Natasha came out of the small cabin and gave Clint a quick rundown.

"There are limited MREs but the radio is busted," she reported. "And there's only one bed."

He pushed past her into the small space to see for himself.

"What the fuck do you mean there's only one bed? Are we in some crazy romcom and someone forgot to tell us?"

"It's not the end of the world, Barton," she grumbled, rolling her eyes at him. "We could be dead. Or bleeding out. It's just a bed. Deal with it."

He lowered himself onto the sagging mattress and groaned. "Its not even a good bed."

"It's better than the floor," she said, unholstering her guns and slipping her bites from her wrists before lying down next to him. "Shut up and get some sleep. Tomorrow morning we'll figure out how to contact someone for extraction."

When she was settled, he pushed himself up on an elbow and looked over at her in the dim light.

"If I have to share a bed with you, do I get a goodnight kiss?"

She cursed under her breath at him in Russian.

"Be lucky I don't give you a black widow's kiss," she replied, her voice dripping with menace. "Good night, Barton."

"Night," he mumbled, lowering himself back down onto his side of the bed. He was careful not to touch her, lest she keep her promise.

It was going to be a long night.