( After about twenty minutes of those headlights following him, he figures it's a safe bet he plans to tail Frank all the way to somewhere. Probably a smart call, better than trying to navigate in the state he must be in after however long he went oxygen-deprived. After how exhausted he must be from the swimming for his life and all that.
It was tempting to just throw the guy in the back of his van, let him sprawl out in the seats while Frank got them the hell outta dodge — but that's a surefire way to lose a car, if the diffiusion zone decides to swallow it whole. Not like he'd wanna come back and drop the guy off there later, either, so. It is what it is.
Time to make this waffle house a waffle home.
Two, three minutes after they park, Clint gets a gentle slap slap on the hood of his car. Wake up, buttercup. It's a long drive back to the Blocks, if that's where he's staying too — either way, sleeping in a car with the protection of only a fucking tarp in a world full of raiders is a stupid ass mistake to make, and apparently Frank's feeling obligated to the guy.
Call it him being an ambassador of New York, paying it forward for all the work fighting off that alien invasion that one time. New York always pays its debts. )
Hey. ( It's not a bark, but it is firm, sharp, something adjacent to an order. ) You want coffee or not?
( And then he strides off without waiting for an answer; he wants coffee after all that fucking bullshit. Whether he's drinking it alone doesn't matter. What matters is sitting somewhere safe, warm, and dry, and getting his collective shit together while he tries to wrap his head around what the fuck just happened. )
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It was tempting to just throw the guy in the back of his van, let him sprawl out in the seats while Frank got them the hell outta dodge — but that's a surefire way to lose a car, if the diffiusion zone decides to swallow it whole. Not like he'd wanna come back and drop the guy off there later, either, so. It is what it is.
Time to make this waffle house a waffle home.
Two, three minutes after they park, Clint gets a gentle slap slap on the hood of his car. Wake up, buttercup. It's a long drive back to the Blocks, if that's where he's staying too — either way, sleeping in a car with the protection of only a fucking tarp in a world full of raiders is a stupid ass mistake to make, and apparently Frank's feeling obligated to the guy.
Call it him being an ambassador of New York, paying it forward for all the work fighting off that alien invasion that one time. New York always pays its debts. )
Hey. ( It's not a bark, but it is firm, sharp, something adjacent to an order. ) You want coffee or not?
( And then he strides off without waiting for an answer; he wants coffee after all that fucking bullshit. Whether he's drinking it alone doesn't matter. What matters is sitting somewhere safe, warm, and dry, and getting his collective shit together while he tries to wrap his head around what the fuck just happened. )