1963-12-19 - Director's Orders
Summary: Bobbi gets yelled at by Peggy. Things go about as well as can be expected
Related: Bobbi Logs
Theme Song: None
bobbi peggy 

Bobbi sat at her desk, though she'd been told in no uncertain terms to /rest/ repeatedly by doctors, nurses and more than a few other agents. She sat. Stubbornly typing away at the type writer, clicking away at the keys. Even if it earned a wince from her pounding head ache, doubtlessly due to the light concussion she'd suffered, every time it reached the end and dinged.

Crutches sat in easy reach beside her, and more than a few healing cuts and scrapes dotted her person. Still, she was up, awake, dressed mostly in uniform. A skirt was easier to wear given her cast, even if it was damn cold. A few other agents had signed it, and a few lewd drawings had made its way onto the plaster in colorful ways.

A glass of water sat beside her at least, as did a bottle of drugs from the hospital.


It took a bit of time, but Peggy finally got the full report about what happened with Bucky, Bobbi, and the hospital report. She also got the notice that Bobbi just WALKED OUT of the hospital. So, someone must have called her on some other job, or perhaps she went to the hospital first and found out. Either way, Peggy is coming from outside, in her long winter coat that conceals the direct bump of her belly so she just looks FAT under it. She doesn't care. She doesn't bother taking it off. She just marches straight over to the woman's desk.

"Don't make me put you on leave, because I will. I will take your badge right now, Agent, if you keep working like this." Peggy states flatly, staring down at her with eyes which are a mix angry, a touch worried, disappointed, and frustrated all around.


Bobbi paused in her typing as soon as the door opened and revealed Peggy, "Coulson cleared me to work. Skye called it in for my release from the hospital. I have a broken leg, Director, my hands work just fine. I can /type/ up my own report on my own. There might be something that I remember that could be worth it and might help bring down that ghost. It might help save lives. So, put me on leave. I'm getting this report done myself."

A tightness in her lips followed and Bobbi sighed, reaching up to rub her aching temples. "Besides, I'm almost finished."


The older woman looks down across her good agent. One of her best, really. One who probably almost died in that fight, from the rumors she's heard. Peggy frowns even deeper, "You should still be in hospital. ANd it's more than your leg. Your head is hurting too. From the look in your eyes, I might even say you are concussed. I can't believe they let you out." Peggy huffs. She really isn't looking convinced that Bobbi should be in the office, even as one hand rests at her non-existent waist, just above hip. The stance is challenging Bobbi to convince her she's wrong.


"A mild concussion and a few cracked ribs.." She muttered under her breath, averting her gaze as she eyed the report mostly typed in front of her. She pursed her lips, "I stayed over night there for observation. Not much a hospital can do but keep me on painkiller via an IV. It's not like there's much they can do beyond what they have."

A shrug follows that and blue eyes lift up to Peggy. "They told me to go home, I did. Now I'm here. I'll go back when I'm done with my report. But I'm /not/ sitting there in bed and letting my mind slip from me on painkillers when there might be information that could be useful to the investigation to find this guy. I took a calculated risk going after him and I stand by that choice. I know I got lucky…"


The director still doesn't look thrilled, but she ceases staring Bobbi down. Instead, she reaches to the buttons of her coat, beginning to quickly undo them as her body realizes just how HOT it is inside with the coat on. She's dying. So, the coat is removed and tossed across an empty desk. There were strangely more of those these days, even if Peggy insists everything is quite alright. Ignore those quitting. Things are fine.

"…You do not have to return to the hospital if you don't wish. But you are off duty. You will finish that report and take the rest of the week, at LEAST, until you are fully healed. You are lucky you're not dead and I'm not putting you on duty while your slow and injured. He WILL kill you this time. What if he attacks here?"


Bobbi levelled a dry stare upwards at Peggy as she watched the woman toss the coat off and onto an empty desk. "Alright, I won't argue that.." She murmured, "Though I /am/ taking home reports to read. I can at least do some research.." She grumbled, before her gaze softened and her arms settled back against the armrests of her chair.

"Director.. I know I'm lucky.. but there were lives at risk and I wasn't willing to let him go without trying. And if he attacks here? What if he tries to attack me at my apartment to finish the job? There's no point in playing with 'what ifs'. At least here there are other agents that might stand up against him.."


"…Yes. But…did he actually attack you on the street, or did you simply try to intercept him? I do not think he wants you dead. He does want people in this building," Namely herself, "Dead." Peggy has been working on rumors so far, considering the official report is still on Bobbi's type writer right there, so she doesn't have all the details. The director also doesn't seem to be willing to stand down about this matter yet.


A grimace at that, "I tried to tail him. I had little intent to engage before it became a problem." She heaved a sigh, sitting back in her chair with a faint wince as her ribs protested the sigh. Who knew cracked ribs could hurt /that/ badly?

"I could also get killed by any number of other things out there, Director. The point is, I took this job knowing the risks. I'm not going anywhere. The threat of death just 'cause I'm crippled now isn't going to chase me away from typing up a lousy report." She gestured to the type writer in disgust.

"Maybe just give me a sore wrist."


"Well fine, if death doesn't scare you away, then I will. I mean it. Go. Home. Finish this report, take your research, but go home. Rest. Take some drugs, actually pass out and sleep for a while. You're one of the last few, truly good, experience people I have left. You, Phil, May. That's it." Sousa, her husband, is still long gone. It seems that's not repairing. Others have disappeared. Peggy is clinging to this with practically bloodied fingernails right now.


Bobbi raised her hands up and fought back the urge to heave another pained sigh, "Alright, alright. I cave Director. I'll go home after my report and take drugs 'till I pass out. I swear." She arched her eyebrows upwards as she gestured to the typewriter before her.

"You've got more people that will grow in time to fill in the gaps, you know. Just give 'em some time. Skye cares about you and is a damn good shot, Agent Siggy is way too good at hitting things to not be useful, and those scientists that you've got downstairs are brilliant. You'll get new people to replace the old. It happens with everything, Director." She flashed Peggy a smile and she shrugged.

"Sides bones heal. I'll be on my feet soon enough."


"Don't tell me it happens with everything, Bobbi. I damn well know how the world works, you needn't treat me like a child." Peggy snaps that, almost, definitely colder words than she almost ever uses with Bobbi. Perhaps she really is that crazy cranky these days. Or maybe her worry for her friend and agent is making her even more cranky. Or maybe it's something else. Peggy takes in a short breath, shoulders squaring off.

"…Anyway. I'm going into my office. If you aren't out of here in 30 minutes, I will order you gone." Peggy grumbles, then turns on the ball of her foot and does disappear back into her office, half slamming the door behind her.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License