Mockingbird is a pretty nickname, Jemma Simmons muses, but it's a bit of a misnomer.

Bobbi Morse is more like a big cat (a leopard, maybe) – her movements sure, her focus complete, her power undeniable in motion. Even now, curled up on her bunk with her back to Jemma, she still seems to radiate kinetic intent.

"Make sure she stays down," Coulson told Jemma before the team left. "She took a pretty hard hit."

"I can hardly detain her if she doesn't want to stay," she protested.

Phil Coulson's eyes twinkled, that half-smile firmly on his face as he turned away. "I'm sure you'll think of something, Agent Simmons. You're very resourceful."

Possibly not resourceful enough to deal with someone who loathes being laid up, is almost a head taller than her, and is considerably stronger. Coulson's trust in her seems misplaced at this very moment. Jemma briefly imagines herself being dragged down the hallway by Bobbi as she futilely hangs onto the agent's foot (all the while protesting rather politely, of course), and the image brings a slight smile to her face.

Clearing her throat as much to get rid of the amusement as to warn the other woman of her approach (she doubts Bobbi needs it, though), Jemma approaches the bunk and puts down the medical kit.

"Agent Morse?"

"It's a scratch," Bobbi crankily pre-empts without turning around. "I have to leave."

"Agent Coulson doesn't seem to think so," Jemma gently counters. "Just let me take a quick look, and we'll have you good to go in no time. All right?"

"Argh. I should be out there with the team." With a groan Bobbi turns around. There's a crimson smear across her forehead and right eye where she's haphazardly wiped away blood, and it makes her look like an ancient warrior. Exotic, fierce - and very very scary. Jemma manages to control the little wobble that briefly besets her knees, but not so much the intense desire to turn around and just run away.

Stop it, she addresses herself sternly. You're not a child, she's very nice, she's not really the Security Chief of Hydra, you like her very much now … and she knows where to find you anyway.

Leaning forward Jemma lightly grasps that obstinate chin and turns Bobbi's face to look at the injury. "You're still bleeding, Agent Morse."

"Then slap a Band-Aid on it!" Picking up on Jemma's involuntary flinch Bobbi closes her eyes and sighs. "I'm sorry, Jemma. You're just doing your job and I'm being an ass. I know. And it's Bobbi."

Jemma nods in acknowledgement, her eyes still fixed on the bleeding gash. "Well, Bobbi, a Band-Aid isn't going to do it this time. You're looking at a couple of stitches – it's quite deep. What happened?"

"That Kree threw me head first into a wall." Bobbi's top lip curls just a little at the memory.

"Ouch. That would do it." Taking a piece of gauze from the medical kit, Jemma applies pressure to the wound. ""I'm sorry, I know it must hurt." She keeps the gauze pressed down, though, making sure to staunch the blood flow as much as possible before she begins to clean the area as gently as possible.

Bobbi's eyelids flicker for a moment, and then she focuses her gaze on Jemma's face. "You have such pretty eyes."

"Oh." Jemma can feel the heat rising in her face. Nobody would ever call her smooth, but around Agent Bobbi Morse her awkwardness seems worse than usual. Fitz once teasingly said she goes all "fangirl" over Bobbi. He forgets almost every other word … but trust him to remember that one. Biting her bottom lip Jemma meets Bobbi's eyes. "Exactly how hard did you hit your head, Agent Morse?"

"Hard. Very hard." Bobbi isn't looking away. "But I thought your eyes were pretty the first time I saw you. And it's Bobbi."

"Oh," Jemma says again. Curse this silly fangirl crush and its silly vocabulary impediment. "Er. Thank you, Bobbi. You have lovely eyes too." And she does. They're a clear slate grey and they look as if they see a lot more than they should. And when they focus on her like that…

Sternly willing her hand not to shake, Jemma lifts the gauze to take another look. "We could probably get away with a couple of butterfly plasters if you take it easy for a …" Pausing, she looks down at Bobbi and cocks an eyebrow. "Never mind. Stitches it is. Ready?"

"Sure." Bobbi's lips twitch as she closes her eyes.

Jemma sprays local anaesthetic on the area and then deftly works the stitches into the skin, taking care to be as precise as possible. It wouldn't do to mar this face.

Beyond a small flinch here and there, Bobbi remains quiet for the duration of the process.

"You're not asleep, are you, Bobbi?" Jemma skilfully ties off the last stitch and takes another look at her handiwork.

"Nope."

"Good, because you know that's a bad idea with a concussion."

Bobbi lazily peers up at Jemma. "All that sweet talk … and you were really just checking my pupils. Why Agent Simmons, you're a sneaky one."

She knows she's probably as red as a tomato now, but she's not about to let Bobbi Morse get away with that smirk. "But I thought your eyes were lovely the first time I saw you, so it's irrelevant."

"Hah. Touché." Bobbi half-grins.

Fighting the sudden – and very alarming – urge to touch the indentation at the corner of Bobbi's full mouth, Jemma rechecks the stitches instead. "I think this should leave minimal scarring. I hope."

"It won't be the first one." Bobbi's eyes flutter against the gentle touch. "But I'm sure it's perfect."

Jemma's fingers trail off the wound, towards Bobbi's temple. "You must have one hell of a headache." Anything to keep touching that soft skin.

Get yourself together, Jemma. You bloody idiot.

"Yeah." Catching the flicker that crosses Jemma's face, Bobbi frowns – or tries to – and quickly clarifies. "Hey, I would've been fine to go with the team. I've had a headache before."

"I'm sure you have." Jemma's fingers keep tracing a light circle on Bobbi's temple.

"Don't agree with me in that tone of voice, Simmons." Bobbi's eyes flutter shut again. "And if you keep doing that then I'll definitely go to sleep."

Okay, Jemma, stop it. You can't keep petting her. It's so weird. Pulling her hand away Jemma awkwardly pats Bobbi's shoulder. "It's fine. I'll come and check on you in an hour." Her hand lingers there just a moment too long, and she tries to cover her awkwardness. Awkwardly. "Bobbi, you don't have any other scrapes … or things … that you haven't mentioned? Just to be sure. Because you don't tend to share this information readily. You know."

Bobbi chuckles. "You're very cute, Jemma."

Well, that doesn't help at all. I think I'm going to burst a blood vessel.

Clearly she isn't just imagining the red flush spreading over her skin again, because those clear eyes track her face for a moment before Bobbi continues. "I'm sorry, that was unprofessional." She doesn't sound sorry in the least, though. In fact, her mouth is twitching into a somewhat suspect grin. "Let's blame that one on my headache." Bobbi shifts just a little on the bunk, almost as if to test herself. "Yeah. I think I might have cracked some ribs when I bounced off the table."

"You what?" Jemma nearly splutters, amazed to get any feedback at all.

Bobbi's lip curls. "I'm going to kick that Kree's ass so hard the next time I see him."

"I don't doubt that for a moment." Jemma is already unzipping Bobbi's uniform. "Which side?"

"Right."

Sliding her hand over Bobbi's ribcage under the tight material Jemma gently probes the area, eliciting a wince from the other woman. "Sorry. I don't feel any breaks, but just take it easy for a bit, and no …" She pauses and then shrugs. "Well, I'm sure you've had this before too."

"Yeah. Want to check the left side as well, while you're there?"

Frowning, Jemma shifts her arm to slide her hand to Bobbi's left side. Such soft skin. She looks for any signs of pain on Bobbi's face as she gently explores the area, but neither feels nor notes anything out of the ordinary. In fact, there's a slight twist to Bobbi's mouth that she can't quite read.

"I can't feel anything here, Bobbi. Is something hurting?"

"Nope. Just thought it would be safer to be sure." And then Bobbi is grinning, a big old smirk that's quite impossible not to read.

"You ... scoundrel!" Jemma isn't sure she'll ever be a normal colour again. Snatching her hand out of the warm berth – a little reluctantly, admittedly – she zips up the uniform and glares down at the other woman. "I liked you much better when you were serious and scary."

"Hmm. No playful and sexy for Agent Simmons. Only serious and scary." Covering her mouth for a yawn Bobbi cocks an eyebrow. "Noted. Mind if I start tomorrow?"

"You're incorrigible, Bobbi." Stern voice. Good. Well done. Now stop grinning like a lunatic. Rising from the side of the berth, Jemma tries her best for a severe look. And fails miserably. "How hard did you hit your head again?"

Bobbi's mouth twitches. "Irrelevant. Again."

Stern. Severe. Damn it. "Just … get some sleep. I'll be back in an hour."

"I can't wait."

Jemma is almost through the door when Bobbi's voice rises behind her. "Oh, and Jemma?"

She turns back. "Yes, Bobbi?"

Bobbi is coiled on her uninjured side, one hand tucked under her head like a child, her expression impish. "Call me Agent Morse. I like the way it sounds in your mouth."

Jemma can't actually contain the little giggle that escapes from her mouth, nor the rush of pleasure that floods her when the sound elicits a smirk from Bobbi. Clamping her lips together she shoots Bobbi a recriminating look as she leaves.

"Incorrigible. Go to sleep!" She's already outside the door when she adds "Agent Morse".

There's a chuckle from inside.

Shaking her head, Jemma sets her watch alarm for an hour and rushes back to the lab. Lots of things to do.

And appointments to keep.