"Agent Coulson? Are you there?"
"Here, Captain."
"Are you hurt?"
"Nothing serious. You?"
"Nothing that won't heal."
"Hold on, let me get my…"
He hears a series of cracks before Phil's face is suddenly illuminated before him. He's got a glow stick in hand and Steve can see the small trickle of blood snaking out from underneath the brim if his hat. Reaching out, he pushes the hat up and out of the way, inspecting the gash along the agent's brow for himself.
"It's not serious," Phil says, swatting his hands away.
"Well, I had to check for myself anyway," Steve says before turning to look at the mouth of the cave. He frowns when Phil waves the light in that direction. "Looks like we're packed in pretty tight."
"Seems that way," Phil agrees.
They'd been lucky to find the small cavern when the avalanche had struck. He assumes their pursuers were not quite so lucky. But now they're trapped with no way out behind a thick wall of snow and ice. Steve judges the snow in front of him. Maybe he could use his shield to dig them out? But that risks the chance of a cave-in. He thrusts his shield into the snow experimentally and feels Phil grip his arm when there's a warning rumble from overhead. He pulls his shield out with a frown.
"I guess we're staying put," he notes.
"S.H.I.E.L.D. should have picked up on our distress signal," Phil assures him. "At most we'll be here overnight."
Steve makes an unhappy noise at that.
"We'll be fine," Phil says. "So long as we stay put and stay together."
He slings the pack from his shoulders and takes a knee as he rummages through it for something. Steve paces impatiently; he's never taken sitting and waiting to be rescued very well. He can be patient when he needs to be, it's just that this isn't one of those times where he wants to be. There's nothing either of them can do at the moment and he knows it, but it doesn't make having to wait sit any easier with him. He'd rather be doing something about it, but the problem is that there's nothing he can do. So they'll wait.
"Are you through pacing or do you think you're going to go for wearing a track into the snow?" Phil asks him.
Steve arches an eyebrow. "It's better than sitting still."
"Not especially."
"…I know, I just don't like sitting still."
"Get over here already."
As he sits beside the agent, he sees what Phil had been rummaging for: a space blanket. Ah. So that's how it is. He's no idiot; he'd had to set up enough two-man bivouacs during his time in the army to know they'll do better to stay put and preserve body heat until help arrives and they're dug out. With a shake of his head, he works with Phil to maneuver themselves so that they're lying on their sides, their heads pillowed on Phil's knapsack and the space blanket tucked around them. Phil's back is to his chest and he wraps his arms around the shorter man's waist, keeping them pressed close together.
"You still have the chip?" Steve asks, though he already knows the answer.
"Safe and sound," Phil answers. There's a heartbeat of silence before he speaks again. "How're you holding up?"
"I'm not going to curl into the fetal position every time it snows, Phil," Steve snorts.
"I never said you would. I asked for a status report, Captain Rogers," Phil responds evenly.
It's a soft reprimand, but a reprimand all the same. When they're on the job, they're Captain Rogers and Agent Coulson. They take professionalism in the workplace very seriously which means, namely, that for all intents and purposes, from the moment they clock in to the moment they clock out their relationship doesn't exist. When they're home, when they're alone and their duty has been done and all the t's have been crossed and the i's dotted, then they can be Steve and Phil. But until then, they can't afford to cross that line.
Fraternization within S.H.I.E.L.D. is actually not really frowned upon, unless you happen to be on the same team. There's all sorts of risk involved, including being compromised because your lover is in danger. In any other instance, Phil would have been transferred. Thankfully, they'd been able to avoid that through a meeting which had lasted several hours. Nick Fury is many things, but an idiot is not one of them. They'd assured the Director that their personal relationship would in no way impact their professional one and they've held to that promise. For the most part. Sometimes, when one of them is injured or in danger, maintaining that professional distance becomes difficult.
Now is one of those times.
"I'm fine, Phil. You don't have to worry," Steve says, his gloved hand patting the agent's stomach. He'll be damned if they spend the whole night as Captain America and Agent Coulson. "I'm better now."
He feels a sliver of tension ease from the other man's body at that. So Phil really had been worried. Steve shifts marginally closer, amazed at how warm it's gotten already beneath the blanket.
"How is it that it's below freezing outside and you're still hotter than a wood stove?" he asks, sporting a faint grin that Phil can't see but can in all likelihood hear.
"I don't hear you complaining," Phil says.
"Why would I complain about my own personal, living, breathing hot water bottle?" Steve asks with a chuckle, levering himself up just enough to press a kiss to the agent's jawline.
Phil is still for a moment before rolling back just enough to be able to look over his shoulder and into Steve's eyes. Steve's being given that hard, appraising look that's usually reserved for Peter Parker and Crew these days. The one where he thinks someone's up to something.
"…this isn't the part where you suggest sex to stay warm, is it?" Phil asks, his tone flat.
"I'm appalled that you would reduce me to such a cliché," Steve answers, feigning insult.
"Cliché for most people is your definition of old-fashioned and romantic," Phil reminds him.
"And sex in a bivouac is neither of those," Steve says.
"In the right light, you know, the 'we're-probably-going-to-die-here' light, it can be."
"Now who's being cliché?"
"Just following your lead, Captain."
"Funny, I seem to recall you starting this."
"The flirting originated from your end, I assure you."
"Hardly. You know I would never be as unprofessional as to flirt during a mission, Agent Coulson."
"Berlin."
"Doesn't count and you know it."
"Copenhagen."
"I did that to maintain your cover."
"You did that because you were jealous."
"If you're bringing jealousy to the table, need I remind you of Okinawa?"
"I thought I was fairly professional."
"You were burning holes in the back of Tony's skull."
"Fair enough."
He feels Phil's gloved hands rubbing at his own, generating heat through friction. It's a gesture the agent typically uses to comfort him; after a hard mission, when he's being hard on himself, when he's angry or frustrated. Steve likes the warmth of Phil's clever hands and how the agent seems to know just how to wind him down. He knows that's what Phil's doing now, because the shorter man knows that Steve is keyed up, thrumming with adrenaline, biting at the bit to finish the mission. But they can't do that snowed in, so that energy just eats at him instead.
But that warmth makes him drowsy, calms him down. He's still frustrated by being trapped, but it's eased somewhat by the cozy atmosphere they've created in making the best of a bad situation.
"Getting warmer?" Phil asks.
"Absolutely," Steve answers.
He reaches up and tugs Phil's collar down, just enough to kiss his neck, the spot just below the agent's ear that he knows the man loves (and hates). A little self-satisfied grin tugs at his lips when he feels Phil squirm against him. But no, that will have to wait until after they're home and have been debriefed. The mission comes first, so he settles for heaving a slow sigh and prodding Phil into a word game to pass the time.
When their rescue arrives early the next morning, Steve has to admit that spending a night snowed into a cave was just as bad as he thought it would be, but that spending a night curled around Phil definitely made it easier.
