If she didn't quit with her neurotic fidgeting, he'd go nuts. It was like staring at a mirror for the first time in so long, and Hawkeye could almost hear any of the officers back in Korea jabbing him with half-sincere teasing about what it feels like being on the other end of nervous tics. It felt irritating, on one part. Utterly baffling and rolling him in a sense of helplessness in another. He figured, you know- he figured she was just tired. Holiday's stepping closer and Hawkeye's got to struggle to keep his neck craned up to meet her gaze instead of staring right at her crotch like he'd tiredly much rather do. She's only just finished her suggestion and he's adding on, "No, no," in a leisurely, thoughtful way that only meant it was more trouble than he dared venture to in the moment. "I have other things for them to consider. If I have to yell at them, I'd rather save my breath."

Which was as good a segue into the impatient gesturing down that he's making, breaking his gaze at her smile and even scooting inches more to one side. Jesus Christ, why even ask for permission? Was this a gala where he had to escort her to her seat? His brain must be at half-mast if he's genuinely agitated at the thought of being anyone to look for for answers. Stupid answers included, apparently at the top of the list. "No, no," he repeats. He shrugs. He seems like a brooding child if he's ever thought of himself as such, but maybe if he kept talking he wouldn't have to answer to why. "Go ahead. Me will just have to find somewhere else to sit after his break, but Myself and I wouldn't say no to the company."

Short.

Curt.

And here he'd thought they were doing so well.

Christ, he felt like a child. "And I have a lot of things to yell at them about. Only if I did it now, I'd give away my position. Smart, eh? What the hell's the matter with you?" An overgrown child.