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Clint rolls over, and his arm should hit a body laying beside him, but it doesn't. He wakes up instantly, eyes wide at the blank space of covers and bed beside him. His heart drops.
Five minutes later, his alarm goes off.
Two minutes after that, he gets a text.
Fury called. Flying to undisclosed location. Stay out of my DVR. Should be back in a few days.
He sits still for a few moments, trying to figure it all out. Phil's gone. He's alone. He'll be fine.
Clint rolls out of bed, into the shower. Puts on work out clothes and goes downstairs to an empty kitchen, sans Steve, who sits eating eggs and drinking orange juice while reading the paper. He glances up at Clint and smiles softly.
"Good morning, Clint. Where's Coulson?"
Clint shrugs. "I guess Fury called in the middle of the night. He's out on a mission." This makes Steve frown.
"He didn't wake you up?"
"No."
Steve sighs, offering the comic section to Clint. He takes it, sitting beside the Captain. It almost feels normal. Natasha walks in after awhile, already dressed. Her brows furrow like she knows what's wrong, and it's something Clint never gets used to, no matter how long he's know her. She doesn't say anything, setting her coffee down and sitting next to him, offering silent support. He's thankful.
Thor ambles in after. "Pleasant morning to you all! Captain, are those for me?"
Steve looks down at his empty plate. "I-uh, what?"
Thor stares at him. "You did not make enough to share?"
Steve sighs, and Clint looks over at Natasha, whose lips arch very slightly, a sign she's amused. Steve rises, going to make more eggs as Tony and Bruce both stumble in and fight with the coffee maker and their cups, both not realizing the room is full until half a cup is gulped.
They eat together, and it makes Clint feel less alone. He makes his way down to go shoot, and looses hours. It's easy to lose himself with a bow in his hand. It takes his mind off the obvious. Phil's gone.
Phil's gone.
Natasha watches him, and he knows it. He's Hawkeye, for crying out loud. He knows when people are spying on him from five miles away. He turns to look at her, and she appears next to him. He doesn't jump, but it's not by much. "It's okay to be worried."
"I'm not.
"Yes you are, Clint. Come on, let's go on the roof and fling rocks at people when they walk by."
They do. Natasha helps to take his mind off things. Steve shows up two hours later, telling them nicely to knock it off.
By the end of the day, Clint doesn't want to go to bed. He's exhausted, and the couch looks better than a large bed, so he sleeps there. He wakes up in the middle of the night to a blanket draped over him and the TV on mute. He feels even more lonely.
Three days later, he gets a call from Fury. A direct call from Fury is never a good thing, and Clint manages to hide his surprise by sneaking into their room unnoticed.
"Director?"
"It's me."
"God, Phil."
"I know, I know. I'm okay. Lost my phone while out. It's possible I'm more angry about it than Fury."
Clint missed this. "Yeah, why?"
"Had some nice pictures of you on it."
He chuckles, and if a sob is mixed in, Phil will never tell. "When are you coming back?"
"Soon as medical checks me out and we debrief. Don't wait up for me."
"Always do."
"I know. Gotta go."
He hangs up, and Clint clutches the phone tightly in his hand. He doesn't hear the door open or realize who is there until Natasha drops down in front of him, eyes guarded but curious. Clint smiles at her. "You want me to keep them away?"
Clint nods. Natasha leans in, kissing the top of his head before she leaves. He sits there, before crawling up to the bed and laying down on his side of the bed. Exhaustion catches up with him, and he nods off.
Clint wakes up, and he's not alone. He knows that exhale of air anywhere. Rolling over, his eyes meet with Phil's, and it feels like home.