Howdy hooligans,

So, this is just a short drabble into the amazing actions of one of my favorite characters. This scene literally had me in tears, and I just couldn't shake the emotions of both Bobbi and Hunter. The whole finale was incredible; practically everything a fan could ask for (though I could do without the damn cliffhanger, but that's alright. I'm totally fine. Totally. Fine).

As usual, I don't own anything. These amazing characters are the works of people a thousand times more talented than anything I could hope to achieve.

Italics/brackets are flashback-things (hopefully it's obvious as you read)

Hope you enjoy :)

...

"She doesn't care about her own life," Kara had said, dropping the gun she held loosely to her side. And Bobbi, despite herself, had let out a breath she didn't even know she was holding, because although she had no fear for an abrupt end to the whirlwind that was her life, there was some innate human instinct that wanted to avoid her brains being splattered all over the floor.

But through the haze of pain and shock that had settled over her mind in the past few hours, a wave of apprehension rolled through her. Torture and death she could handle, because that was the life she'd signed up for; that was the very realistic end for a person in this line of work. Her own life meant nothing if her death had significance.

But she had a weakness, and damn it if Kara and Ward knew what that was.

(Her weakness came in the form of a brown-haired, rugged idiot with an accent just as distinctive.)

The skin around her wrist is scraped raw. Her whole body pulses with a fiery pain from her bloody fingertips to her shattered knee, and yet she thrashes in the chair, bucking her body backwards just trying to get some distance towards the gun (knock the base, tip it over, just get the fucking bullet away from the door). She shouts obscene warnings through the filthy gag, because she knows who will come through that door first, just as she knows with a frigid certainty that that will trigger something horrible that she can't control.

("You don't always have to be in control of everything, Bob!"

"Yes, I do."

"Why? 'Cos you're a bloody SHIELD agent and have to save everyone? Let me tell you something, sweetheart, there's gonna be a time when the world throws you a wrench that'll send you to your knees. Maybe I'm just trying to prepare you for that.")

She hears his voice. He's shouting her name, saying he's coming for her, and she wants to scream at him because Hunter always has been such an idiot and walking into a room without assessing the threats is entirely something he'd do. He's blinded by his emotions; it's something she's always condemned him for, claiming that it'll get him killed in horrible, painful ways.

She just never considered that it'd be her fault.

Because it is, this whole damn thing is entirely her fault.

She hears his footsteps pause outside the door, and it feels like her heart falters in her chest. She looks over her shoulder, desperately searching for a way to get to the gun that is just too far away. The scenarios playing in her head already; the door will swing open, triggering the motion sensor, and the bullet will tear itself away from the barrel. She can picture it already; the way his head will fling back as the bullet connects with his skull, the way his eyes- so usually filled with a playful humor- will stare at absolutely nothing, how his body will fall to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. It's a combination of horrors she's seen many times over the course of her career, but never scared her as much as it does now.

The doorknob twists, and jesus fucking no.

She throws her body to the left, and the chains holding down the chair actually help her; allowing her this small movement, but not enough that she'll fall to the ground.

She hears the gun before she feels it.

But then she does feel it.

And she has just enough time to catch a glimpse of Hunter's shocked face, his eyes wide with horror, before her world explodes.

(They're lying with their legs intertwined, her head on his chest as he hums some god-awful country song under his breath, his fingers drumming in time against her bare back.

There's something to be said about moments like this; moments where for just a few hours it doesn't matter that she'll be called out for a new job, and he'll complain like he does every time because she's reckless and guarded and damn well near impossible to reason with.

They're well suited to their rolls by now; it's practically an art form.

Bobbi shifts her hand so it lies directly above his heart, feeling the steady beat thrum beneath her fingertips. If she could stop time right now, she'd be happy. She has the warmth of the only person she relies on beside her and the assurance of his commitment with the whispered lyrics under his breath, and she's happy.

To her, his touch feels like home.)

She's vaguely aware of his hands on hers, untangling her wrists from their cuffs. Her head's bowed, and she tries to lift it, to stare at his face for eternity because she wants so desperately to make sure he's alive and not hurt and not bleeding out because of all the mistakes she's made. But there's a new pain, one that's simultaneously burning and freezing its way through her ravaged body. It's interesting, because even though she knows the pain is one of the worst she's ever felt in her life, it's almost as if her mind has floated away and she can't think or move or react or speak.

And there's so much she wants to say to him.

Like how she's made so many bad decisions in her life, but for once she's sure this isn't one of them. Just like her choice to give away the safe house coordinates to Hydra (the very thing that had apparently led to her bleeding out on cold white tiles), this is a decision she'd make over and over again.

The lives of many mean more than the lives of a few.

And God, his life was worth so much more than her own.

(They're on a collision course, she realised once, early on; both with completely different approaches- hers an insurmountable respect for authority and order, his a blatant disrespect for anything that could be considered settling down. They're bound together, though, in ways neither of them understands. The need she feels for him alarms her, but not more than the idea of Hunter not being in her life does.)

"Stay with me," he begs, his eyes alight with desperation.

Stay with me stay with me stay with me.

He cups her cheeks with his hands, forcing her to keep eye contact even as her sight blackens around the edges and the world swirls in and out of focus.

She wants to see his face, to feel its rough edges under her hands, but she simply doesn't have the strength to do anything anymore. Her shoulder burns and she can't seem to catch her breath. His voice filters through into her brain, and his words are filled with agonized pleading. He's scared, and she thinks that if she was still capable of feeling anything other than pain, maybe she would be too.

("He wears his heart on his sleeve," she tells Mack, "I don't think I can do that.")

It doesn't matter though; his touch still feels like home.

Thanks for reading :) If you want to chat about anything (like Bobbi or Hunter or Skye or Fitzsimmons or Coulson or every damn character in the MCU), feel free to drop me a message. I might need someone to vent to about the season finale.

Thanks a lot!

-F