The coffee had gone from lukewarm to cold. Which wasn't that bad - Clint wasn't exactly picky - but the offer of vodka was now much more appealing, even though it wasn't his usual drink. "I'm not angry," he clarified; not thinking he really needed to, but just in case. And he wasn't, really. Clint saved his anger for bigger things than friends making a verbal misstep. In the realm of conversation, it could not be said that he was a sensitive person, especially not for Nat, for whom he could forgive almost anything.

"Of course you have vodka," he said, amused. He dug into his back pocket for money to lay down for his sandwich. He had yet to go to his room; naturally, the idea of walking through another door was weirding him out for the time being. He did have the key, but wasn't keen on using it.

When he got to his feet, though, before picking up his bow and quiver, he held out his arms to her so he could gather her into a hug. Her physical affection sometimes seemed to burn hot and cold, but he liked to hug her, and had a feeling she enjoyed it when he did, too.