"C'mon," Sam says, easily, and puts a hand on her back to guide her over to the Quinjet. "Let's get outta the cold, huh?"

He chats lightly about his dislike of snow and cold as a Louisiana boy as they walk across the crunching snow, as the icy Siberian wind bites at her cheeks and throat. She lets it wash over her like white noise until she can sit down on a seat in the jet that's been pulled out into a makeshift bed. Sam helps her take the coat off, then starts looking her over, shining a light into her eyes and checking all her vitals.