"Oh, hey," she sputtered, almost choking on the water she had been drinking as she felt your arms coil around her waist, pulling her away from the fridge and forcing her to face you. "It's late, y'know. You shouldn't be up."

Bobbi was right — you shouldn't have been up, not at such an hour. Neither of you should have been. However, she failed to realise how crashing through your window after a hectic S.H.I.E.L.D mission would alert you. Again. She hadn't really been aware of how often her antics drew you in: equally oblivious to the glass shards scattered across your floor, the gashes they had left on her skin. Though, when you eventually gestured for her to sit, the vexation clear in your gaze, Bobbi got the hint, sheepishly obeying with a meek "sorry".