Clint stirred slowly, his own fingers returning the movement vaguely before his brain actually caught up with the sensation of her fingers on his. He blinked his eyes open and lifted his head to look at her.

His fingers squeezed hers back this time, firm but gentle as he straightened up, feeling the beginnings of a crick in his neck. Still, in order to rub at it, he'd have to let go of her hand and that wasn't happening.

"About time," he said, his voice rough with sleep. His eyes moved over her face, trying to gauge how much pain she was in. She still looked ghostly pale, but he could tell that there was a little more color there than there had been before.