"Hawkeye," he interrupts. Charlie was either a blue blood snob or the worst pilot the North Koreans had ever had in their service. Personally, Hawkeye was sure he preferred the North Korean variety if only because it saved face and offered days of great entertainment. Thinking that's a shock, when he remembers the context.

The unease in his gut is all too real. This lady was a bad seed. Hawkeye shrugs his shoulders lazily, feels like he shouldn't even say another word. "Hilarious? I don't see how it is and don't you try and explain things to me the way you see them, Bonnie." He wags his finger at her like she was some dog he's trying to keep off the table. Like he's explaining to a kid why they can't write on the walls. --though, if that were the case, he'd let the kids get away with it. He feels like the mud's sucking at his boots and steps back and to the side once so he doesn't feel so trapped. Suppose he should just leave then but even taking his eyes off the girl for a second, which he'd tried to avoid, makes him feel like prey. "Are you going to kill me?" He asks, not keen on being told 'yes' but needing a plan.