The one time Sidney, damn him, had read him like a book, he had looked at his hands. To the way Hawkeye would rap his knuckles against the steel pole holding up the IV solution that was being fed to him. Right now, he didn't think it was worth ignoring the way Holiday played with her hands. He didn't know what to make of the gestures. He never bothered to stare, exactly. In fact, his attention's fleeing when she decides to start moving in closer and then he's feeling self-aware in a manner that made him shrink into himself and want to yawn again to signal disinterest. And then thinking that, he felt like he remembered R's mouth hanging open and so with a shiver, Hawkeye kept his mouth clamped shut.

Holiday smiled, and it made his gut lurch. He wanted to return the spite in a thin-lipped grin of his own but there's more than that in her words.

The resent was ridiculous.

He snorted.

He lifted an arm as if he was trying to rest it on the back of a plush sofa, gesturing, he thinks, for her to hurry and come to him. "I knew someone here had some good taste," he says and it's conversational this time. He lets his arm fall by his side again and thinks he's too tired to keep it up. --heh. "Do you believe I came in thinking we'd be in a massive pillow fight this time? I mean, can you imagine?"