It was disappointing, not to be able to go into the town himself and rescue her, but as soon as Cage caught onto everything there was no chance in hell that he’d be allowed to run into that clusterfuck. Not if he wanted to keep his contract with the Thunderbolts. It was a difficult choice, but Clint trusted the small team he’d grouped up with to go in there and get the job done.
Maybe that trust was slightly misplaced, because Bobbi was not herself. He’d been admittedly a little clingy since she came back, but for good reason. Bobbi had been taken, and was gone for months on end. Forced to be some kind of lab rat to test the town infrastructure by an organization she was supposed to trust.
She’d agreed to stay at his apartment for a bit that day while the Thunderbolts went to handle something in Midtown, and when he returned he was not expecting to find an array of flowers spread throughout his entire place. The decorations might have been a little lacking, but this was too much. “Hey uh, Bobs…?” He called out hesitantly, his heart thumping a little faster in his chest as he walked towards his bedroom and saw shit ton of rose petals and flower clippings strewn all over his bed. “What the hell is this?” The laugh that came out of him was nervous as he just stared at her.
Gardenias. Lillies. Roses. Baby’s-breath.
There’s an art to making a good bouquet. It’s not about throwing some flowers and calling it a day. One has to take into consideration how the color palette will look in addition to the blend of scents. Believe it or not, some flowers don’t smell good when put next to others. And then the baby’s-breath. God, the baby’s-breath. Was it too 1990′s to use or was it back in style? Rebecca is a firm believer that it was fine in measured doses.
Rebecca Harrison is not real.
She’s a woman that never existed except for a finite second in time when reality was warped. She is Bobbi Morse and Bobbi is her — albeit unwillingly. It’s Rebecca who likes flowers and not Bobbi. Bobbi’s the biologist with the slight pollen allergy that had been a bitch when she was working with Ka-zar. in the jungles. Flowers are fine but she never buys them. It’s almost as if they seem to die the second they enter her care. She definitely doesn’t buy in bulk.
The plan was to spend the day laying low at Clint’s place. It made him feel better to have her close and she didn’t really feel like being alone. Instead of sit around her apartment staring at the wall, she sat in Clint’s and stared at his wall. Nobel Prize winner Paul Nurse had recently written a biology book she wanted to read, but she couldn’t get more than five pages in. Bobbi had been drawing a bath when the idea had hit her: flowers. She had to work. The tub was left full as she made her way to the bodega to buy as many flowers as her arms could hold.
Clint’s scissors aren’t meant to cut flowers. They keep getting stuck on the stems, but Bobbi’s persistent. She’s hacking and chopping so she can loop them together with the twine she picked up when the door opens. Something in her mind whispers to stop, but her hands keep moving on their accord. And then, there’s Clint. He’s staring at her like she’s crazy and Bobbi falters.
“Flowers?” No shit. Lots and lots of flowers. “I was just...” What the hell was she doing? The bouquets look great, but why? “I think we may have a problem.”
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