( Hey stops him, earns him a sideways look over Frank's shoulder, expectant. Help is a surprise; he's used to assholes too proud to admit when they need it. He says nothing when he doubles back, has no judgmental commentary to make when he offers one broad, steadying shoulder to act as a crutch. One slow step at a time, they make it inside, into a booth table that sticks to whoever sits in it just the same as they always do back home. Apparently, some things don't change regardless of which dimension you're in.
Then comes the thanks, and Frank eyes him again for another long second before he answers: )
You're welcome.
( Simple as that. He was there, the guy needed help, Frank helped him. It's not that hero bullshit where you go out looking for somebody to save, that's not him, that's not what he was there for — but he's not about to leave somebody to up and god damn die when he could do something about it instead.
And it turns out it was a good call, too, considering who exactly it is he intervened for. Not that he gives a shit about the celebrity status, just that maybe the world might owe this asshole a favor or two for all the thankless shit he's done for it. Plus, it'd be a shame to let Hawkeye die when his namesake's used as a running joke between Scout Snipers during training. Nice shot, Hawkeye. Really suck the fun out of the joke if he turned up fucking dead.
The waitress swings by, and Frank takes the liberty of ordering their drinks for them with a relatively polite, vaguely charismatic, )
Two cups of coffee, please, sweetheart. Matter 'fact, just leave the pot. Thank you, ma'am.
( Sue him for making assumptions, but Clint looks like a drowned rat that could hardly wheeze out a full sentence right now. )
no subject
Then comes the thanks, and Frank eyes him again for another long second before he answers: )
You're welcome.
( Simple as that. He was there, the guy needed help, Frank helped him. It's not that hero bullshit where you go out looking for somebody to save, that's not him, that's not what he was there for — but he's not about to leave somebody to up and god damn die when he could do something about it instead.
And it turns out it was a good call, too, considering who exactly it is he intervened for. Not that he gives a shit about the celebrity status, just that maybe the world might owe this asshole a favor or two for all the thankless shit he's done for it. Plus, it'd be a shame to let Hawkeye die when his namesake's used as a running joke between Scout Snipers during training. Nice shot, Hawkeye. Really suck the fun out of the joke if he turned up fucking dead.
The waitress swings by, and Frank takes the liberty of ordering their drinks for them with a relatively polite, vaguely charismatic, )
Two cups of coffee, please, sweetheart. Matter 'fact, just leave the pot. Thank you, ma'am.
( Sue him for making assumptions, but Clint looks like a drowned rat that could hardly wheeze out a full sentence right now. )