#notjustadudewithabow

[a-themockingbirdsings]

The Empty Nest

@notjustadudewithabow

Bobbi slumped back into a chair.  With a slow motion, she pulled the elastic from her hair, freeing the golden waves from her ponytail.  The new series of serums hadn’t just not worked -- each rat was dead.  She sat, hunched forward, face in her hands for at least a full minute.  When she finally straightened, she wiped the tears from her eyes, and took a deep breath.  Fixed to the specimen fridge was a sketch Isaac had drawn, her in profile, a look of concentration on her face.  The expression was certainly accurate, she hadn’t noticed he was working on it until he offered it to her.  It was late, and she realised that she had sent the boy off to bed two hours ago, promising that she would be doing the same shortly.

Taking one last look at the three latest rats she had sacrificed to science, she decided she would deal with the bodies in the morning.  In their individual cages, behind the secure door of the lab, they wouldn’t be a danger to anyone.  It was cold in the lab anyway.  She picked up her dictaphone, “Specimens L1, L2 and L3 are now dead.  L series of experimental vaccines are a failure.”  She set the small recorder down on the bench.

She was torn between wanting to bury herself in her disappointment and shame, and hide from every living soul until she had to face the world tomorrow; or seeking comfort.  Her feet decided for her, she swallowed her pride, and headed for Clint’s room.  She slowly opened the door, the hinges whined slightly, but were quiet when she was shutting the door.  She took off her boots by the door, tucked her socks inside them.  The floor was cool beneath her feet.  

She found his discarded clothes from the day in the middle of the floor, and shook her head.  She picked the garments up and tossed them to the corner, since he didn’t appear to have a laundry basket of any description.  She wriggled out of her own jeans, took off her sweater, and slid her bra off from under her t-shirt.  When she was done, she sat down on the side of the bed he was less sprawled across, and stayed there for a moment, as if she might decide to leave anyway.

[a-thecalmesttempest]

On Candy Stripe Legs

@notjustadudewithabow

Ororo touched down outside the shooting range, it was a reliable place to find people who would be able to assist in work outside the walls.  There were tarps and body bags in the guard post, they would be able to pick up such things on the way out.  She waited in the periphery, some were archers, a useful skill to gain; arrows were easier to make and remake than bullets.  There were a few with guns, mostly to confirm that they would be able to shoot accurately if called upon.

Most people were of a sturdier constitution these days, still, she decided she would ask the question.  “I need at least three people with strong stomachs to help me bring some bodies in.  One is for the funeral pyre, one is for the lab.”  Her tone was grave, “I’m sorry if anybody here was a friend of David’s, I don’t recommend volunteering if you were.”  She waited for people to step forward.

[themockingbirdsings]

of births & bees

Featuring: @survivingwidow @notjustadudewithabow @notdeadlogan @justanoldsoldier

It was a mistake for Bobbi to take for granted that the odds of going into labour in the two hour window she had estimated Natasha’s procedure would take were astronomical.  Of course with those stakes, her waters broke just after she removed the disease-eaten organ.  She took a deep breath as fluid seeped down her inner thigh, soaking into her scrubs.  

With the absolute calm befitting somebody performing eye surgery, Bobbi placed the useless eye in a receptacle that Paul was offering, and asked evenly, “Can you have them prepare the OB suite and get someone to find Steve?”

“Doctor?” Nurse Paul queried as he set down the eyeball. 

Bobbi glanced over at Clint, “Babe, keep your reaction to like five percent until we’re done here, but I’ve just gone into labour.”  In another situation, his deer in the headlights look would have been comical. 

Things moved quickly after Natasha was prepared for recovery.  Bobbi has never been so grateful to be so attuned to her body, she had a sense of when her contractions were going to come and could stop any delicate work to ride out the fleeting, intermittent, but increasing pain.  Natasha was given a private recovery room to ride out the anaesthetic.  Bobbi wasn’t entirely sure where Logan had come from but she was glad he was willing to sit in with Natasha, since Clint was going to struggle between being there for her and for the birth of their baby. 

Bobbi had thoroughly frustrated her own staff by the time she was actually deposited in the delivery suite, not to mention past halfway dilated. “You know I wasn’t going to sit down for this part anyway, so I might as well have been useful.”  She snarked as Paul took his leave.  The nurse gave a nod to the fathers and Ellie, the nurse who had helped Bobbi deliver babies before, and would now deliver Bobbi’s own child into her arms, said, “Good luck,” and left looking like he was worried that Bobbi would throw something at him.

Instead she reached for Steve’s hand and squeezed it for the most intense contraction yet.  She was still upright but sweating heavily.  She was awash with adrenalin and oxytocin, which meant she was totally unaffected by how tired she knew she should be after Natasha’s surgery.  At some point someone had braided her hair and she had no recollection of that.  She honestly didn’t remember removing the bun her hair had been in under her surgical garb. 

She had wanted to do this at home.  They tended to do that these days, saving the hospital for when there were signs of distress, but seemed pointless to leave when they were already here.  What had seemed like a smart decision was now something that she found herself questioning every five or so minutes, when she wasn’t thinking about how terrible this whole process was.  What if this was actually a catastrophically wrong decision?  Or worse, what if she actually needed to be here because there was a complication with this unnecessarily difficult ordeal?

“I’m going to go back and time,” she panted, “and find the first human to stand up,” another pant, “and kick her in the face.”  She was a biologist.  She knew fundamentally that her pelvis was too small for this nonsense.

“Bobbi, when the next contraction comes it’s time to push,” Ellie replied, as if all her patients threatened Homo Erectus, from her position crouched on the ground.  In the throes of labour Bobbi had decided that the correct position was upright, holding onto Clint and Steve.  Gravity felt like as essential a birth partner as any of the three people in the room.

She finally utilised the bed when it was all over, and her daughter was placed into her arms.  Before she had been vaguely aware of the rest of the world around her in a bizarre, delirious kind of way; now she had lost track of everything except for a very small pink creature that was her entire universe in that moment.  Wrinkly and miraculous.  Tears rolled down Bobbi’s cheeks as she felt the tiny heart beating against her skin, falling into rhythm with her own.

[a-themockingbirdsings]

Little Birdie

@notjustadudewithabow

Bobbi chewed her thumb as she hesitated outside of Clint’s room.  She felt like she shouldn’t be empty handed, but it wasn’t like they could share a bottle of wine, even if they had one.  There was no picking up a pizza, or wings.  She didn’t particularly feel like presenting him with a pregnancy test either, because the fact was, she didn’t know how welcome this would be, especially once he had all the information.

The biologist in her thought that she should have a bowl with a tadpole in it, ‘hey, here’s what it looks like’, but again, jokes weren’t what were needed now.

She exhaled heavily, reached up, and knocked at the door.  “No going back now,” she muttered, and began to push open the door.  He would know something was going on if she waited for him to answer the door.

[icemelted-backto-life-blog]

Cuckoo In The Nest

It was easy to drift in and out of thought whilst staring up at the universe above them. The sky was literally bursting with beauty as the level of pollution had dropped dramatically with the rise of the infected.

The look out posts had become something of a hideaway for him for the past day and a half. The guards who walked about didn’t bother him and he didn’t bother them. He figured they wouldn’t deny another set of eyes.

Where he was sat, on the floor with his back to a makeshift wall. He could tell someone else frequented the spot. There were little signs of it, marks in the wood, blankets and bits and pieces he couldn’t see too well in the dark.

Footsteps alerted him as he cast a glance at the stairway which lead to where he was. Dropping his head back to the wall behind as he sighed softly. The peace was about to be disturbed he figured. Hopefully not for long when whoever was coming up realised the space was occupied.

@notjustadudewithabow

[malenkaya-vdova]

Strike Team Delta

@notjustadudewithabow

Haven needed to expand, that they all knew. With more people turning up, the single mansion was fast becoming too small to truly be comfortable. Of course, expanding meant dealing with things they had spent the past year or so avoiding. It wasn’t going to be easy, but then when was anything they faced ever that?

“You ready for this?” Natasha asked, glancing up momentarily from where she was checking her Widow’s Bites, not wanting to wait until she needed them to find out whether or not they were working.