Chapter 1
Snow was covering the ground. The temperature was farbelow zero and continued to drop. By nightfall, it would probably be fatal tospend the night out in the open. Nothing like a Russian winter!
Clint made a frustrated sound between clenched teethwhile pressing even harder against the wound in an effort to minimize thebleeding. His mind was racing both with what had happened and what he needed todo.
First, deal with the bleeding. Second, avoid detection,and finally; find shelter. Those three would become his primary objectives,everything else would have to wait.
He used his free hand to pat over the pockets on hisjacket, the one he'd stolen from a guard, and felt a flicker of relief when heencountered the familiar lump of a field bandage.
About damn time he'd have something other than badluck!
Clint pulled out the small package and wasted no timein applying it.
It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do, especiallynow as he heard people shouting nearby. Hydra was starting to re-group andwould soon be looking for the ones responsible for blowing up their secretunderground base.
He glanced down at his first-aid work, trying to ignoreall the blood staining the snow, and steeled himself for the pain that wouldcome when he moved.
His body was more than a little battered and bruised.
Leaning forward, Hawkeye gently slid his armsunderneath the limp body and lifted her up as he struggled to his feet. Herblood had already soaked his clothes and her face was dangerously pale.
"Don't you die on me, Nat," Clint said."Don't you goddamn dare."
He hoisted her closer to his chest, scanned theirsurroundings, chose a direction and started walking into the wilderness.
4 Months ago
After the New York Incident, that's what they calledit, he was different. Natasha didn't push, didn't intrude on his pain, butstalked him silently as a second shadow.
To the others, Clint Barton seemed back to normal, butshe knew better.
She knew him.
To her it was too obvious, the sleepless nights andself-doubt he suffered. How he tended every funeral. The loss of Coulson, whosename they never spoke out loud anymore.
Clint was struggling and she didn't know what to do orthe right words to say.
She was never any good at this.
So she hovered nearby and hoped he knew. He had alwaysbeen able to read her.
But time passed and he never said a single word aboutit; about Loki and the thoughts that troubled him, and too soon every-day-lifekicked in and she was ordered out on missions.
Just because they had thwarted the plans of oneunearthly terrorist didn't mean the local ones packed up their game as well.
Natasha felt uneasy about leaving Clint when he feltthis... wrong, but orders were orders.
The mission went without a hitch. She wasn't gonelonger than two weeks before she was back at SHIELD HQ.
Not even pausing to dispose of her traveling bag, theBlack Widow headed straight for the training room and felt a strange sense ofrelief to find him there.
Clint still had dark smudges from sleep deprivationunder his eyes, but his aim was as flawless as ever.
He greeted her and welcomed her back in a voice thatwould have sounded cheerful to anyone but her.

The army boots he'd stolen along with the jacket weretoo small and would probably have made his feet hurt if he still had anysensation in them.
His torn track pants weren't exactly made for the coldeither.
It was even getting hard to breathe. Drawing the coldair into his lungs sent sharp jabs of pain through him.
Luckily Natasha had come dressed for the notoriousRussian weather, but her blood-loss was draining her of heat as fast as Clint'slack of winter clothing.
Something brushed by his cheek and Hawkeye glanced up.
Snow.
It was starting to snow and by the look of the heavygrey skies it was going to keep snowing for quite a while. His tracks would behidden underneath the white blanket, but...
Clenching his jaw hard to keep his teeth fromclattering, Clint trudged on.
If he didn't find shelter soon, he'd have to dig a snowcave if they were to have the tiniest hope of surviving the night and a naggingvoice at the back of his head wondered if he would have the strength.
An agonizingly long while later, he stumbled andclutched Natasha protectively closer as he crashed to his knees in the deepsnow.
Closing his eyes briefly, Clint ordered himself to getup.
His body wouldn't obey.
He was so tired... So very tired... And so cold...
Despair began clawing at the edges of his mind, but togive in was giving up, so he slowly opened his eyes and tried to get up again.
Finally movement. He managed to get one leg forward,balanced their combined weight on it, and pushed himself up. Clint swayed andnearly fell again. Pure stubbornness kept him on his feet and as if rewardinghim for his effort, his keen eyesight caught sight of 'something' ahead.Something barely visible in the increasingly thicker snow-fall.
His heart started to pound but his legs found newstrength. Clint began fighting his way through the snow drifts, towards the'something', and breathed a laugh when he found himself standing in front of asmall cabin half-hidden under the snow.
The door resisted his first attempt at opening it,balancing Natasha in his arms didn't make it easier either, but eventually afirm bump with his shoulder made it open and Clint could finally step insidefrom what was now turning into a blizzard.
A quick scan of the room revealed that it had probablybeen abandoned for some time, but was in surprisingly good shape. It was dusty,but with little clutter, a small living room with a fireplace combined with akitchen nook in one end and a small bed in the other.
He gently lowered Natasha onto the bed, ignoring thepainful jolts shooting up his arms after being locked in the same position forwhat was probably hours, and brushed away a lock of red hair from her paleface.
"Nat?"
No reaction. He didn't really expect one either, but hehad to try.
He covered Natasha with the blankets lying on the chairnext to the bed, started up the fireplace with wood which had luckily been leftto dry inside the cabin, checked the contents of the two cabinets in thekitchen nook and placed his few weapons next to the door and the small windowby the tiny kitchen table.
Tossing a few more logs onto the fire, now a decentblaze, Clint returned to Natasha. He lifted the blankets and dared to take apeek at the bandage covering the gunshot wound. There had been no exit wound soit meant the bullet was still in there, but he wasn't too sure he could riskdigging around for it.
If the bullet had struck her collar bone, it might haveshattered.

Who knew what kind of injuries the bullet had caused…
So far the bandage had limited the bleeding by actinglike a tourniquet, in addition to how the cold had slowed down her heart andconsequently her blood-flow as well.
He was just worried about 'how' cold she was.
Preventing her from bleeding to death was a moot pointif he allowed her to freeze to death.
Clint picked up the hand closest to him, removed theglove, and began massaging her cold limb. Slowly working his way up her arm, hestopped by the shoulder and switched to her other hand. After that had receivedthe same treatment, Clint moved on the removing her boots and doing the same toher feet, calves, up to her thighs, staying mindful of all her other injuries.
By the time he was done, the room was warming up and hewas starting to recognize his own body's complaints.
Still, he made sure to throw more logs on the fire,adjusted the weapons and checked that the door and window were securely shut,before he slid under the blankets and pulled Natasha close against himself.
Just a few minutes, Clint told himself as his eyesdrifted shut. Just a few minutes...