Your friendly neighbourhood mothman

At least it’s beautiful, Natasha thinks. At least it reminds her of home, in such a horrible, comforting way. The snow falls heavy but the streetlamps glow warm and it all sparks like stars, drifting down into little pin pricks against her face.

SHIELD boots are such nice quality. In the Red Room, little girl’s fingers and toes were never worth the cost of good boots. She remembers those winters well, flexing her feet to fight off the ache of new blood flow, praying to feel the stiff leather just a little longer. The feeling in her left foot has long since left her, but the boots aren’t the issue.

Really, her entire leg has turned to static, and if she had to guess, it might be the hole somewhere in her stomach. Sitting up is a mistake and she sputters back into the snow to feel around blind for it. Her uniform is slick and her blood is warm against her own fingers. It would almost be nice if she hadn’t just lost at her own damned game in the middle of the wilderness. It’s December but it doesn’t really feel like her birthday. How old is she now?

The comms crackle in her ear, but the words melt into the ground. She takes a stinging breath until her ribs protest and she coughs again, wet. Metal in her mouth. Hm. Never a good sign. She presses her fingers around again, dully aware of the urgency. It isn’t hard to find the wound when it feels like it’s sucking the air out of her, and she chokes out a small sound when she presses down.

Boots approach, but there’s still fight in her yet. She grits her teeth and drags herself up, and— Maria is there. A dark shape against the endless white. She presses her fingers into her wound like she might be dreaming as Maria falls to her knees beside her. Her eyes glint wet, her nose rosy with the chill, and she’s so warm when she pulls Natasha into her. Distantly, she thinks that’s backwards. Maria has never been able to handle the cold.

“You’re out of position,” Maria mumbles into her hair, tone caught between reprimand and tears.

“Why are you here?”

“Ground team needed back up, then you stopped moving.”

“I can’t feel my leg.”

Maria releases her, just enough to get her own trembling hands on her stomach. Her face crumples in such a terrible way.

“Lucky shot,” Natasha jokes, smile wavering.