"Oh my god," James groans, voice muffled by the pillow.

"I told you," Clint mutters from the other side of the bed, "I did, I warned you, but nooo; 'stay' you said, 'don't bother get up' you said, because Mr Winter Soldier, Survivor of Russian Winters and Deep Freeze, laughs in the face of bed socks."

Curled up between them in the middle and warming up nicely, with Clint's arm around her waist and her icy feet tucked under James' thigh, Natasha smiles.