugh. “It’s nothing, really, Bobbi. Just... just a temper tantrum. I’m fine.”
“You’re fine when I say you’re fine.” Bobbi rips out a chunk of gauze, mopping up the film of blood covering the young scientist’s hand. The wounds themselves aren’t too bad. They look like a series of pinpricks running from the tips of Jemma’s fingers down to the heel of her hand. A few tiny spines stick out of skin, which Bobbi pulls out with tweezers. Spines? With the shattered brown clay thing on the ground? A suspicion begins to form in Bobbi’s head...
“Jems, did you just murder a cactus?”
Whatever Jemma had been expecting, it was not that. She gapes at Bobbi wordlessly.
Bobbi raises an eyebrow. “Well, either you just grabbed a cactus or you’ve been petting a porcupine. And since we don’t have any porcupines in the lab...”
Jemma blushes. “A cactus might have been involved in the scenario.”
“Did the scenario involve you ripping a cactus from its pot?”
“...Quite possibly.”
“And then throwing the pot against the wall?”
“...Again, sounding familiar.”
Bobbi would laugh, except that she sees the genuine annoyance in Jemma’s expression.
“Jemma, why are you in the lab at one in the morning decorating the walls with cacti?”
Sighing, Jemma plunks onto a lab stool and rests her forehead on her newly bandaged hand. “Because,” she says, “I can’t take care of a cactus, and I don’t want the rest of the lab techs laughing behind my back at my fruitless attempts to save it.” She pauses, raising an eyebrow at Bobbi. “Well, go on. Laugh. Jemma Simmons, PhD., multiple degrees in biochemistry, can’t remember when she last watered a plant.”
Oh. Bobbi leans against the lab table, pursing her lips. “You know, Jems, with everything going on, it’s okay if you don’t remember to water a cactus.”
Jemma snorts and mumbles something.
“What?”
“...Try overwatering.” Jemma’s sheepish expression and guilty smile send the sleep-deprived Bobbi over the edge. She can’t help it. She bursts out laughing. Before she can worry about hurting Jemma’s feelings, the scientist chuckles as well. She meets Bobbi’s eyes and the two of them start fresh off in their hysterics.
“It is the slightest bit ridiculous, I suppose,” Jemma admits when they’ve both recovered. “What, with all that we’ve been through. People dying, and I’m sitting here at one in the morning moping about a cactus. It’s absurd.” Shaking her head, she says to Bobbi, “I’m fine, really. I see the light. It’s a cactus, and I’m tired, and my sleep is more valuable than a plant.” A long pause, as Jemma looks down at her bandaged hand, then gets up, moving to slide past Bobbi. “Alright, I’m going home.”
No! Don't go! Instinctively, Bobbi reaches out to grab Jemma’s wrist. Would she have acted differently if not so sleep-deprived? She doesn’t know. All she does know is that she’s tired of watching Jemma leave, and tired of the fact that she always chickens out of asking.
“You know... your apartment is kinda far. And I’ve got a nice, sturdy, pull-out couch in my office if you wanna...” She lifts her eyebrows.
Jemma’s face is unreadable, and Bobbi cringes inwardly. Was she too forward? Was she too subtle with her hints over the past few months? Or- and this makes Bobbi’s heart almost stop in anxiety- has Jemma noticed and been just as subtly declining all these months, with Bobbi too oblivious to notice?
But wait- Jemma’s lips start to pull upwards. “I honestly thought you’d never ask,” she replies, blushing. At Bobbi’s sigh of relief, she chuckles. “For heaven’s sake, Bobbi Morse. You had me the moment you saved my life from Hydra. I was just waiting for you.”
Bobbi grins deviously, standing up to her full height. “I’m all yours,” she says, resting her arms on Jemma’s shoulders. And she is, really, and wishes she could be more present in the moment. But honestly, she’s tired, and when she takes a step forward her knees buckle and it’s only Jemma’s arms that keep her from passing out right here, right now, on the comfortable-looking lab floor.
“All right, then. Bed,” says Jemma crisply, wrapping an arm around Bobbi’s waist and helping her out of the lab. Bobbi knows she could probably walk out herself, but, well, she likes the feeling of Jemma wrapped around her. And, after all, she is tired. She could use the help.
She snuggles in close to Jemma on the couch bed, and even though she knows she’s gonna have to rise again in less than seven hours, Bobbi goes to sleep with a smile on her face. Because tomorrow, after the mission... With Jemma officially her girlfriend, who knows what tomorrow could bring?