Hawkeye has to keep from snickering. That'd be in bad taste. He raises a hand to signal to her, instead, to signal to how ridiculous she's being with that gesture he's sported so many times already. Peace. Surrender. Two words that were always just there, but hardly ever did anything.

"I'm a doctor, for Christ's sake. And I'll have you know I take my profession very seriously." That meant different things, at different times. "So stop- stop doing that." It made him feel like he was being saluted to. The gesture was as useless. A salute signified respect by people who wanted nothing more than to spit on your grave and here's a sign of peace by a woman with a knife on her hips. Funny. Life was funny.

He lowers his own hand and heaves a sigh and wants to run a hand through his hair but the last time he put his face in his hands, he got a spear brushed against his neck. So he paces just a little. He's antsy. He doesn't get it. He just wants ribs. And now his mouth's watering, figuratively. She hadn't mentioned powders. He holds up his hand again. Stop, lady, stop. When he finishes his little exercise he's got his torso perpendicular to hers. He moved some yards. "You're getting me excited. I'll get emotional in a minute if you don't stop talking about food." Physically emotional. Aroused, even. --nah.

"So why are you telling me all of this?" Why be civil?