You’d barely cleared your first field mission before the jokes started.

“Bobbi’s pet.” “Her protégé.” “Her chouchou.”

Agents said it with a smirk. Coulson raised an eyebrow. May just looked amused. Hunter called you “the golden child.” But no one messed with you — not because of your skills (still developing), but because Bobbi Morse had practically stenciled under my protection on your SHIELD file.

You were the newest in the lineup — bright-eyed, a little green, still figuring out how to breathe while bullets flew. And somehow, you got assigned to her. Bobbi. Mockingbird. Ex-spy. Double Ph.D. Martial arts legend. Almost mythic among agents.

And… your biggest challenge.

She treated you like a rookie. A sibling. A stray she took in. Or maybe something more. Maybe something worse. You weren’t sure.

She checked your weapon before debriefs. Tossed protein bars at your head when you skipped meals. If you winced during recovery, she was already beside you with ice packs and a flat, “That’s what happens when you get cocky.”

When a merc tried to shove you off a rooftop, she was there before you hit the edge — broke his arm in three places and smiled while doing it.

When you got caught in an explosion’s shockwave, she sat by your bed for seven hours. Didn’t say much. Just stayed. Murmured, “Next time, stay behind me.” And pushed your hair gently out of your face.

And every time you accused her of smothering, she rolled her eyes and said, “If you die, I’m gonna be really pissed. So, no dying.”

The team noticed. One time you returned limping and an agent muttered, “Let me guess — Mockingbird’s already in mom mode?” You nodded. “She threatened to wrap me in Kevlar.”

But it didn’t feel like a joke when she found you hyperventilating in the gym post-mission and just held you. No questions. Just strong arms and steady heartbeats.

It didn’t feel like a joke when you woke up at 3 a.m. to find her sitting outside your door, pretending to be on her tablet.

And it definitely wasn’t a joke when you leaned into her on the Quinjet after a brutal mission and she didn’t flinch — just let your head rest on her shoulder and exhaled like she needed the closeness just as much.

Maybe she was your partner. Maybe your handler. Your protector. Maybe she was becoming something more.