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As Phil brought the GPS unit closer to his face, shielding it from the snow so that he could check they were still walking in the right direction, he started mentally composing his strongly worded letter of complaint to the SHIELD weather department. It would cross-reference the guidelines stating that operations requiring aerial evacuation must be never be scheduled during major storms, with specific reference to clause 7b and its relevance to frozen northern wildernesses.
There would be a paragraph detailing why "Stay with the HYDRA base you blew up, the fires will keep you warm" was not a helpful suggestion.
He would include the three separate reports they had received that showed clear weather for at least the next three days. Reports that were obviously flawed, judging by their current situation.
And the conclusion would be a bitingly precise description of the three hour trek through the massive blizzard to a SHIELD safe cabin that base camp was only fifty per cent certain still existed.
Phil would also be taking the time to write a brief letter of commendation to R&D for their new Arctic survival kit design. He didn't like to be seen as a man who could only complain.
According to the GPS, they should be almost on top of the cabin now but with visibility down to barely five feet and night coming in fast that meant nothing. The rope around Phil's waist suddenly tugged so hard he nearly fell.
Strong arms caught him before he could do more than stagger and when Phil looked up, Clint gave him an apologetic shrug and pointed. Phil followed his gaze and over to their left he could just make out what might be a dark mass against the grey sky.
Phil nodded and they set out towards it, the rope joining them slack now that they were holding each other up as they walked against the wind.
They found the cabin and, after a short search, the door to it so that they could tumble inside and shut out the storm. Phil pulled a flashlight out of his jacket pocket and switched it on, carefully setting it upright on the floor so the bright beam could provide some illumination.
"Sir, I never thought I'd say this," Clint said after a minute, "but I think I want the giant space whales back. At least in New York, I don't get my face frozen off."
"It wasn't that bad, Barton," Phil protested.
It was difficult to tell with the thick gloves, but Phil suspected that Clint flipped him off.
"How long did base camp say the storm will last?" Clint asked.
"Six hours."
They listened to the wind howling and battering at the cabin.
"Sir, I don't think we can trust their weather forecasts," Clint said seriously.
Phil sighed quietly and pushed his hood back. "Trust me, that will be a highlight of my report on this operation."
Clint chuckled and pulled his hood away to reveal a ridiculous orange and blue hat with a massive purple bobble on top. A faint flush crept up his face when Phil raised an eyebrow.
"Natasha," Clint said, as though that explained anything. "Bruce taught her bobble-making."
"I thought she had better colour sense than that," Phil said.
"Only when she isn't pissed at you, sir," Clint said firmly. "Never. Ask."
"My lips are sealed."
Clint looked like he was about to say something, he tried a couple of times, and then he shook his head. Phil told himself that it was a relief because he really didn't know what to do about all the flirting. He was starting to reluctantly admit that Clint wasn't acting this way with everyone, it was deliberately targeted, and Phil was torn between flirting right back and stopping it before anything more could happen.
The frightening thing was that half the time he lost the battle to resist before he could make a conscious decision about what he would do.
There was an awkward silence for a moment and then Clint shrugged out of his backpack and started unknotting the rope from his waist. Phil did the same, looking around the cabin at the same time. It was just a single tiny room and 'sparse' would be a generous description of the furnishings. The most prominent feature was a large fireplace with a stack of wood next to it. Phil hoped the wood was still dry. One corner held a rickety metal table and a couple of chairs and the rest of the room was filled by a bed that couldn't decide whether it was a twin or a double. Blankets and sheets were stacked on the bare mattress and Clint began deftly making up the bed as soon as he was free from the rope.
"Barton, what are you doing?" Phil asked.
Clint shrugged. "Might as well be comfy while we wait for evac. Can you get a fire started, sir? It's fucking freezing in here."
Phil rummaged through his pack for the matches and then moved to the fireplace. "You expect us to share that bed?"
"Unless you want the floor, boss. I'll be keeping the blankets, though, so it won't be comfortable down there." Clint smirked. "It'll be a tight fit together, but at least we'll be warm."
Maybe the hope that Clint wasn't going to flirt had been a bit premature.
Phil rolled his eyes and carefully fed small pieces of wood to his fire. By the time he had a respectable blaze going, enough to begin warming the air around it at least, Clint had tucked all the blankets and sheets on the bed and pushed it closer to the fire place. Clint stripped off his heavy jacket and boots and slid under the covers, shifting across to leave a generous space next to him.
He held up a corner of the blanket with an expression of such total innocence that Phil couldn't hold back a smile. Clint Barton never looked innocent unless he was up to something.
"Care to join me, sir?" Clint said without even cracking a grin
"Do I really have a choice?" Phil asked as he took off his jacket and hung it near the fire.
"Sure you do," Clint said, "but like I said, I'm keeping all the blankets and I'd worry about frostbite on your ass if you sat on one of those metal chairs. It's a very nice ass, sir, can't have that damaged."
Phil froze midway through untying his boots and looked up at Clint, who offered him an unrepentant leer.
"Barton," Phil said and stopped, tried again. "Barton."
"Get your boots off and get into bed. Sir." Clint held up the blankets again and shook them. "I'm fucking freezing and you can write me up on a disciplinary when we get back if you want."
Phil had kicked his boots off and started to climb into bed before his brain caught up and reminded him that this was a very bad idea.
Terrible.
Potentially disastrous.
He lay down on his back and pulled the blankets up his chin anyway. A moment later Phil felt Clint shift and wrap an arm around his waist.
"Comfortable?" Phil asked mildly.
"Not yet," Clint said.
There was more movement and Phil tried very hard not to enjoy having Clint's body pressed against his, Clint's leg heavy across his thighs. Well, maybe he didn't try that hard. It did feel very good, after all, and Phil could find a dozen good operational reasons for why this arrangement made sense.
"Your feet are cold," Phil said, feeling that he should at least make a token protest for appearance's sake.
"I'm wearing socks."
"They're still cold."
"They'll warm up. I'm borrowing your body heat."
Phil turned his head on the pillow and Clint was right there, so close Phil could see the flecks of green in his blue eyes.
"Did I give you permission to do that?" Phil asked.
Clint's half-smile was oddly shy. "You haven't exactly fought me off. Sir."
It was the unexpected bashfulness that undid Phil. And also the fact that Clint was right. Phil hadn't fought him off or really protested for weeks now. He should have done, but he hadn't. Phil looked at Clint for a quiet moment and sighed.
"Go to sleep, Barton," he said.
"Yes sir."
Resting his arm along Clint's where it lay across his waist and wrapping his hand just above Clint's elbow was definitely a stupid plan, but Phil did it anyway and slipped into exhausted sleep almost immediately.
***
Phil's nose was cold. That was what woke him up, a cold nose. It was the only part of him that was uncomfortable because Clint was now wrapped around him like a limpet and between shared body heat and their layers of blankets, Phil was toasty warm.
Except for his nose.
The fire had gone out and the air was chilly again. There was only one window high on a wall and it let in just enough light for Phil to realise that they had slept for hours.
He tried to free a hand from the tangle of blankets and Clint's limbs so that he could warm his nose with his fingers, but the movement woke Clint. There was a quiet snuffly yawn from somewhere near Phil's shoulder and then he felt Clint's icy nose against his neck. Phil couldn't help his reaction: he started and tried to push Clint away because a surprise icicle against the neck was deeply unpleasant.
Clint reluctantly shifted so that his head was back on the pillow next to Phil's but he didn't release his hold on Phil's waist or move his leg. The ridiculous bobble hat was crooked, the bobble now sagging against Clint's ear, and there was a sleepy grin on his face.
"Your nose is freezing," Phil said.
Clint narrowed his eyes and before Phil could object or say anything sensible, Clint shifted forward to rub their noses together.
"So is yours," Clint said as he settled back on the pillow.
Phil just stared at him because that was definitely one step beyond flirting.
His heart was thudding wildly and he reminded himself that closing the tiny distance to kiss Clint wasn't just a bad plan, it would be his worst one yet.
"Sir," Clint said slowly. "I might be out of line, fuck knows I usually am, but would you-"
He broke off, frowning. Phil listened intently but all he could hear was a faint sound that could be engines.
Engines. And no storm.
"Storm's stopped," Clint said, confirming what Phil was thinking. "And can you hear-"
A cold blast of air filled the cabin as the door was thrown open, letting in pale wintry light and a thick drift of snow that had built up overnight.
"We're here to save you!" Thor boomed.
"Heard you needed a lift," Stark said, his voice sounding metallic through the Iron Man suit speakers. "You look pretty cosy, though."
"Sorry, sir, I couldn't stop them. They heard what happened and insisted," Natasha said. "I've got the Quinjet waiting outside."
Phil waved to the team, ignoring Clint's irritated groan, and calmly said, "Thanks for rescuing us."
For the sake of his continued sanity, Phil tried not to hear the things that Clint muttered as they untangled themselves and put their boots and jackets on.