He might have been better off to just leave her there in the snow. If she'd been in fighting form, she would have been useful — an asset, at a time like this. But as it is, with her injured and weak, she's just slowing him down. She's a liability when he can't afford any. But he gets her to the cabin anyway — gets her into the bed and holds her close to his bare chest, offering her the heat of his body as she shivers, her own body making its stubborn but feeble attempts to warm up.

She can hear him willing her to survive. Come on, he keeps saying. Come on.

Fuck. She's lived through too much to die like this. She's dodged death a thousand times. This can't be the end. She won't let it. She —

She coughs roughly, curling towards him, her face buried against his throat. It's a strained mutter when she manages finally:

"...I'm not dead yet."