The Call

No one spoke much on the Quinjet flight back to the Playground. There was nothing much to say. They'd lost six good agents less than three hours ago in Belgium, as evidenced by the grimmer-than-usual line of Agent May's mouth and the angry look in her eyes as she flew. The low hum of the jet filled the silence between Bobbi and Hunter, who was belted into the seat across from her. She'd told him to stay, if he wanted—and it looked like he'd made his choice. If she turned her head quickly, she could catch his dark brown eyes staring at her before they darted away as soon as he realized she was looking. It seemed as if nothing had changed between them, and yet something had—she felt as if she were teetering on the edge of a precipice, dangerously close to falling, but at the same time wondering if there might be something better at the bottom of that pit. They hadn't snarked at each other once during this trip back...a record, for them, she thought dully. Then again, it wasn't appropriate in the wake of the agents lost. Once the unofficial mourning period passed—which was bound to happen soon, as none of them had really known the agents who died—she would bet that everything would be back to normal, twisted as their version might be.

Some days it was hard to believe that things had once been different. That they ever could have owned that little white beach house in California, could ever have filled it with little mementos of their missions as-unofficial-partners. Could ever have had those lazy Saturday mornings curled up side by side. Could have had zero doubts on their wedding day that together was exactly how they were going to spend the rest of their lives.

How wrong they'd been. The fighting started small—he was a bit of a slob, she got home from a mission later than expected and kept him waiting. Then it moved onto bigger things—her S.H.I.E.L.D. secrets that she couldn't divulge, even to him; his propensity to show up on her missions and compromise the operation with his presence; the lectures that she, one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s best agents, would get on a regular basis from her commanding officer because of it—and even the small spats spiraled into the bigger things, until it was all one big ball of resentment and anger and love and frustration and make-up sex. They were toxic for each other, and one day they both realized it.

A set of divorce papers later, they went their separate ways, the house sold, the mementos divvied up between the two of them. In the silence of her cold, empty apartment in DC, she'd learned that they didn't hold as much value as they had when sitting next to his, when they were shared. The happy memories had become tainted, poisoned by an overabundance of history.

"No chance you all stock alcohol in the back of this thing?" Hunter interrupted, looking around. Apparently the grace period was over.

"You're still on mission, Hunter," Bobbi answered shortly. "If you're sticking around, you're going to have to learn some of the protocols."

"So I'll take that as a no, then," he sighed. "What happened to the days when you used to keep a stash under the seat of that S.H.I.E.L.D. van you worked out of?"

"That was yours, as I recall," Bobbi said. "And when ops discovered it, I had to go through three separate psych evals and a lecture from Vic before command would let me back out there. Did I ever thank you for that?"

"Repeatedly," Hunter growled, rubbing his right arm. "You're a terror with those staves, Bob, but you still throw a mean punch."

"Don't do anything to deserve it, and I won't hit you," Bobbi told him, lips quirking upwards slightly. This she recognized. The banter, the pull back and forth. The undercurrent of tension between them—tension since the start of the fights, tension since the divorce, tension since she'd unexpectedly returned to the team from working undercover at Hydra. The tension that could snap at any moment and launch them into a huge shouting match with things thrown and tables overturned, with an outpouring of pent up emotions and hurtful words—one that would end like all the others: either in icy silence or up against the wall. This was the Lance Hunter she knew.

The other guy, the one who opted to stay with S.H.I.E.L.D., the one who seemed capable of making commitments, the one who'd held her after she found out Izzy had died—that was the Hunter who was dangerous. Dangerous because he could pull her in again. Dangerous because despite the name-calling and the bad-mouthing she'd received in her absence, she knew he was still in love with her. Dangerous because he could make her forget exactly why they always self-destructed in the end.

There was no time to say anything else as the Quinjet began its steep descent—steeper than Bobbi would have done, but she trusted May's flying without reservation. When the Quinjet finally touched down in the garage, the back door opened and the two of them unstrapped their seat belts. She grabbed the pack at her feet and reached for the batons at her back. Two accounted for.

At the front of the Quinjet, May was meticulously going through her post-flight check, a strategy Bobbi knew well—a few extra minutes to compose yourself before having to give a difficult report to your superior, even if that superior was her old friend. Bobbi respected her ritual and pulled Hunter off the plane by the sleeve before he could do anything stupid like pester her, stepping off the ramp to find Mack and Coulson waiting for them.

"May'll be out in a moment," she informed the director. "Simmons should take a look at Hunter's ankle."

"I told you I'm fine!" her ex-husband immediately protested.

"And I saw your limp," Bobbi accused.

"Did not."

"Hunter." She affixed him with a flat stare.

"The lab, now," Coulson told him, ending the argument before it could really begin. Flashing her a dirty look Hunter took off, being sure to distribute his weight on both feet equally just to spite her. Jackass.

"You all right?" Mack said, stepping forward. "They figured out the safehouses in Bruges was a trap, but it was too late, you were already landing. I was worried."

"About me?" she forced a grin. "You shouldn't have."

"Glad you're safe, though," the friendly giant uttered, spreading his arms.

Right as she was about to hug Mack her cell phone rang, vibrating her back pocket. She shot him an apologetic look before pulling it out, gazing curiously at the unknown number on the screen. Perhaps it was someone back at Hydra who hadn't got the she's-a-traitor memo yet? No, she hadn't given her real number to any of those maniacs; she'd had a burner phone for that. She swiped across the screen to answer it, bringing it up to her ear. "Morse."

"Barbara Morse?" said the woman on the other end of the line.

"Yes, this is she," Bobbi answered with a slight frown.

"Hi, I'm Delilah from the Mirwood Adoption Agency. I'm sorry to call so late, but...it's about your daughter."

Then Bobbi's entire world crashed around her ears.

This story idea actually came from a request from red lighting. I posted the first chapter today to see if there was any interest in a story like this, as one hadn't been created yet but I really loved the premise. If there is a lot of interest I will definitely continue it, probably with short but frequent updates. If not, then I'll keep it on the back burner until I have more time to devote to it and start it up again probably in summer. I personally love this idea and really want to write it, so I hope you all like it just as much as I do. Please let me know!