Work Text:
There's an empty picture frame that Phil keeps tucked under his pillow, next to his gun.
Clint asked him about it once. Phil blinked.
Once.
Twice.
He gave Clint a sad smile, one side of his mouth quirking up.
Because, was all Phil told Clint that day.
Clint knew Phil had gotten it at some cheap tourist shop in Iraq, it said so on the sticker that the agent forgot to remove.
Which mission to Iraq; Clint never knew.
It could have been the one when Phil was on his 3rd tour and killed his first man, or maybe it was the mission where he was first shot. It could have even been the mission where Phil grabbed Clint by the collar and mashed their lips together for the first time, on the abandoned warehouse, while Clint was bleeding out of a hole in his stomach.
It didn't matter though, the frame was important to Phil, so it was important to Clint.
And if, when Clint is cuddling close to Phil at night, and he needs reassurance that both he and Phil are still here, he runs his fingertips over the cracking frame, he didn't need to tell Phil.
But Phil knew. Oh he knew. He would twine their two hands together, fingers touching the frame, and pull Clint closer and tuck his chin over his archer's head.
Clint never asked why the frame was empty, but he did print out a picture of him, Phil and Natasha standing in front of pyramids in Egypt, Clint with a beaming smile, in the middle, his arms warped around a smirking Phil and Natasha, with barely a quirk in her lips, but her eyes were shinning brighter then stars, into the frame for Phil's birthday.
Now when Clint dragged the pads of his fingers over the frame, he would feel the gloss of the photograph and their happiness, and smile.