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They rarely fly commercial in their line of work, military jets and high speed aircraft used more often, but they've all flown it enough to know the drill with check-in, security and boarding. Stark had his jets elsewhere too or they could have gotten a real classy ride. But for a visit to Phil's family, they couldn't take SHIELD vehicles.
Phil booked the earliest flight possible so when five in the morning hit, the three of them were just passing through security. An hour wait before the gate opened was the perfect balance of being early for the flight and having to wait, and Phil settled into the uncomfortable airport chair with his laptop. Natasha left her bags with them and went to go look through the airport stores to see what bizarre things she could find. She never bought anything except drinks for the flight but it was a fun game to play and so far the weirdest thing she had found was a pack of dehydrated frog legs in Moscow.
Clint still wasn't really awake despite getting through security and the bright lights in the airport. He curled up next to Phil on the awful chairs, squirming as close as he could, mashing his face into Phil's shoulder and wrapping his arm around Phil's stomach.
Phil gave Clint's arm a gentle pat and went back to emailing his parents. The plan was for Phil's father to meet them with the minivan and get them to the house in time for lunch and Phil was just confirming where they would meet at the airport.
This was their first official vacation since the Loki incident and it was a thinly veiled medical leave since Phil still wasn't up to one hundred percent, Natasha fractured her arm last week and Clint was still dealing with his anxiety and PTSD. To be honest, it was probably more that SHIELD was no longer in crisis mode and didn't have to utilize any and all agents, regardless of their condition.
Now things had settled down, or were as settled as SHIELD ever was, and Fury ordered them on a vacation. So here they were, five thirty in the morning at LaGuardia airport waiting for their gate to open.
Clint's breath tickled Phil's neck as he slept, air ghosting across his skin, raising goosebumps. Phil ignored it, sending a warning email to Tony and a much nicer email to Pepper, both along the lines of, “you break shit, you deal with it while I'm gone”. Pepper wouldn't be the problem by herself, calm and nondestructive as she usually was but combined with Tony, those two could really cause some problems. But for the next two weeks, they were dealing with their own stuff since Phil, Clint and Natasha were all off grid “on a mission” so absolutely no contact.
Natasha reappeared twenty minutes later, two coffees, a hot chocolate and a bag of pastries balanced in her arms. Two of the cups sat on the flat part of her arm brace and she ignored Phil's warning look. “We're at gate 212,” she said, setting the drinks down on the little table attached to the chairs and picking up her carry-on and bag.
Phil nudged Clint, “Time to go, Clint.”
“Mmm, yeah,” he muttered, climbing to his feet, half asleep and slowly picking up his bag and carry-on. Phil closed and stored his laptop, grabbed his bags and picked up his coffee in the time it took for Clint to discover the hot chocolate and pick it up.
Phil and Natasha poked Clint along as they walked to the gate, ignoring Clint's complaints to “just let him stop and drink, dammit” before descending into unintelligible sounds of happiness when he got a sip of the hot chocolate.
Sharing a fond look behind Clint's back, Phil and Natasha kept him moving in the direction of the gate. While Clint snapping awake in an instant, alert and ready to go was sexy as hell and had led to some enthusiastic mornings for the three of them, he rarely woke up slowly anymore; between nightmares and insomnia it was rare for him to sleep through the night.
So to see Clint stumbling around was completely adorable and Natasha snatched up Clint's free hand and tugged him along. The bag of pastries was tucked into her bag and she kept it out of Phil's reach, flashing him a mischievous smile. “You can have those on the flight. No need to stop and open them now,” she said, eyes dancing.
It was moments like this that Phil was the most grateful they had come out of the Loki incident more or less in one piece.
They reached the gate and the flight attendants were still doing preparation so the three of them stood and waited for boarding. Clint halfheartedly swiped at Natasha's bag, trying to get the pastries before leaning his head on Phil's left shoulder. A twinge of pain shot through his shoulder, but Phil ignored it, enjoying the fact that Clint felt safe enough to be so vulnerable in public.
Finally they boarded, putting their carry-ons in the overhead bins and sitting down, Clint in the window seat, then Natasha in the middle and Phil got the aisle seat. While the other passengers moved around them, Natasha gave Clint his painkillers and the water bottle and took the hearing aids he held out. Phil handed over his sweater as well, giving Clint a quick smile as the other man settled in to sleep, using it as a pillow.
Flying was rough on Clint, the change in pressure hurting his ears and joints to the point where he willingly took painkillers to get through it.
Natasha handled flying the best out of the three of them, whether she was sleeping on the flight or not. Phil just wished teleportation could be invented for commercial use because it would be far more efficient.
But they settled in, and when the plane was airborne, Phil and Natasha brought out their crossword book and began solving. It was a race really, but a cooperative one with occasional swiping of pens and elbow battles.
Ten minutes later, Natasha won the first one with neuron on six across and looked at Phil expectantly. He obliged, leaning in to press a kiss to her lips, pulling back when she swiped her tongue across his lower lip.
“Not in public, dear,” he murmured, turning the page to the next crossword.
“Yes, dear,” Natasha whispered in his ear before diving into the crossword again.
Phil twined their fingers together, hidden by the edge of Natasha's jacket and smiled as he filled in words, Clint's breathing mixing with the sounds of pen against paper and the rumble of the plane.
It would be a good two week vacation.