Hawkeye could assume well enough why Ellie was suddenly looking like she was, and he felt horrible for having brought it on. He told himself she'd get over it in a minute- young girls were flighty, don'tcha know- and only looked mildly confused when she handed him the items. After only half-way listening to her and after looking them over, the pastry being brought up to his nose for a sniff, he huffed out a sharp little breath. Pocketed the items. Wondered how she knew about the alarms. He glanced up at Joel as if he'd ignored her all the while, as if having her at arms-length and still never quite touching her hadn't stirred and angried a pit he knew was forming in his gut. Hawkeye glanced up at Joel, his voice shifting to something not quite gruff, not quite as even-tempered as before. If Hawkeye could only guess, he'd call it a warning.

"You listen to what she tells you," he says. No hand gestures, but he wishes for them anyhow. "There are bigger men here than you, pops. You can't get through this jumping on anyone you see alone. We wouldn't be in this mess if only some guys decided not to give in to any killer instinct." And to hell with any response that one might get him- he didn't need it. Didn't want it. He only wanted to turn back to the girl he couldn't say he'd been looking for, too, because he'd been tired and busy and telling himself that if he hadn't crossed her path or heard her name from the intercom, she'd been faring fine. So he did. He turned to Ellie.

He stood straight, heels together, all military except for the way his pale legs and sorry chest showed through the bathrobe. He grinned like he was hoarding a joke all to himself and felt like he was being swallowed by lake water.

And to Ellie he gave an extravagant salute, and a much more rigid nod of acknowledgement. "Major." Outranking or not, he never took orders well.

And, gee golly gosh.

This must have looked great on the colored televisions.