1963-12-21 - What More Could a Girl Want?
Summary: Agent Mockingbird gets her groove back.
Related: N/A
Theme Song: None
bobbi wanda 

Bobbi has arrived.


Bobbi sighed as she heaved herself into a chair in the waiting room. Crutches at her side as she scowled down at the cast on her lower left leg. How utterly mundane and boring, and /frustrating/ it was to be hobbled! She could be at work. She could be doing research. She could be doing a stake out! It's not like those things took any sort of physical action.

But no.

Director Carter had made it clear that if she returned to work as she was, that she'd pull her badge. She got it, really, the blonde understood that Peggy was worried about her. But enough was a enough.

Blue eyes scanned the waiting room and fell on a set of several month old magazines beside her. A groan peeled from her lips as she fidgeted with nervous energy followed by a grimace. Bruised ribs didn't particularly feel so good when sighing. Neither did they feel so good when she slouched, so sitting upright was a must.

Unlike her usual wear, she was forced to wear a skirt because it was too much of a hassle to get in and out of pants when in a cast. She hated it, frowning down at her /one/ black skirt that ran over her knees.

"It's too damn cold for this shit.." She muttered.


Basically everyone and their dog at SHIELD knows the Maximoff twins are… odd. Extracted from Europe and what have they done for the country? No one seems to have an answer on that, but apparently nothing terribly visible. After that meeting disclosing the prison on Governors Island, the more visible of the two — Wanda — has not been hot to trot around work or anything like that.

Which begs the question why she is here. She still gets her dispatches as a junior agent. She still occasionally has work to do.

Tramping through a hospital is not high on the list of things I'd like to do today. The frosty weather hurries her along, and she keeps a low profile, ignoring anyone who peers her way. They're in scrubs? She ignores them. They look like lost family? She ignores them. Death's own angel? Ignored. Somewhere about is a room she's supposed to check in on, and she cuts down one hallway into another, searching for the person rather than the supposed instructions.


A nurse in scrubs calls Bobbi up and to the back, and the blonde agent growls in irritation as she heaves herself back upwards and into her crutches. She had a feeling the Doctor was going to lecture her again on staying off her feet and resting. Some nonsense about concussions and ribs and rest. She was sure that would come sooner rather than later after she'd admitted that she hadn't ben following the Doctor's nor the Director's orders overly much.

Still, she hobbled along with the aid of those utterly uncomfortable crutches, wincing as she bumped her lower foot with the cast against a table leg. Would it /kill/ people to push in their fucking chairs?

The nurse started to lead her to the back, but paused in front of her for some reason. Blue eyes narrowed as the woman halted to talk to /someone/.

"Look, can I sit down or something?" She raised her voice, irritation flickering over her features.


Call it chance and a prayer. A chance of hearing a certain woman's name called, a prayer of knowing where the heck that is. Wanda turns on her heel and walks back through the busy corridor, poking her head into the waiting room as she looks around the corner. The deal with spy craft is playing it cool and not drawing attention, which she can do pretty well. Hands come out of the pockets of her dull leather jacket, and she slips over to gather one of the magazines. Flipping through the pages of an ancient Ladies' Home Journal or something equally banal holds the look of a person waiting on someone else, a doctor or worse. Easy to ignore curious looks or the nurses this way, especially as she puts her heels on the ground and loses herself.

For a bit, anyways, until others stop looking her way, and give the Transian sorceress a chance to survey her whereabouts. Half the people automatically get discarded as targets, the remainder filtered through rapidly. That leaves two possible candidates, and one of them is kvetching at the nurse, the other seated in a hard plastic chair holding her wrist carefully in its brace.

She drops the magazine and hops up, headed over. "Miss? Miss, I'm not trying to mock you but you dropped something." She points to an earring on the floor. Where'd that come from? Has it been there all along? Possibly. "I can help you. Get it?" There's a tiny pause in there, barely perceptible.


Bobbi turns around as the nurse in front of her mutters something about waiting just a moment. It would seem someone puked in the hallway up ahead. Bobbi grumbled, shifting on her good foot and adjusting her crutches so she could lean against the wall instead. Her gaze turning back at the voice and she furrows her brow in curiosity.

"Hey, you're—" She frowned faintly, struggling to remember the woman's name. Saying that one agent from the meeting, wouldn't likely go well in public. "Don't I know you?" She cocked her head to the side, blonde curls bouncing over her shoulders.


Wanda stoops to pick up the earring, holding it out in her hand after a moment. "We work together." Her accent doesn't slide so heavily towards the Slavic side of affairs, a genuine effort made to normalize it for ears used to hearing more familiar American tones. "The boss said you were hurt." A glance over indicates this is probably affirmed, unless the crutches are for show. "I was around."

She then glances at the earring and extends her hand.


A blink, and Bobbi reached for the earring with a shrug. It was an awkward reach, one hand balancing her crutches as she shifted her weight to her one good leg. "Ah, that was it. I knew you look familiar. And yeah. Let me guess, the boss said that I wasn't to come in and if you saw me to report me to her, I'm guessing? Or something along those lines? She said she'd take my badge next time she caught me in." She grinned, a flash of teeth as she spoke.

"Still tempted to do it anyways. Can't be that many people in on Christmas."


A shrug is given, about as non-committal as a girl can get while under the scrutiny of hospital staff and their affiliates. She hands over the earring and says, "They check for identity papers and cards. Every time." No sneaking in or out, unless one happens to possess strange gifts like hers, and at that point, there's no reason /to/ worry because if she shows up with bad intent, ID checks won't do a lick of good.

"I do not talk to her. But you cannot work on those." Statement or question, it doesn't matter. She nods at the crutch.


Bobbi shifts, and glances at her crutches as she pocketed the earring. "Yeah, no. Not even regulated to desk work. Coulson was willing to let me, but the Director made it quite clear that I'm not allowed in at all." She grumbled and frowned faintly.

"Course I get all of this for actually trying to do my job, but what the hell, at least we have good insurance." She arched a brow, shrugging as she leaned against the wall. The nurse was still trying to direct hall traffic around the spillage further away.

"Coulson suggested I talk with Fitz or Liv and see if they had anything for helping me get along, as it were. But given that I've been regulated to off duty, I really can't." A pause and Bobbi arched a brow as she considered Wanda. "What are you doing 'round here anyways?"


An eye roll is practically begging to be drawn upon the young woman's face. Her fingers drill into her temples just short of her typical headband, a stretch of madder and ruby-red threads woven into a deliberately ornate weave. "Too many rules. Too much in the way to do this or not do this. Why does anyone stand this?" Hers is the plaintive statement of teenagers and twenty-somethings everywhere, who have yet to see how the world is connected together.

"They may do good work here. Why do you need to work so much? Is this not… holiday? Some time to heal?" asks Wanda, tipping her forehead away from her fingertips.


Bobbi grumbled something that sounded vaguely like a swear under her breath, shooting Wanda a dry look. Clearly, if she wasn't using her crutches to hold herself upright, she'd have crossed her arms. "I hate bed rest, I hate staying still. There's a reason I took this job rather than just becoming a professor of biology. There are lives at stake here. I'd do anything to get this effin' cast off and get back doing my job." She muttered.

A purse of her lips followed and blue eyes lifted toward the ceiling above. "It's boring."


"Are there? Is this person so very bad?" Don't think of it as needling, Wanda really is asking genuine questions. She scowls at the nurse who looks their way for a moment, and that woman decides to bustle on another track rather than put up with an interruption to a quiet conversation and likely have someone in a bad mood start something, or a snit. "No one said anything. Only it's a problem. Hurt you personally or this come from something else?" Maybe she fell down the stairs, and then Bobbi had to cover it up with a bogeyman story.


Bobbi glanced around the area, leaning forward as she grimaced faintly. "It's part of my mission, directly from the Director." Her voice dropped low, "The guy that tried to kill her, twice, is the man I ran into. I tried to tail him back to his place, and got caught. He's apparently going after the Egyptian ambassador. Look up the mission files for the Winter Soldier.." She whispered, blue eyes darting around and back warily.

"He's a bit of a ghost story, been killing people for years for the Russians. It's all tied up with the Captain. We've got orders for nonlethal capture if possible.."


ROLL: Wanda +rolls 1d100 for a result of: 34


Wanda barely registers a nod for this, and gestures to the hallway just outside the waiting area. "Come this way. Bathroom, it won't take me very long. You will need to ask to go. Or say to the doctor you will leave. I can't tell you with everyone listening. I don't exist to these people."

The wordless little shrug follows, and she starts for the hallway at a slow pace. It isn't far.


That gained a raised eyebrow and Bobbi waited just a beat before tracking down the nurse that was supposed to be checking her into the room for the Doctor. She made her excuses and then was back to hobbling down the hall toward the bathroom. A grumble and a curse followed as she bumped along and nearly crashed into a mother chasing her little kid. A scowl pulled at her lips. She was /never/ have children.

Still, she made it to where Wanda had indicated. "Alright, so?" She arched a brow, exhaling carefully to keep from upsetting her ribs.


It's easy to hear a person on crutches: listen for the telltale squeak. It pops and sucks across the ground, an excellent warning as any. Wanda is already there, holding open the door, and she rolls inside. They might have to wait a few minutes for one last old woman to hurry her ass up, but once she shuffles out the door, the brunette finally leans against it to keep anyone from coming inside.

"I can fix you. But you need to hide that you are better. They will not believe you are fixed, and they will ask questions. Director is certain to be angry if this becomes a problem," she points out, and then runs her fingers through her dark hair. "Is this okay? You can act hurt?"


A blink and Bobbi stared, well more gaped at Wanda. "Wait you can put me back together? Hell yes, do it." Then a pause, "Uhm.. what about shit like X-rays? Cause I'm pretty sure that the Doctors will want to run another one on me in a few weeks to see how this thing is healing.

A beat, "Eh, whatever, I'll forge some shit. I want to get this cast off already." She snarled down at it and then paused for another moment of thought.

"You want me to fake being hurt still in front of the Director?"


"No, the doctors, the others. They will see it is healed." She shrugs her shoulders and then says, "You do not have to be seen. Tell them somewhere else did." Medical records in 1963 are terrible, notoriously. It's possible, assuredly. Then again, this is a girl who apparently thinks she can mend bones in the blink of an eye.

"So you want it gone?" A simple question. Wanda arches an eyebrow.


A shrug, "Yeah I can fake it. I'm a spy, so technically acting is part of the job as anything else." She flashed a grin and tossed her hair back from her features.

"If you can do something to fix this go for it. And yeah, I want it gone. I can take care of the medical records later." She could sneak back into the hospital and replace all manner of things when she could actually walk and not hobble.

"What do you need? How are you gonna do this anyways? Are you a mutant or somethin' else like Agent Siggy? Cause trust me, I don't care either way, I just want to know if you need anything to get this show on the road."


"Siggy?" Whomever that is. Liv? She knows at least that name, and shrugs her shoulders. "Nothing," Wanda replies, letting the question vanish into the aether. Theatrics so often accompany grand gestures, like pulling off the satin drop cloth or brandishing a big needle. Not here. Her thoughts align behind the focused alignment of her expression, the surge of power spindling in her veins leaving a trace around her wrists. Light gathers there in a ring, and then another, rays emerging from the warm glow of the richest sunsets ever witnessed upon the beach. Points of light spread out like a lotus flower opening, each ray a point on the petals, and she flicks her wrist. Fingers outstretched point to Bobbi, and the whole process takes about two seconds, giving her enough time to protest but not to run.

Running is, in a sense, pointless. Reality answers the clarion call of the witch, and atoms start to shift and turn. For Bobbi, it's like being hit by a wave head on, striking her midway up the torso dead center, and probably knocking her back a step or two. But unlike a punch, a wave travels past, momentum cresting and rippling on. And when she goes to step back, if she does, it's on a perfectly normal leg, and when she breathes, with absolutely normal function in her ribcage. Wounds? What wounds? There never were any in the first place.

Not a fracture will show in the bone. Not a bruise on the skin, nor a cut anywhere, nor a scar.


"Holy shit!" Bobbi did in fact stumble back a step, eyes wide as the energy builds and crests over her. When she does in fact stand and stand freely upon /two/ legs her mouth fell open and she gaped.

"Holy shit! That is—" She shifted to put more weight on her foot, finding no pain at all. Crutches are quickly released and the blonde smacks the plaster cast against the tiled floor experimentally.

"Shit! That's amazing! Damn girl," She grinned looking back up to Wanda. "I need to keep you in my pocket on missions next time!" She rolled her shoulders back and tested her ribs next, pressing down against her side and finding it without pain too. Even her concussion, which she had refused to acknowledge, was gone. No more pounding head ache!


The witch leans back against the door, still blocking anyone from trying to come in. Next time, they need an 'out of order' sign. It makes the pun of Bobbi being healed so much better. The brunette looks a bit tired, her shoulders dropped and posture terrible, but nothing too difficult. "Eat more than you do. Lots of water, lots of vegetables and fruit. Your body is hungry. It will be very hungry when it stops thinking it is hurt." The warning is given even as her fingers trail up her neck and down again, pulling her coat collar straight.

"Water and tea. No alcohol." Wanda adds those facts after a thought, and she shrugs her shoulders. "You are fixed. Good."


Bobbi bent to scoop up the crutches once more, figuring she'd hobble herself out of the hospital and out to find a nice saw to break off that damned cast. She felt /amazing/, she wanted to run do a dozen laps, get in a good work out or two. Go to the firing range. Spar a few junior recruits.

She replaced the crutches beneath her arms and offered a nod toward Wanda. "Right, got it. I'll swing by the store and get some food then." Oh the woes of being an agent that kept mostly canned food in her apartment.

A pause was offered as Bobbi glanced over Wanda again. "You okay?"


"Hungry." Pretty simple request, that. "I will go and eat. You go ahead of me. I should not stay too close." Standard craft there, right? Wanda puts her hand in her pocket and opens the door, giving Bobbi time to scoot out without being knocked over.

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