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Clint laid on the floor of Natasha’s living room with an empty bottle of whiskey beside his head. She dropped her gear bag at the door and sighed. The noise rattled him out of a alcohol-induced slumber and he made a very unsuccessful attempt to sit up.
“Heyyyyyy,” he called, waving at her while still staring at the ceiling.
“Clint, what the hell?”
He pulled himself up using the edge of the couch as a crutch and dropped his head back against the cushion. Shaking her head, Natasha crossed over to him and sat beside his head.
“I missed you… and I also drank the last of your whiskey,” he said sheepishly.
She stroked his hair. “What am I going to do with you?”