Chapter Text
Over the next few days they tried to settle into a routine - to pretend that as if any siren, creak of the floorboards, or slam of a door down the hall didn’t send them both into a panic.
They made an appointment at the city clerk's office to get a marriage license. On their way out the door Bobbi noticed a letter sticking out from under the doormat. Inside was a key and a note with the address of a storage unit in Jersey. Their things from SHIELD. She tucked it into the pocket of her coat. They’d go get their stuff later, right now they had a wedding to get to.
“Deep breath. Third time’s a charm.”
The couple sat in the waiting area of the office, their paperwork was filed, and were just waiting to be called back to sign the certificate. While they sat Bobbi’s fingers mindlessly twirled a pen. A measly attempt to keep her mind from wandering too far into the unknowns.
“I don’t know if that statement applies when you’ve married the same guy twice.” She retorted.
“Sure it does.” He said with a gentle smile.
“I’ll be back. I have to pee.” She stood up.
“Don’t go skipping town on me, love. Already tried to pull that on me once.”
She cracked a smile. “For the hundredth time. I was working. My flight out of Johannesburg was delayed. I got there as soon as I could.”
“Whatever you tell yourself...”
“Only the truth.” She quipped as she walked away.
As she used the restroom, she couldn’t help but let her mind drift. The first time they’d gotten married she had this knot in the pit of her stomach. A little whisper of doubt about the relationship. This time there was none of that.
Her long stride bounded down the halls of the Atlanta International Airport. She dogged weary travelers and ignored their fleeting gazes. There was a wedding that she couldn’t miss.
Her flight leaving Johannesburg had been an hour late. Customs had taken far longer than anticipated. She’d already missed her original flight and managed to rebook on the last flight of the day. She was going to miss the rehearsal but would make it in time for dinner.
“This is the final boarding call for United Airlines flight number 205, with nonstop service to Hollywood Burbank Airport. Please make your way to gate 19. The doors to your flight will be closing in 5 minutes.”
sh*t.
Her feet pounded against the worn linoleum as her body kicked into high gear. She’d spent her entire adult life running. Literally and figuratively. She’d run for her life away from bullets and monsters. She’d run from her past. Her relationships. But this was the most important run of her life. If she missed this flight her marriage would be over before it even started.
When the assignment in South Africa came up a few weeks prior, Hunter had begged her not to take it. But she was adamant. She could make it back in time.
She could see it in the distance. Gate 19. The door was still open. The gate agent was about to close it as she barreled into the gate area, frantically reaching into her pocket for her boarding pass.
Ding.
“Have a safe flight Ms. Morse.”
She dropped into her middle seat. Breathless and with a sheen of sweat forming on her brow.
“I’m at Zone B, Iz.” She held her phone against her ear with her shoulder as she craned her neck trying to spot her ride.
“No, I don't know where that is. All I know is that I’m standing under a sign that says Zone B, which I assume is after A.”
A few minutes later none other than Isabelle Hartley and her old beat up Jeep pulled up. The window rolled down. “Heard there was a runaway bride that needed an escape plan,” she said with a smile.
“The opposite actually. Running towards the wedding,” she said, pulling open the passenger door and tossing her bags into the back.
“This airport is confusing.” Izzy said.
Bobbi snickered, “It literally has like five gates. The hanger at the Hub is bigger. I could have forced you to go all the way down to LAX.” She pointed out.
“I’m going to choose to ignore the snark because you’ve been on a plane for twenty hours. Your dress for the rehearsal dinner is in the back seat. There’s a thing of baby wipes if you want to freshen up.”
“Oh, who knew you’d be so prepared,” Bobbi teased.
“It was Vic’s idea.” Izzy admitted with a sheepish smile .
"She is your better, more prepared half."
At a stoplight Bobbi unbuckled and crawled her way to the back to get ready. She quickly freshened up then wriggled her way into the co*cktail dress. “Are the shoes back here?”
Izzy facepalmed, “sh*t. Sorry. I forgot them at the house.”
“Oh it’s fine.” Bobbi shrugged. “I’ll just wear the chucks.” She said, looking down at her beat up high tops that had carried her through the lengthy travel day.
Easier to run in.
She climbed back up to the front seat and began to fix her hair and makeup while they sat in Friday rush hour traffic.
“Vic stood in for you during the rehearsal.”
Bobbi chortled, “Hunter had to pretend to marry Victoria Hand? God. I’d pay money to see that.”
“I took lots of pictures.” Izzy said proudly.
Hunter was waiting in the parking lot of the restaurant.
“I told you I’d be here.” She said looking at her soon to be husband.
“You’re five minutes late, dear.”
"Traffic.” She shrugged, wrapping her arms around his waist.
“Sure. ‘Traffic’.” He said making air quotes with his fingers.
She let out an exasperated sigh, wanting to get into an argument at their rehearsal dinner. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” she muttered.
Bobbi gazed out the window of the bridal suite as her mom finished zipping her gown. The urge to run filled the pit of her stomach. Of course she wanted to marry him, she just saw cracks in their relationship and was afraid the second there was any pressure it would blow up in her face.
Was the wedding just a last ditch attempt to repair things? She truly did love him despite what he sometimes thought. Her thoughts were shattered with a knock on the door. “It’s unlocked.” She called out.
Victoria popped her head in. She was in full agent mode. Earpiece and all. Turns out making sure a wedding runs smoothly has a parallel skillset to running a SHIELD base. “T-15. We need you downstairs at 1630.” she said.
"Copy that," Bobbi said with a nod. “You know if you ever decide this whole spy thing isn’t for you anymore you could make a killing as an event coordinator,” she added, laughing softly.
“Shut up and get ready.” She held up her watch and tapped the face.
“Yeah, got it, Vic. There’s a clock in here.”
“Don’t be late.” She said before closing the door.
“The Mockingbird has landed,” Victoria whispered into her earpiece as Bobbi approached the end of the aisle.
She refused to let someone walk her down it. The entire concept of having a man give her away was archaic and misogynistic.
She was a human being not a chicken.
Yet as she stood her family and friends standing, anticipating her arrival, she wanted to run. She chalked it up to her training - being too afraid to settle down. But sometimes you need to face your fears head on.
She took a deep breath, finally willing herself to take a step forward. The venue was tucked in the hills overlooking downtown. The afternoon sun gave everything a warm glow. A small spread across her face. As she saw her soon to be husband standing there some of the fear melted away. “Hey shorty.” She whispered. In her heels she had a good few inches on him.
“Do you Barbara Morse, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband? To stand beside him in sickness and health?” The officiant asked.
“I d-“
WHACK.
She was drying her hands when a blow to the back of her head snapped Bobbi back to reality. She reached up to figure out what hit her but there was nothing there. Her head snapped around in an attempt to locate her attacker.
“What the f*ck,” she muttered to herself, unsure if what she was seeing was just a concussive hallucination.
Ninjas. There couldn’t possibly be ninjas attacking her.
She blinked a few times trying to clear out the fog of being whacked before her instincts kicked in and she was in fight mode. Another nunchuck whirred past her ear as she ducked out of the way. A cursory glance around her surroundings told her everything she needed to know. Two opponents clad in black, apparently drawing inspiration from Feudal Japan. She dubbed them Leonardo and Michelangelo. She took a deep breath and wiggled her shoulders, trying to loosen up.
Outnumbered and unarmed, this was going to be one hell of a fight.
“Hey gentleman, I’m pretty sure this is the ladies room.” She quipped before launching a kick at Leonardo. Her foot contacted his chest with a satisfying thud. She threw a haymaker towards the side of his head. She glanced back. Michelangelo was closing in behind her.
Never be between two opponents. That was drilled into her head at the academy.
She threw one last kick at Leonardo, sending him crashing through the door of an unoccupied stall before shifting her attention to Michelangelo. A shuriken whizzed past her ear, embedding itself in the mirror. “That’s seven years of bad luck right there, boys,” she taunted.
She threw a side kick at Michelangelo’s gut. He keeled over with a groan.
Back to Leonardo.
An uppercut to the chin gave her enough of a window to get close. She grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him into a stall door. The door came off its hinges falling back against the toilet. Taking Bobbi and Leonardo with it.
Michelangelo grabbed a fist full of her hair. Yanking her off Leonardo and dragging her to a stall.
f*ck.
She was face first in a toilet bowl, eyes squeezed shut as water swirled around her face. Her lungs burned. Screaming for oxygen. Her hands frantically reached behind her, trying to grab anything. Eventually she grabbed knee and yanked forward. His balance was thrown off enough that she was able to lift her head and breathe. Her pulse pounded in her head as she sucked in as much air as her lungs would allow.
She glanced back and sent an elbow towards his crotch nailing him in the balls. He crumbled to his knees. Apparently he was deeply committed to the authenticity of his attire and neglected to wear a cup. Idiot. She popped back to her feet and grabbed a hold of his head. One firm smack against the toilet bowl and he was out.
Once she was out of the stall Leonardo came at her swinging. The nunchuck landed firmly on her jaw. CRACK. Blood splattered across the dingy tile floor. She stumbled back, reeling from the blow.
She stepped back, throwing up her arms to block her face. She carefully observed his attacks. Between each strike she had a window. As he wound up to swing again she moved in, slamming his head against the paper towel dispenser to knock him out.
With both her attackers taken care of she had a moment to take stock. She pulled off their masks and photographed each. Before patting them down for weapons. She tucked the nunchucks into her waistband and pocketed a few shurikens.
She needed to get them out of there.
As she rushed back towards the waiting area the drop ceiling opened and another black clad figure descended.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered, pulling the nunchucks from her waistband and giving them a twirl. They were not batons, but they would suffice.
A katana was drawn and she let out a groan. She spent the next few minutes trying not to get fruit ninjaed, eventually taking out her opponent with a shuriken to the jugular. She escaped with just a cut on her upper arm. Not bad considering the academy hadn’t exactly been training her for Imperial Japan.
“What the hell happened?” Hunter asked upon seeing her.
“There are ninjas trying to kill us. We have to go.”
He was not going to argue.
“Hunter Morse wedding?” The clerk called out to the waiting area.
They were long gone.
