Clint had been reading--researching, really, because other than tending to his Mistress's needs, he still has an eternity of hell to try and avoid--and then had fallen asleep. It had been a sweltering August day when he'd begun the chapter, so it was a bit of a shock to wake up and find that they were snowed in.
He found Natasha curled up on a window seat and settled behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and rested his chin on her shoulder. "...how long was I out?" he drawled.