[Shit, that was a good one. Hawkeye has the presence of mind to mourn the joke, holding up a hand in that disarming way that Shiro had done for him not too long ago. It's kind of silly to be mirroring worry with worry, isn't it? And yet here they stand.] Save it, fella, your face is liable to stick that way if you keep lookin' at me like that. [And it's making the guilt kind of difficult to ignore, y'know? And yet here they... sit.

So he'll move straight into... ignoring that. Let the guy be all Concerned and Noble and Nice. See if he cares.

Hawkeye clicks his tongue, points an index finger to the blue skies of Maine, and has that finger find the tip of his own nose (that crap takes skill, buddy. trying and long hours of good ol' fashioned hard work). He can't help the sliver of bitterness that bleeds through his words next. If he were a dog, he thinks he'd be right close to doing that hackles-up thing, except without being threatening. Which would defeat the entire purpose. Were he a dog. Huh.] So surprise me. We can make a real experiment outta this. You can tell me ever'thing Fate's got planned for lil ol' me and either I listen and remember and tell myself a whole lot of 'damns', or you tell me everything Fate's got planned for me and all I remember tomorrow is that I asked a beefy son of a gun if he'd like experiment with me. [--too obvious?

Huh.] It's all liable to go down the same way if I sober, by the way.