AN I don't own Marvel/Avengers or any of their characters! Also I haven't updated a lot because I just started college.. I'm sorry but still please be nice to me! Short Clintasha oneshot

Everyone knew he had a soft spot for her. It was common knowledge, not even worth gossiping about, and everyone in the entire agency made little faces at each other whenever he got slightly more gentle or tender towards her than usual. Sometimes, it was taking care of her after something went wrong because he was the only one she would let do it. Other times, it was their little banter over the coms on jobs that other agents listened in on. It was common knowledge.

But no one really expected her to have a soft spot for him. Realistically, they knew that was how it was supposed to work but she never acted like it. She returned his banter with a little more bite than he did and she took care of him after fights, not pausing or hesitating when the rubbing alcohol made him hiss. He had a soft spot, but she had nothing but ice in her veins That was common knowledge too.

Until Sibakhan. Fourteen miles east of the Ukraine-Russian border, in the dead of winter, she dragged his body through the snow as tears and blood froze on her face. His skin was hot to the touch. She was on her hands and knees, a rope around her waist tied in a loop under his arms, crawling and tunneling beneath the snow. Above them, she could hear men yelling and cursing as rounds were shot off randomly into the snow. She hadn't tunneled like this since her training, but it came back to her like riding a bike. Punch through the top layer of iced over snow. Dig as much as possible out of the hole before getting into it. Claw at the walls of snow. Her hands were bright red, turning blue in places, and had gone way past numb over five minutes ago. But beneath that top layer of snow, they were hidden. So she tunneled and she dragged him, trying to keep the snow from sticking to either of them too much, and she didn't stop until she couldn't hear their voices or their footsteps. Carefully, she punched a passage up through the top layer again.

They were on the other side of a field, near a large patch of trees. She didn't see any of the men but the compound was still alive with activity so she rushed to pull him out of the hole and dragged them both into the cover of the trees. They needed to get warm. The incisions all over his body were starting to bleed again and it was going to get infected if she didn't do something. She just had to get far enough to call for her extraction.

She trudged through the trees, wincing when the shallower layer of snow ground dirt into his skin. Just far enough to call for help. Her feet, despite being in her below freezing rated boots, were starting to go numb and her hands were so stiff she could barely move her fingers. He was still semi-conscious on the ground. Just far enough.

She radioed in as soon as they emerged from the patch of trees and collapsed onto the snow beside him. Two minutes thirty seven seconds to go. She pulled him up and into her so that his head was against her chest and she could hug him to her. Two minutes thirty seven seconds.

"We're almost in the clear, Clint, just hang on. I've got you but you gotta stay with me, okay?"

Two minutes thirty seven seconds. She counted the seconds in her head but time felt like it was barely moving. The snow was so cold. She was Russian and she'd trained in conditions like this but it was still so cold. His fever had turned into a chill and he was ice cold in her arms. Two minutes thirty seven seconds.

When she heard the distinct thrum of a chopper, she breathed a sigh of relief. They were so close, she could feel the wind from the chopper's blades on her face even as they sat there. She was in no position to drag them anymore after having sat down but she didn't really care. Shield would have made her move. The Red Room would have made her move. But old friends? Old friends got out of the chopper and dragged her and Clint into the main cabin.

Someone put an electric blanket around her shoulders, even when she wouldn't let go of Clint. They placed another one over him and slammed the door, yelling for the pilot to go. When they left the ground, Natasha finally felt like she could breathe again. The men in the cabin were nameless and faceless to her but they worked for an old friend. They quizzed her about medical history and wound conditions and exposure times while they worked, patching him up and trying to stabilize her as they flew through the air. She just mumbled responses and held him against her.

Shield would have made her get up. Shield were the ones who sent Clint out into that hellhole alone anyways. Shield would have forced them apart in the helicopter and handcuffed her to something until they got the full report. Shield were the ones who'd left Clint there. Shield didn't negotiate, and Shield didn't do rescue ops for agents, only civilians. But Natasha wasn't Shield, and she was going to move heaven and earth to make sure her partner was okay.

The men recited stats and information to her in Russian but she didn't really hear them, let alone understand any of it. Slowly, the feeling came back to parts of her body and she became more aware of the man in her lap, breathing faintly against her stomach and groaning whenever the men aggravated an injury. She tangled a hand in his hair and began to smooth it. He was okay. They were going to be okay.

"I told you I'd get us out" she mumbled, in English, at the body in her arms. He just groaned again and nuzzled against her stomach but she smiled, because he was coming back to himself. He was okay.

The chopper dropped them in a remote field where ambulances were already waiting for them. Clint was strapped to a gurney, she held his hand and didn't untie the rope still holding them together. She didn't want to untie it. They rode without lights or sirens past all of the hospitals and up a long, winding drive to the entrance of an estate. Had it always been this lavish? She couldn't remember.

Inside the main house, they were wheeled/escorted to the fourth floor to one of the corner rooms where a large double bed and a mini, mobile hospital were already set up. Clint was placed in the hospital bed, and wired to the monitors. They were close enough that she sat on the edge of her bed, the double bed, and watched as doctors and nurses-all privately hired-rushed in and out. Somehow, he got put into a hospital gown. Stitches were redone, wounds were repatched, and every inch of his body was cleaned and sterilized to the max. They set up an IV. A nurse came over and gave Natasha one too, saying it wasn't optional. Slowly, the attention shifted off of Clint and onto her. They pushed her onto the bed and started treating her injuries, though they were significantly less life threatening. She got loose, baggy pajamas instead of a hospital gown.

The room stilled, even as it went in and out of focus, and the doctors all paused when another figure walked in. Tall, with dark red hair and electric blue eyes. A confidence in their step that screamed of confidence and money.

"Tasha, you came home!" The voice was happy, excited, and Natasha knew it from somewhere but she was too out of it. The doctors and nurses directed her to lay a certain way and eat certain things, but she didn't really notice to be honest. She kept looking at the rope around her waist. They'd left it intact. It was still attached to Clint, resting against his hospital gown and rising with his every breath. She grabbed it with one hand and tugged slightly, just enough to assure herself that he was still there. With her hand still gripping the rope, she let herself drift off into unconsciousness.

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