I try to get out at least one holidays-themed chapter every year, so here it is. 😊

enjoy.


"Well, this is cozy," Natasha said dryly after her gaze swept across the small hunting cabin they had mercifully spotted after trudging through the worsening winter conditions. While they knew the storm was coming, it had still snuck up on them as the op dragged on longer than planned.

"Yeah," Phil agreed as he allowed his own gaze to sweep across the inside of the cabin, cataloguing its contents. There was a wood stove in the corner across from the door, not far from a small bed and a crate filled with blankets; a few cupboards; a small bookcase with a handful of books dotting the shelves; and two windows opposite one another. Various antlers adorned the walls, which would not have been his first choice for decor, but even he had to admit they were surprisingly tasteful in their arrangement. It was, by all accounts, a cabin outfitted with few things beyond what was strictly necessary, but it got them out of the wind and snow, so he wasn't going to object.

Natasha brushed the snow from her coat and then shook it from her hat. "This isn't one of SHIELD's, is it?" she asked knowingly.

"Nope," he replied as he began to mirror her action of removing snow from his coat and hat.

Phil watched as the corner of her mouth twitched into a brief smirk and her eyes shined with a glint of amusement. "So, we're trespassing?" she said dryly, arching an eyebrow for emphasis.

With an unimpressed look, he tutted, "Might I remind you that we just completed an op that required you to break into no less thanβ€”"

"Alright, alright," Natasha said, holding up her hand and shaking her head. "I just want to make sure we aren't going to get accidentally shot by some hunter whose cabin we've broken into."

Phil ran a finger across a table, finding a thick coating of dust on it. "I think we'll be fine," he remarked and Natasha hummed a non-committal response. "Let's see if we can get a fire going. I'm sure there's an axe here somewhere."

"No need," she said, then pointed behind him. He turned to find a stack of wood piled next to the door and an axe leaning against it. She eyed it appraisingly as though mentally calculating how long it might last them. "Should last for a little while at least," she said after a moment.

Phil peeked out the window, finding that while it wasn't yet a full-blown blizzard, whiteout conditions probably weren't all that far off. A brief image of a dark, cold cabin flashed in his mind. A few more logs definitely wouldn't hurt, he thought. "Maybe we should chop some extra."

Natasha leaned around him to look out the window and grimaced. "You're probably right. We wait much longer and we won't be able to at all. I'll do that while youβ€”"

"No, I canβ€”" he began, but she cut him off swiftly.

"Phil, I know your shoulder is still not fully healed." Her tone was firm and left no room for him to argue, but it also had a thread of kindness wound through it. "Let me do it and you can get a fire started and see about some food."

He frowned but conceded her point with a nod because Natasha was right, as usual; his shoulder still gave him trouble, even months after being cleared by SHIELD's doctors. "Don't stay out there too long," he warned.

"Don't worry," she said with a grin as she slipped her hat and gloves back on, "I'm Russian, this is practically spring for me." Then she grabbed the axe and slipped out the door, letting in a whip of whistling wind and snow before it slammed behind her.

Phil breathed out a heavy sigh, grabbed a few logs from the stack, and crossed the cabin to the wood stove. He opened the door on the front to examine the inside and found it was bare, clearly having been cleaned out the last time the owner had been at the cabin. Opening a nearby container revealed wood shavings, which he noted would help make quick work of starting the fire. Armed with the matchbox and lighter he found in one of the cupboards in the kitchen, he began arranging the wood, kindling, and wood shavings. Soon small flames were licking the edges of the wood, then after a few moments, grew larger and began to engulf the logs. Phil carefully watched the fire, ready to add fuel or adjust the positioning of the wood if needed, but after a couple minutes, it showed no signs of going out, so he turned his attention to the food situation. He recalled he had at least three emergency MREs, water purification tablets, a bottle of Gatorade, and a granola bar in his bag, so they had some stuff to work with. A thorough look through the upper cupboards revealed an unopened tin of tea bags, a tin of instant coffee that was three-quarters full, a dozen or so cans of soup, a few pouches of instant oatmeal, and some granola bars and a KitKat bar he was certain were all several years expired. Not too bad, he thought as he looked over the haul. A search of the lower cupboards revealed several large bottles of water β€” four-litre bottles to be exact, he noted as he leaned in closer β€” which meant staying hydrated would be a hell of a lot easier. Yeah, not too bad at all, he thought.

As Phil stood and walked back toward the stove, he glanced out the window again and spotted Natasha a little ways away, chopping wood. He took a moment to add another log to the fire, then retrieved his hat and gloves β€” which were still somewhat damp, but at least a little warmer β€” and slid them on. Then made his way out of the cabin and over to where Natasha was still chopping wood. Judging by the pile next to her, she had been successful, but he could see she was beginning to tire. Yes, she was likely the fittest agent SHIELD had β€” Clint often complained about being outdone by his partner during workouts β€” but after weeks of the op and their trek through the already deep snow to the cabin, Phil was far from surprised that she was starting to slow down. Weariness had already seeped into his bones, and he had only been on comms for the op, so he couldn't imagine the fatigue she was fighting.

"I think that's probably good," he said once he was within earshot, eyeing the large pile of wood beside her. Definitely enough for at least a week now, he thought.

She looked up, cheeks bright red from the exertion and the sting of the wind, breathing heavily. She looked down at her pile of chopped logs, then the remaining wood to be chopped, and then back to Phil. "Just got a couple more. May as well finish what's here."

He nodded, knowing trying to convince her otherwise was a fool's errand and not worth a fight. "I'll start bringing it over to the porch," he replied instead, and she nodded in understanding.

They worked quietly for another twenty minutes, Natasha continuing to chop the last pieces of wood while he carried the already chopped logs to the porch and stopped periodically to check the fire in the stove was still going strong. Once she finished, she helped him carry the remaining cut logs to the porch, and then they began transferring them into the cabin, stacking them in the empty space on the other side of the door, opposite the existing stack of cut logs.

Finally, nearly an hour later, they closed the door behind them, shrugged off their gloves, hats, coats, and boots, and made their way over to the stove to warm up. He watched as Natasha slid down the wall next to the stove and closed her eyes tiredly.

"You okay?" he asked as he got up to retrieve a couple cans of soup, the can opener, and two enamel mugs from the cupboard.

"Yeah," she answered as she opened her eyes, rubbed her hands together, then flexed her fingers a few times.

"I would have helped you know."

"You did," she pointed out. "Besides, you were right. The snow doesn't look like it's gonna ease up at all, so I think we're gonna be stuck here for a while."

"Yeah, probably," Phil agreed while glancing out the window. He grimaced as the wind suddenly howled fiercely. The snow appeared to have picked up intensity, and he realized they might very well get snowed in at this rate. Natasha had already checked in with the local SHIELD base using the satellite phone earlier that day, but transport wouldn't be able to get to them until the weather cleared. They'd have to wait out the storm. He mustered a smile when her gaze met his. "Good news is there's food here, so we're not stuck eating the MREs," he said.

"Soup for Christmas. Just like old times," Natasha said dryly, spotting the soup cans in his hands.

Phil stared, giving her a disapproving look. He had never been a big fan of her dark humour, and her glib references to her indisputably traumatic childhood were always disconcerting, to say the least.

"C'mon, it was a joke," she cajoled wearily.

"Not a good one."

"You're too tense, Phil," she replied, shaking her head.

It was his turn to use a dry tone this time. "Yes, my objection to you so casually referencing the horrors of the Red Room as the punchline of a joke is totally just because I'm tense. It's not at all because it's possibly inappropriate and ill-advised."

"Well, if nothing else," she began, sweeping a hand toward the window, "at least it'll be a white Christmas." Even if it had been a sidestep from his objection to her comment, he couldn't help himself and let out a laugh. He saw her pump her arm once in victory, then close her eyes again and lean back against the wall.

"So, tomato or or, uh," he said, then paused to check the label of the second can, "chicken soup?"

"Tomato," she decided without opening her eyes.

Phil set about pouring their dinner into the mugs and heating them on the small stove. Natasha stayed quiet, eyes closed as she rested and warmed up. He noticed the red was finally disappearing from her cheeks and evening out to a more healthy colour.

"Here," he said softly a few moments later, holding out a mug to her. "Soup's up."

Her eyes slowly opened as she tipped her head down, away from the wall. "Thanks," she murmured as she took the mug and brought it to her nose, inhaling deeply.

He held up his mug in a toast she mirrored, and they began sipping at their meal. Typically they would chitchat when sharing a meal, but he knew she was exhausted and probably revelling in the quiet more than anything. Truth be told, the quiet β€” aside from the crackling fire and faint whistling of the wind outside β€” was a bit of a relief.

"Thanks for dinner," she said a few moments later after finishing the last of her soup. She flashed an amused smile as she set down her mug next to her.

"You're welcome," Phil replied with a smile, not missing how much less weary she looked now that she'd had a chance to warm up and eat something. "Not half bad for almost no notice. I mean, it's nothing fancy, but I do simple pretty well, I think."

"Definitely not the worst meal I've ever had. Clint and I had to split a bag of peanuts for dinner once."

His brow furrowed as he searched his memory for which mission that particular story stemmed from. "Where was that? Riga?"

"I honestly don't remember," Natasha replied, then frowned suddenly. Phil watched as she got up, grabbed a blanket from the crate next to the bed, and walked to the door. She dropped it onto the ground and then used her feet to shove it into the small crack at the bottom of the door.

Damn. Should've thought of that, Phil groused silently. "Not your first rodeo, huh?" he quipped as she took a seat next to the stove again.

She shook her head. "Not in the least. This cabin is downright luxurious compared to some of the Red Room winter training we did."

He held in a wince. Natasha had come so far since defecting that sometimes it was easy to forget that she lived through hell and somehow made it out the other side intact as a human being who could still love and care. Then she would comment or allude to her experience during those years, and it would remind Phil of her painful history. But in this case, Natasha didn't seem at all uncomfortable with the topic. He supposed she had spent a long time β€” and probably was still β€” coming to terms with everything, even if a therapist would probably tell her she was burying her trauma.

"Up for a game?" he offered, allowing her to choose whether to ease them away from the heavier topic they had stumbled onto inadvertently.

"Sure. Poker?" she guessed, eyeing the deck of cards in his hands.

"Absolutely not," Phil said immediately, and she chuckled knowingly. He was no slouch when it came to card games, poker included, but no one played against Natasha with any shred of an expectation to win. You only played with her when it was a game based on pure luck because that was the only chance you stood to not be completely embarrassed.

"One day I'll convince someone at SHIELD to play poker with me again."

"Not likely. Word's gotten around and people have wised up."

"A rookie then, maybe."

"You are not allowed to embarrass the rookies at cards, Natasha," he said pointedly.

Natasha's eyes twinkled with mischief. "So other methods are on the table then?"

Phil sighed and suppressed the urge to squeeze the bridge of his nose. "We want to keep the recruits, not scare them all off in the first week."

Natasha waved her hand dismissively. "I'm just helping weed out the ones you wouldn't want anyway. Really, I'm saving SHIELD money in the long run. I'm a real team player that way," she said with an impish grin.

Phil knew from experience she would seize any opportunity to embarrass a rookie who disrespected her. Every year there was a rookie who underestimated her despite warnings to the contrary, and every year she found a way to embarrass them. Sometimes it was offering to spar with them and subsequently pinning them in a matter of seconds, sometimes it was taking them up on a challenge at the shooting range and laughing at them while shooting bulls-eyes casually, and sometimes it was more unconventional, like kicking their ass at poker. Phil had watched last year's rookie get embarrassed within ten seconds of a sparring match, and Fury, who'd been sitting beside him, had laughed for the rest of the day.

"Maria did ask if she could borrow you for a few days when we're back. She wants you to observe the training of a few second-year agents she's got her eye on to be specialists."

"Oh, more protΓ©gΓ©s for me?"

"That's probably what she's hoping. Bobbi and Sharon developed very well with your tutelage. Guess she figures if you find a couple every so often it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world for SHIELD."

She flashed a grin. "May as well put my training to use. As long as they aren't insufferable, should be fine."

Phil chuckled at her words, knowing she had said them teasingly but with an undercurrent of truth. "Oh, hey. How about Scrabble? Looks like our host has it," he said, pointing to the bookcase where the well-worn Scrabble box sat.

"Sure, why not. Not like I've got anywhere else to be."

They played a few games of Scrabble, Natasha frustratingly winning each of them, though they had at least been close. When their third game finished, Natasha got up to grab a couple logs from the pile by the door.

"You should play Laura," he suggested, the thought suddenly occurring to him.

Natasha halted and cocked her head. "At Scrabble?"

"Poker," he corrected. "She had a bit of a reputation back in her agent days."

"Huh. Yeah, that tracks," she said thoughtfully. "I'll have to ask her next time I see her."

"Sorry you're missing Christmas with them," Phil apologized. Over the years, he had watched as his two best agents fostered a strong friendship. As more time passed, he saw Natasha begin β€” slowly at first, then quicker with every passing year β€” to become a part of their family. Now she had a standing invitation to attend Thanksgiving and Christmas with them each year β€” provided she wasn't working, of course β€” and Phil knew she looked forward to both. It was a slice of normalcy for her, and he supposed that it helped to ground her.

"If we're lucky, I can make it for New Year's," Natasha replied with a shrug.

"They gonna let the kids stay up?"

She snorted in amusement. "Probably not. Last year Clint found a generic new year countdown video on YouTube and played it for them at like 8. They were none the wiser."

"Sneaky," Phil said with a chuckle.

"Yeah, I'll admit I was proud of him for that one," she said with a smile. Then, a beat later, she asked, "You want to swap off keeping watch?"

The mere fact that she was asking told him she didn't believe it was necessary. If Natasha thought there was any real possibility of a threat, she wouldn't have asked and would have instead told him she would take the first watch. "No, I think mother nature had us covered well enough," he confirmed.

They both glanced at the only bed in the cabin; it was small, barely large enough for one adult, let alone two.

"We have a sleeping bag, right?" she asked him, nodding toward their bags.

"Yeah. I'll take the floor, you take the bed."

She rolled her eyes. "With your shoulder? C'mon. I prefer firm mattresses anyway," she joked.

That's a lie, he thought. He knew that while Natasha could sleep on firm mattresses, she preferred softer ones. Not ones so soft you sunk into them and could never get out, but ones where you felt yourself dip in a bit. She'd explained it to him at a Barton Thanksgiving he'd attended a while back. They had all been a bit drunk, so he wasn't sure if she remembered that she'd told him. Rather than call her out on it, he just shook his head. "You're the one that just finished an op," he countered. "If anyone deserves the bed it's you."

She eyed him momentarily, probably weighing whether to keep arguing, then shifted her gaze out the window. "We'll switch tomorrow," she declared, her tone once again leaving no room for argument.

"You think we'll still be here?"

She nodded. "Like you said, not my first rodeo. I've seen storms like this before. This is probably just the first wave."


The storm raged on ceaselessly for another three days before it started to wane. They spent their time chatting, playing cards β€” Phil reluctantly gave in to her request to play poker and immediately regretted it when she bluffed to a win on the first hand β€” and more rounds of Scrabble. They were careful with their food and water, ensuring they consumed enough but saving some to last them longer if needed. The cabin stayed warm enough even when the fire burned out, so they conserved the supply of logs as well, knowing that chopping wood in the ongoing blizzard would be impossible. On the fourth day, he slept longer than intended and only woke at the scent of fresh coffee.

"Morning," she said, nodding when he sat up and blinked sleepily, trying to orient himself. Right. Cabin. Snowed in.

"Morning," he mumbled, and she chuckled. "Don't pretend like you're a morning person. I suspect that coffee in your hand is the only thing keeping you from glaring at me," he added grumpily.

She laughed again, far too awake for his liking. "You want a coffee?" she offered.

"God yes," he answered, and she laughed yet again.

Natasha set about making a mug of coffee for him, and a few moments later, she handed him the mug silently, along with a granola bar.

"Thanks," he murmured.

"I'd say "you're welcome" but I'm honestly not sure if making you drink this dishwater masquerading as coffee counts as torture, so..."

He rolled his eyes. "You're such a coffee snob."

"Have a sip and tell me that's not the worst coffee you've ever had," she challenged.

He took a tentative sip. It was awful, but there was no way he was going to give her the satisfaction of admitting that. "Not too bad. Not as good as the stuff from Tim Hortons though," he said, choosing to fan the flames a little. That's what you get for being so goddamned cheerful this morning.

"Oh, don't even go there."

"What?" he protested, feigning innocence. In the lead-up to the op, they'd settled in at the local SHIELD base, where coffee, muffins, and a couple large boxes of something called Timbits β€” these were the holes from doughnuts, he had learned β€” had been brought in and left out on a table for the staff. The coffee had been...okay, but the Timbits had been surprisingly delicious for something he suspected was baked from frozen. Natasha, however, had declared the coffee awful and made Phil swear he'd buy her a proper coffee somewhere before they left. She said it was payback for choosing her for the op instead of Bobbi.

"Don't even joke about that sewer water they call coffee."

"So, does this," he held up his mug of coffee, "count as the coffee I owed you?" She glared at him with an expression he suspected might've been only a step or two below murderous. "I'm taking that as a yes," he said, saluting her with his mug and flashing a smile. "Any better out there?" he asked seriously.

"A little," she answered after shooting him one last lingering glare. "I think the wind is finally easing up a bit."

He got up to look out one of the windows and found, unsurprisingly, that everything was blanketed in white. It was still snowing but at far slower a rate than it had been the day before β€” which itself had been a marked improvement over the near whiteout blizzard conditions that had forced them into the cabin in the first place. "You check in?" he asked, nodding to the satellite phone sitting on top of his bag.

She shook her head. "Was waiting for you to wake up."

He checked his watch and then took a long drink of his coffee. "May as well now."

She nodded and leaned forward to grab the phone. He sipped his coffee and listened as she checked in with the local SHIELD base, informing them their status hadn't changed, and asking for an update on their estimation of when a pick-up could happen. Apparently, they were through the worst of the storm, and current projections would allow flights in the area again the following morning.

"So, almost outta here," he said once she finished the call.

"Yep."

He glanced at his watch again and suddenly realized it was Christmas. With a grin β€” which elicited a curious frown from Natasha β€” he leaned over to open his bag and fished around for a moment before he held up the KitKat bar he'd found on their first day. "Merry Christmas, Natasha," he said with a smile, handing her the chocolate bar.

A grin split across her face as she took the bar from him. "Thanks, Phil. Merry Christmas to you too."


for the uninitiated, Tim Hortons is a subpar coffee and doughnuts chain (plus other lunch stuff) in Canada. seriously, the coffee isn't good. the Timbits are though.

as always, thoughts/comments/feedback are welcomed.

more to come.