Budapest

Clint - Unfinished Business

CLINT

Pain. Throbbing, pulsing, blazing, in his head, wrapped around his ribs, surging through his lungs with every breath. Slowly, Clint opened his eyes. Stars winked above him in the inky dark sky as a high-pitched ringing screamed in his ears relentlessly. He rolled over, carefully propping himself on his elbows and gritting his teeth against the fresh burn that swept through his entire body.

How long had he been out? He twisted around as best he could to find the van. God, it seemed so far away. But he had to check on Bobbi and Coulson, make sure they were okay, make sure...make sure Romanoff didn't....finish them off.

He started crawling towards the van, his legs too shaky to support his weight, his head pounding too hard to risk standing up. Shards of glass and bits of gravel bit into his palms and left a trail of bloody handprints behind him on the pavement.

By the time he reached the van, his arms were trembling from the exertion. The side door was open, granting immediate access to Coulson first. Clint let out a breath of relief when he found a slow but steady pulse fluttering beneath his fingers against Coulson's neck.

Darkness began to creep in at the edges of Clint's vision and his breathing was growing ragged and shallow but he fought his way to Bobbi's side, pulling himself along the ground using his forearms. He reached into the window and took her hand, his thumb pressed against the inside of her wrist, his lips silently muttering, please, please, please, over and over.

There. Faint, but there. A heartbeat.

"Oh god, thank you," he said, letting his breath out on a small sob. He tightened his hold on Bobbi's hand as he tilted his head back against the ground and felt himself falling into unconsciousness. "It's okay, Bobbi. You're going to be okay. Just hang in there...a little...while longer..."

***

When Clint opened his eyes again, blinding white light greeted him. He winced and squeezed his eyes shut again. That damn ringing in his ears was still going on and it was driving him crazy. He groaned and pressed his hands over his ears...

The previous events began to come together in his mind again, piece by fuzzy piece. His eyes flew open and he struggled to sit up.

"Bobbi," he wheezed.

A fresh blaze of pain, sharper this time, seared through his ribcage. He gasped and eased himself back against the bed again, fighting to take a breath through his clenched teeth.

"Easy, tiger."

The words were muffled, as if they filtered to Clint through a cloud of thick cotton. Carefully, Clint turned his head to find Nick Fury standing at the window, his back facing the room.

"Where am I?" Clint rasped.

"A hospital in Sweden."

Clint grimaced and rubbed at his aching head. "But...Russia..."

"You got your ass kicked back there," Fury said as he turned around and pulled up a chair next to Clint's bed. "Cracked and broken ribs. A concussion that's had you out cold for the past forty-eight hours. Some internal bleeding too. But thanks to your quick thinking, I've still got all my agents."

"Where's Bobbi?" Clint asked. "Is she okay? I want to see her."

"She's fine."

But Clint was already stripping away the IV lines, heedless of the pinch of the needles in his skin. He pushed himself up off the bed to stand and stumbled as sheets tangled around his ankles. He yanked free and propelled himself into the hallway through sheer momentum and willpower. Fury sighed and followed after him.