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Bob dragged a wounded Yelena through the rain, with one hand on her waist and the other supporting the arm that was around his shoulder. She was struggling, in pain; there were several fresh cuts on her face, and there was a shallow yet quite agonizing knife wound in the side of her torso.
"We're almost there, Yelena...Just a little bit further," Bob said as they neared the black van parked outside the shabby motel where they had fought their targets.
He gently picked Yelena up with his arms and entered the vehicle through the rear, closing the doors behind him to shut out the sound of the rain.
"Hold on. Let me get the first aid kit," Bob said, seating Yelena by the wall and turning the light on. He rummaged through the big, sturdy crates stacked up in the corner and dug out a black case with a red cross on it.
"It's fine, Bob...I can do it myself," Yelena said in a hoarse voice as Bob crouched down in front of her and opened up the kit.
"I'll do it. You need to rest."
"But my hands are undamaged. I'm perfectly fine—"
"If I can't help you when you're hurt, what's the point of me being here?"
Bob spoke those words so firmly, with his eyes locked onto Yelena's, that she couldn't say anything in return. She obediently sat still as Bob undressed her and disinfected each of her wounds, whispering an apology every time she winced or inhaled sharply through her teeth.
A smile gradually formed on her face, and she said quietly, "...Thank you."
Bob widened his eyes a little. "For what?"
"For staying by my side."
Bob put on a sheepish smile, shifting his gaze downward and scratching his head.
"It's really nothing," he said with a sigh. "I wish I could do more. I wish I had healing powers, or...or I could give you at least half of my strength."
"Mm. Don't know if that would be of much help. My recklessness would never change."
"Maybe. But you'd have a better means of protection. You won't be badly hurt...like now."
Yelena noticed the blue of his eyes darkening, his head drooping even further to a hopeless degree.
"...You're sinking again."
"How can I help it? I hate myself."
"Don't," Yelena said softly, wrapping her arms around Bob's head and holding it close to her chest, even though he hadn't finished bandaging her knife wound. "You're making me sad."
"What am I supposed to do, then?" Bob said with a trembling voice, his distressed eyes glistening with tears. "I can never do anything besides patching up the wounds that have already been made. I can't keep them from being made at all."
He then gently ran his hand over Yelena's skin, the old wounds that remained on her shoulders, her arms, her chest, and her stomach.
"If I were stronger...if I were capable of more than breaking walls or stopping bullets...these scars would never have existed."
Bob sobbed silently in guilt, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists.
"...Bob. Look at me," Yelena said, putting her hand on his chin to pick his head up. "Do I look hurt to you? Does it look like I hate myself? Hate life? No, right?"
She cupped his cheeks with both hands, staring into his eyes lovingly and affectionately.
"That's all because of you. You heal me, every single time. Your existence is what makes me stronger."
She wiped away Bob's tears with her thumb, saying, "Wounds are inevitable on the battlefield, no matter how physically powerful you are. What's more important is having the inner strength to get through it, to keep on moving. You gave me that strength. You...are my purpose."
Bob sniffled and slowly pulled away in order to look directly at his beloved, his only hope.
"That doesn't change any of what I said, though."
"I know. But you'll hate yourself less, won't you?"
"Yeah...I guess you're right," Bob said, smiling at last.
The two exchanged a tender kiss, comforting each other with the warmth of their love, closing the wounds in their hearts little by little.