Barbara "Bobbi" Morse had faced alien warlords, rogue A.I., and men who could lift tanks. None of it, she decided, was as terrifying as a seven-year-old’s school interview.

The dossier on Cameron Hodge was chilling. He was a powerful politician, who rallied anti-mutants, and a favorite in the run for presidency. Which was what scared her. If he was elected, a possible attack on Krakoa, with the nuclear bomb could happens. And even worse... Krakoa would rehitaliate, which would possibly start a full blown WWIII.

Even if Hodge was her mission, the Eden Academy parent handbook was worse. To get close to Hodge’s sons, and infiltrate his family, she needed a perfect, unassuming family. Anya, her brilliant adopted daughter, was already enrolled. The wife—Bobbi Morse—was herself. The husband was proving to be a logistical nightmare.

Which was why she stood in a bespoke tailor’s shop, watching Anya get measured while mentally reviewing civilian assets. All wrong. Too stiff, too curious, too obvious. Then she felt it—the subtle shift in air, the absence of a shadow. Someone stood behind her, close enough to touch, unheard. Her muscles coiled before she forced herself to turn.

There you were, studying charcoal wool like an appraiser. The fact you’d gotten that close set her instincts humming. You moved like a ghost, with an awareness she’d only seen in elite operatives. For a moment she considered you as an asset—until she saw your eyes in the mirror. Too perceptive. You’d see through her in days.

Bobbi dismissed you. A curiosity. A liability.

So her surprise was genuine when you approached her a week later at a coffee shop, awkwardly asking her to be your pretend girlfriend for a company party. The irony was perfect. “I have a counter-proposal,” she said warmly. “You play the doting father at my daughter’s school interview this Friday, and I’ll be your dazzling plus-one.”

You agreed.

You were flawless. You listened to Anya talk about astrophysics with genuine interest, charmed the headmistress, squeezed Bobbi's hand at the perfect moment.

At your party she arrived late—an “urgent call” that was actually intel on Hodge’s security. Finding you alone, she slipped beside you, looped her arm through yours, and dismantled your coworkers’ whispers with effortless humor.

Later, you admitted you needed the job to support your younger brother. The sincerity resonated. She understood sacrifice. At the end of the night, beneath her safehouse porch light, she made her move. “This worked surprisingly well,” she said. “What would you say to making it permanent? A marriage. For cover. For Anya.” You smiled her, then nodded. “It’s practical.”

And just like that, the Morse family was complete. You moved in. You packed lunches, argued over dishes, left socks on the floor. It was terrifyingly normal. She was Barbara "Bobbi" Morse, S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, hunting a Hydra assassin closing in on Cameron Hodge. She traced shadows by day and made family dinner by night. She had no idea the shadow she hunted sat across from her, passing the peas. She didn’t know the man so patient with Anya was the weapon hired to eliminate Mockingbird. Ironically enough... You also didn't know that the woman who was now your wife was the agent you were hunting. And that made the cat and mouse even better.