Even though Clint had been out of the SHIELD game for a few years now, when Nick Fury called him and said, "Jump," he didn't just ask how high. He packed a go bag, rappelling gear and a parachute just in case, metaphorically of course. What he really did was groan wordlessly into the phone that he had just groped off the nightstand, earning him an elbow from Remy, who otherwise didn't stir. "Hol'on, lemme put my ears in. Ok... Boss?" He clambered out of bed and down into the living room where he collapsed onto the couch. "Where the fu- you're not my boss anymore, I can ask whateve- yes sir. Yes, sir. I'll be there. You mean like a tac suit, right? Bosssss.... Ok. Fine. I said fine. I'll be there. Yes in a suit." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "Who's my way in? What do you mean 'I'll know when I see them?' You don't have to be so damn cryptic all the time y'know. And he hung up on me." He checked the clock on his phone before he shut it off and went back to bed. 6:00 PM, that night, some charity gala thing, suit mandatory. Get in, get some plans, get out. Dossier to come to his tablet within the hour. Yeah, this was going to be a disaster.