You didn't remember it being this cold when the mission started; it was such a striking change in temperature that it woke you from unconsciousness in violent shakes throughout your body that made your teeth chatter. You had been knocked out when the building crumbled around you, but you had no idea for how long you had been down, and when you opened your eyes to see where you had landed, everything around you was black and silent.

"Clint?" you gurgled, the taste of your own blood filling your mouth, muffling your voice even more so than what the pain in your throat had already done. You turned your head to spit it away, but even the smallest movement sent a searing pain down your spine that radiated out to the rest of your body with a jolt, forcing you to stay still. "Clint," you tried again, "are you there? Please tell me you're there."

Nothing.

"Great...I'm so dead," you muttered in defeat, starting to accept your fate. You gave it your best effort to gather your mind to think beyond the pain and shock building within you, trying to focus on the memory of Sam's face or his voice, or anything that would help to keep you calm, but blood began to pool again in your mouth; you couldn't move to get rid of it, forcing you to swallow heavily before you could choke on the metallic taste. "God, that's awful."

"(Y/N)?!"

"Yep...here come the hallucinations..." you whispered to yourself, "...didn't take long. Hope they're good ones..."

"(Y/N), can you hear me?" came the voice again, this time powerful enough to snap you back to reality.

"Clint?" you perked up just slightly, forgetting that moving was a terrible idea with a pained scream that escaped your throat loudly enough for your teammate to hear you. Your second mistake was holding your breath under the torment, waiting for the pain to abate; when it didn't, the lack of oxygen was robbing you of your senses and your head began to spin, or maybe it was the blood loss, you didn't really know or care. No matter what the cause, you never had the chance to see your friend's face as he looked at you with immense relief when he moved enough of the debris away to find you; you also missed the look of terror when he couldn't find any sign of life once he held you next to him, sprinting towards help as fast as his legs could carry him.

~~~

"I'm sorry that I wasn't faster," Clint sighed, leaning against the infirmary window with his arms crossed tightly over his chest and eyes closed. He had been torturing himself with the replay of events in his mind over and over since he had reached the compound with you, and now that he was standing in front of your boyfriend and waiting for his judgement, Clint was certain that his own self-punishment was nothing compared to what this guy would bring him. "But she'll wake up, Sam. Doc said that once they get some blood back into her, she'll come around."

"Yeah," Sam whispered, his stare never wavering from you, "she'll be good. Thanks for getting her home, Clint."

"Hey, you should know that she saved fourteen kids before the building fell. You'd have been proud."

"You saying I'm not?"

"No," Clint backpedaled immediately, his eyes opening wide as his posture straightened and his hands came up in front of him defensively, "no, never! I was just letting you know what happened, that's all. She didn't hesitate for a second."

"Right, but that might be the problem," he replied flatly. He perked up when Bruce crossed the room towards him and opened the door silently, holding his hand out to offer Sam entry to see you. He had been waiting for hours to get this chance, but now that it was before him, he began to feel apprehensive and a little scared as to what he was going to see. "Thanks again, Clint," he offered before turning to the doctor. "So, let's have it."

"Come on in, Sam. She's fine," Bruce smiled, waiting for him to cross by and into the room so that he could shut the door behind him. "She's awake, vitals are stable, and her injuries are patched up as good as can be. You can take her to your room soon. Maybe you should go talk to her while she gets the last of the transfusion in."

All Sam could do was nod silently in agreement at the sight of you only a few feet from him now, awake and looking back at him like you were afraid of the reaction that you would get. He didn't want to scare you, and he wasn't mad for what had happened; he was just working through his own fears about what could have been, and he struggled to hold it together in front of you. He swallowed his nerves away and grabbed a chair to bring next to your gurney, positioning it as close to you as he could without just climbing in to wrap himself around you out of need to be in contact and to feel you alive. "Hey, sweetheart," he began softly, "you've gotta stop doing this stuff to me."

"I didn't mean to."

"I know. But still." Sam's fingers slowly grazed over yours a few times before finally taking your hand in his grip, bringing it up to his lips and holding it there for a moment before trying to say more. There was no gentle way to tell you what had happened, so he decided on a whim that it was best to just put it out there and deal with the fallout as it came. "You died," he mumbled quietly, "did they tell you that?"

"No..."

"For almost fifteen minutes. Clint said he couldn't find your heartbeat. He was talking to me the whole time that he was trying to get you back so that if you were still there, you'd at least hear me and maybe it would've helped. Did you hear..." he paused to wipe his sleeve over his wet eyes, "do you remember anything that I said to you?" The sudden sound of your heart monitor speeding up and an alarm of warning caught his attention and drew him out of his own thoughts, sitting up straight to watch the number creep slowly higher and higher. When Bruce returned to your side at the new alert, Sam could feel his own pulse begin to race with his building anxiety. "Hey, you're okay, (Y/N). Try to slow it down."

"I was dead?"

"Dammit," he mumbled to himself, standing up to put his hand on your head, softly stroking your hair in a slow rhythm. "I shouldn't have said anything, I'm sorry. You're going to be fine, honey, I promise." He looked up at the numbers still flashing red on the screen over your head and back down to you, "come on, (Y/N), you're okay."

"Sam..." you choked out, tears building in your eyes and a heavy lump pressing into your throat, "I'm sorry. I didn't think...I'm so sorry." You couldn't bring yourself to look at him, feeling like you had let him down by putting yourself in such blatant danger without a thought to yourself, but you were just doing what you thought you had to do; what you thought that he would do if the roles were switched. The knowledge of how far it had gone had upset you, but not so much for yourself; it was more so with the realization of what it must have felt like for him to watch you come home to him without the chance to say goodbye.

"Hey, there's nothing to be sorry for. Just look at me, and let's bring it in, alright?" You turned your head to face him, but your eyes remained closed despite his urging. "Baby, come on...it's just me."

"There is no just you," you scoffed with a quiet sniffle, slowly opening your eyes to meet his, "that's the most ridiculous thing you've ever said."

"You sure about that?" he smirked cautiously, seeing his opportunity to lighten the mood. "I've said some pretty dumb stuff in my day, and you've been there for most of it."

"I'm sure."

"Hmm," he murmured, lifting a hand to his chin thoughtfully, "even that time when I said that Next Generation is better than original Trek? You almost broke up with me."

Your tears dried quickly at the change in topic, finding his shift to self-deprecation a welcome one. "No, I almost broke up with you when you said that Kirk is smarter than Spock. That's just stupid, Sam."

"Fine, you might be right, but he's definitely hotter. You can't argue with me on that, (Y/N), because I know for a fact that you agree."

"Brains are sexy as hell," you argued, pausing when Bruce approached as if on cue, removing the monitors and preparing to take out your IV so that he could release you. "Look at Banner," you offered with a nod towards your friend, who looked back, fully confused with a flush of red building in his cheeks at the attention, "I tell ya, Sam, intelligence is a huge turn-on."

"What?" Bruce coughed, his hand slipping and yanking the IV out roughly, leaving a trail of blood running down your arm. "Shoot! Hold on, (Y/N)," he stammered, reaching for a dressing to cover the wound, "sorry...I'm usually better at this."

"You're terrible," Sam leaned in close to whisper, "be nice."

"I'm being serious! Nat agrees with me, just ask her! Don't even get me started on Tony..." you continued, "have you ever watched him working in the lab? He's just so...focused."

"Okay, this conversation has taken a weird turn," Sam huffed. "I don't want to know, so just save that talk for girl's night. As long as you work me in there somewhere, we're good."

"Oh, you definitely get worked into the conversation, sweetie. You're in the dangerously sexy category. Brains aren't a big deal there."

Sam stood straighter with a grin growing across his lips, nodding with a quick sense of satisfaction at his standings in your group rankings. "That's right, I am...wait," he stopped, allowing your words to actually sink in fully, "what do you mean, brains aren't a big deal there?"

Bruce chuckled under his breath and moved to the other side of your gurney, taking your hand and helping you to stand; he stayed at your side for a moment as you adjusted to the new position and when your stance wavered slightly, releasing you only when Sam put his arm around you to hold you steady. "Alright, straight to your room, okay?" he commanded. "I want you on bedrest for the next 24 hours, no excuses."

"Got it, thanks, B."

"What do you mean, brains aren't a big deal there?" Sam asked again, this time with a firmer tone and a refusal to move until you answered him.

"It means that you're stupid-hot, babe."

"Oh, okay, sweet," he smiled, swinging an arm under you to lift you up and against him, waiting for you to wrap your arm around his neck before heading towards the elevators. "No...hold up," he stopped again, "that's not better, is it? Well, hell. I think I've just made my own point."