Work Text:
Clint’s laying in bed, staring at his ceiling when the phone rings. He picks it up without bothering to look at the caller ID.
“’lo?”
“Clint.”
“Hey, Wanda.” He shuffles himself up slightly into more of a recline than the flatness of failed sleep. “What’s going on?”
“I made a mistake. I messed up, I-”
“Slow down,” he interrupts her frantic, breathless words. “Just breathe, okay?”
He counts off quietly while she tries to calm down, a slow, controlled pattern: in for four, hold for two, out for seven.
“Where are you?” he asks after a minute.
“New Jersey.”
“Okay. I’ll be there soon,” he promises.
They’re both a little broken and alone, these days. This isn’t the first desperate, 2am phone call between them and it won’t be the last either.
Clint rolls out of bed and hunts for his shoes.