Disclaimer: The Avengers characters are not mine, just borrowed for this story.

Reviews are always welcome and appreciated

An Albatross Around One's Neck

Steve and Clint sat glaring at each other from opposite sides of the plane's cargo hold. Both were ignoring the idol chat of their captors as the men joked about their success in the capture of two Avengers. Rogers knew Barton was pissed at him. When he had come to, restrained in the back of the plane, and saw the enemy beating on Clint for his smart mouth, he just reacted. In retrospect, he shouldn't have done it. It wasn't Steve's first day on the job and he knew that the archer was incurring their wrath to foster their overconfidence and probe them for information. Even knowing this, his anger got the better of him when a Hydra agent struck the archer. Steve had told Clint to knock it off. Ever since, Hawkeye's silent treatment had included everyone on the plane.

Steve wasn't sure how long he had been out but, judging by the bruising on Barton's face, it had been long enough. The team had been sent to investigate some odd sightings along the coast of the Hudson Bay. After setting up several observation posts, the team had happened upon a Hydra research camp. Iron Man and Thor had made short work of the sea creature the organization had been trying to create and the Hulk had seen to smashing the Hydra boats in the area. That left Captain America, Black Widow, and Hawkeye to deal with the troops on the ground. It had all been going well until Clint let out a frantic cry for Rogers to get out of the way.

Before Steve could process what Barton was telling him, the building behind him exploded. Rogers felt the force of the blast slam into him and send him tumbling. There was a blunt pain to the back of his head and then everything went dark. Based on his present surroundings, he could pretty much figure out what had happened next. From the snippets of conversation he did catch from the pilots, it sounded like only Barton and himself had been captured, a small bright spot in a potentially horrific situation.

There were three guards in the back with them and the two pilots up front. The odds were in their favour, but there was risk in engaging the enemy in such tight quarters. The guards had their weapons trained on both Avengers and any hostile move on either of their parts would probably see the other one shot. The Captain's second concern was their restraints. Steve's strength didn't seem to be having any impact on them and he wasn't as skilled at picking locks as the assassin was. Did Barton have anything available to him to pick the locks?

Whatever their play, they'd have to do it soon while the numbers were on their side. It sounded like they weren't that far from Hydra's base of operations in the region. Steve was attempting to signal Barton through the system of glares he had seen the archer and Black Widow share when an alarm from the cockpit started blaring.

Hawkeye perked up as he watched the flurry of activity. Even the guards in the back seemed to tense.

"You might want to think about grabbing a parachute," yelled the co-pilot.

"What about the prisoners?" asked the guard seated by Barton.

"Leave them," sneered the second guard as he moved to one of the storage compartments. The action was aborted as the plane started to spin violently.

The force of the spin pinned Steve against the wall with the third guard that had been beside him pressed tightly to his side. Across the compartment, Steve watched as Clint twisted his shoulders and triumphantly pulled his arms from behind his back. The archer punched out the guard next to him and pulled himself forward to the cockpit.

A horrible sense of panic swept over Steve as the full force of the alarms and downward momentum hit him at once. He found himself incapable of taking a breath. The plane shuddered around him and all he could see was the wide ocean and ice that he had flown over seventy years ago. He could feel the controls of the old Hydra plane beneath his fingers as if he was still there. Rogers shook his head to try and clear the memory, he couldn't stop the images looping before him.

Barton was yelling something, the words were lost in the roar of the engines and the screaming alarms. The plane tipped sharply to one side and Steve tumbled from his seat. Again, Clint was shouting something to him as the archer was desperately tried to save the plane.

"What?" yelled Steve failing to raise his voice enough for anyone to hear him. He swallowed and attempted to yell again, but the sound of twisting metal and shattering glass cut him off; then everything went black.

"I'm gonna need a rain check on that dance."
"Alright. A week, next Saturday, at the Stork Club."
"You got it."
"Eight o'clock on the dot. Don't you dare be late! Understood?"
"You know, I still don't know how to dance."
"I'll show you how. Just be there."
"You'll have the band play somethin' slow. I'd hate to step on your..."

The harsh bite of northern wind curved the darkness that had enveloped Rogers. Rivers of agony poured over his body just underneath a numbing coldness blanketing him. Steve bolted up in terror, breath coming as panicked gasps. Watching the cold temperature turn it into white wisps before him did nothing to settle his nerves. He quickly brushed the snow off his legs and looked around at what was left of the plane. The cockpit was inaccessible from the cargo hold and the back of the plane had been ripped off, exposing it to the harsh arctic elements.

Steve wasn't sure how long he had been out or how long he sat staring at the frozen white terrain, but a foot of snow had settled in the plane and his hands were starting to tremble. When he had first awoken in this new century, he had longed for the people and time that he knew. He had been awake for a little over a year but sitting there facing a horrifically familiar situation, he discovered that he had gotten rather attached to the people he'd come to know. It pained him to think about waking up from this frozen nightmare to discover he had lost time again.

Alarm spread through him as he realized he had forgotten Barton. There had been no sign of the Hydra agents, so Rogers had just accepted the fact that he was alone again. It was awkward getting to his feet; his muscles were stiff and frozen. He shuffled to edge of the cargo hold and looked out into the desolate frozen wasteland before him.

As snow crunched under his foot, Steve tried desperately not to think about the all encompassing cold that had smothered him last time he crashed. He tried to ignore all the things he lost last time and prayed that not only had Clint survived the crash but that the archer hadn't froze to death while Steve had been trying to sooth his anxiety.

There was nothing but whiteness everywhere Steve looked. That would present its own survival challenges later. Steve took a deep breath and closed his eyes; one problem at a time. He circled around the wreckage trying to see if the cockpit was still intact.

The windows were smashed out and the metal was twisted and contorted but there was hope that someone could be alive in there. Steve stopped short. A body had been thrown from the plane and lay in the snow in front of him. He knelt and brushed the snow off with a trembling hand to get a better look. A sigh of relief escaped his lips. The frozen face staring lifelessly back at him was unfamiliar, not that of his teammate.

Rogers squeezed past the distorted metal and crawled into the cockpit. He placed his nearly frozen fingers against the pulse point of the pilot; nothing. Steve's eyes settled on a crumpled form tucked into the corner of the wreckage. He carefully turned the archer over; the man was so cold. He let out a silent prayer for his friend. Selfishly, Steve wasn't sure he could survive this alone.

Steve's waited with baited breath for his fingers to find the soft beat of Barton's pulse. Finding a much sought after sign of life, Rogers tapped Clint on the check. "Barton, can you open your eyes for me?"

A soft moan was the only response the super soldier received. Barton turned into the warm body that cradled his. It was difficult, but Steve managed to get his ailing teammate out of the cockpit and back into the cargo hold.

The wreckage had produced a lot of scrap material and Rogers was relieved to discover a survival pack as he searched the various compartments for anything useful. It took some doing but he eventually got a small fire going; at the very least, it would keep the icy grip of hypothermia from further claiming the archer.

Searching the plane wasn't difficult but it left Steve exhausted. Still, it was a fruitful endeavour; they now had two weather appropriate jackets, rations, gloves, hats, a survival pack, the archer's bow and quiver, and a parachute which Steve managed to secure over the opening of the cargo hold to keep the wind and snow out.

Steve laid next to Clint offering him the extra warmth that his super metabolism produced and pulled both jackets over them. There was nothing left to do but wait for some sign of consciousness from Barton. Then, they would have to figure out their next move.