Hi, everyone. I didn't know how to continue Ghostmaker, because I had no way to tie my ideas down into a coherent plot, so I did this instead. A collection of the missions that Clint and Erian don't talk about. Not with each other. Not with anyone. Ever.

There's no particular order to these, although I might include some of the other Avengers later on. These are just my stray ideas that refused to leave me alone.

As always, leave me a review, because I am a total review addict.

Enjoy!

K.S.

No matter what it looked like in the movies, there was absolutely nothing romantic about being caught in a snowstorm. Especially when you had one tent between the two of you. Especially when the snowstorm just so happened to be in Alaska.

And it didn't help that when their plane had gone down, they had ejected safely, only to land in a frozen lake. True, it was just the edge of the lake, so the water was only about five feet deep instead of, oh, say, half a mile deep.

When that happened, you didn't bother to think about how romantic it all was – or, in this case, wasn't. Because all you were thinking about was surviving.

What you did was haul your backside out of the lake, haul your partner's backside out of the lake, and pitch the tent. Somewhere in there, you cursed SHIELD for giving you such a small tent. Then you set up your sleeping bags, one inside the other, and you and your partner both stripped down to underwear, because everything else was soaking wet.

By the time Erian and Barton were both inside the sleeping bags, all she could think about was how cold she was. And if her arms were wrapped around his neck and her face was pressed against his shoulder, it was only because she couldn't feel her face. And if his fingers were tangled in her hair, it was only because he was most likely getting frostbite on his fingers and he was using her hair for insulation.

Nothing romantic about it at all.

"How long before they find us? Any guesses?" Erian asked through chattering teeth.

Barton shrugged, rubbing frozen fingers together in her hair. "No idea. We sent up the emergency flare, but in this storm – I wouldn't bet on any kind of help before morning."

She sighed. "I was afraid you'd say that."

Erian felt Barton smile, and he replied, "At least we've got each other."

She picked her head up and gave him an incredulous look. Barton winced. "Yeah, I know, really bad joke. Sorry, my sense of humor has frostbite."

Erian shook her head, mute, and put her head back down on his shoulder. Barton cursed, and moved one of his hands down to her neck. "Erian, you're freezing!"

"What else is new?" she muttered. "I'm smaller than you. Less body mass. I'll get cold faster."

Barton shook his head, rubbing his hands over her arms, trying to generate any kind of warmth. "This isn't good."

Erian laughed. "You haven't thought it through? Wow. Oh, and by the way, let's get it straight that the only reason I'm freezing faster is because I'm physically smaller than you. I'm not a damsel in distress, all right, Clint?"

Barton grinned, and Erian found herself counting the colors in his stormy eyes. "Right, no damsel in distress comments," he promised. She felt his fingers brush her shoulder blade, and he added, "How'd you get this scar, by the way?"

She had to think about it for a minute. "Left shoulder-blade? That one's from Paris. Car crash." Erian brushed her fingers over a thin scar that crossed Barton's collarbone. "What about you? Where did you get this one?"

Barton glanced down at her hand. "The circus. I fell off a support strut and cracked the bone."

Erian winced, but didn't get the chance to reply, because Barton was already asking about the one on her knee, cold fingers against her skin. "That one? Amsterdam. Sniper shot."

Her fingers found a slightly raised scar on his back, and she asked, "This one?"

Barton smiled a little. "Venice. That was fun." Erian raised an eyebrow at him, which he studiously ignored, and she felt his fingertips, cold and gentle against her ribs. "This one?"

Erian shook her head. "Tokyo. Someone neglected to mention that my target had a black belt."

He made a face, and Erian touched the scar on the outside of his knee. "I remember this one," she whispered.

Barton nodded. "So do I. That's from Hellhole, Spain, to use your term."

She grinned. "Yeah, and you were pretty heavy to drag out of there. I thought I told you I didn't want to have to carry you."

He shrugged. "You did. Wasn't a lot I could do about it at the time."

Erian decided to change the subject. "Did you find the one on my right leg?"

Barton blinked. "No. Is there a scar on your right leg?"

"Yeah. Here." Erian moved his hand to the outside of her thigh, halfway between the knee and the hip. "That's from Sydney."

He tipped his head to the side. "As in, Australia? Why didn't SHIELD ever send me there?"

Erian gave him a look. "It wasn't exactly a vacation," she replied, layering on the sarcasm.

Barton smiled. "Neither is this."

An hour later, Erian couldn't feel her hands or her feet. She couldn't quite find the energy to move, and settled for shivering. Barton was stroking her hair, holding her close and trying to keep her warm.

It wasn't working.

"Erian?"

She blinked once, and her eyelashes nearly froze together.

"Erian, don't. Stay awake. Look at me."

She wanted to tell Barton that she was trying to stay awake, but couldn't make herself speak. She wanted to thank him for trying, wanted to tell him it really didn't matter now, because she knew the signs of hypothermia, and she was done for.

But she couldn't.

Barton took her face in his hands and said softly, "Hey. Erian. Don't drift. Focus. I'm not hauling your corpse out of here."

She wanted to cry. He remembered Spain. He remembered what she'd told him.

Why did she want to cry?

"Erian," Barton whispered, and something snapped inside her.

"I'm here," she gasped, and it hurt, her throat was so cold inside . . .

"Good," he said fiercely, and held her a little tighter. "I'm not letting you go."

It took another two hours for SHIELD to find them.

The report that the medics gave Fury said that both assassins had been unconscious, but Clint Barton's body temperature was a good eight degrees higher than that of Erian Ross. They both received emergency treatment and would recover fully.

The report also said that if they hadn't stayed together, neither of them would have survived.