Project 43: Healing

It would go well

Her leg was bleeding. Luckily, the thin car door was able to somewhat lower the velocity of the bullet, which had lodged itself into Yelena's left calf. The blood-stained bullet lay on the ground next to their parked car, thrown there after Elias had quickly ripped it out. Yelena, with a belt tied tightly above her wound, sat in the trunk as Elias methodically dealt with her wound. The two assassins had switched cars just outside of Casablanca and driven inland into a small village, hoping to hide there long enough to tend to their wounds.

"Son of a bitch," Yelena cursed as Elias poured the contents of a slightly lightened bottle of vodka over her wound. The second he was done with the bottle, Yelena ripped it out of his hand and downed the final sips as if it were water.

"Don't bring my mother into this," Elias muttered under his breath as he turned around to grab a clean rag. It had, once again, taken him a few moments to understand that not everybody can heal from gunshots.

It wasn't the first time Elias had to clean a wound, but it had been years. He remembered cleaning wounds in the back of moving cars as they sped through Afghan villages, Antonio screaming profanities, and Bilguun's silent glee as he was finally allowed to drive like the madman he was. 

Elias wasn't sure why he felt responsible for cleaning a stranger's wounds. She had put herself in that situation by messing with the Red Room. She had followed them to him and put herself at risk. Still, he couldn't help but feel guilty about anyone getting caught in the seemingly endless crossfire between him and Hydra. For just a moment, Elias had almost forgotten what facing Hydra felt like. He had been too preoccupied with the taskforce to keep an eye out for his former masters.

"How long until they catch up?" Yelena asked as Elias wrapped the sewn-up wound.

"Hours, if I'm lucky," Elias answered truthfully. The taskforce was always slow. They had to search every way out, move within the limits of local and international law. Hydra, on the other hand, did whatever they had to. Hydra knew what Elias would do, what they had designed him to do. They knew where to look and wouldn't let anything or anyone get in their way.

"By now, they are waiting at every train station, port, and airport while they search through these towns," Elias continued, almost thinking out loud while he gathered all the supplies back into his bag and started wiping blood off the car and ground. He tried to figure out a way out ot Morocco that didn't involve swimming across the Mediterranean Sea. Crossing the border to Algeria was dangerous, illegal, and probably also monitored by Hydra.

"I have a ride tonight, outside of Marrakesh," Yelena said, examining her neatly bandaged leg. "I mean, you don't have to come, but I'm not looking forward to driving with this foot."

Elias stared into her eyes for a moment, frozen on his feet, trying to figure out what she wanted. She had no reason to help him. She didn't have to run or hide.

"Why did you follow me in the marketplace?" Elias asked, searching through Yelena's green eyes for a clue of any kind. "You could have just run."

"Why did you help me fight the widow?" 

Her eyes were open, sincere; there was nothing hidden behind them. She was an open book when she didn't have to be.

"How long is the drive?"

"I didn't believe Natasha when she told me how fast you heal," Yelena stated, staring into the already closed bullet hole in Elias' shoulder. "It's cool."

Elias let out a puff of air from his nose in amusement. He had never been able to view his healing as 'cool'.

"It does come in handy more often than I'd like," Elias said with a tight smile, keeping his eyes on the twisting road ahead. They had been driving for almost two hours on a basically empty road in the middle of nowhere, with only the occasional bush or building speeding past them. Elias wouldn't drive as fast as Yelena had, but he wasn't the most careful driver either.