"If there's alien cows in the fridge we're gonna shove this asshole's face in it, pissed off wife or no." Jim, sweetheart, you have no idea what you're talking about or what superheroes even are. Your dedication to your friends--even new ones--is endearing, but you're going to get yourself killed. Again.

The whole shebang that ended up with him in the Nexus and now in New York has been crazy on Jim's nerves. He feels raw and exposed. Not a great combo for making him patient or civil. Jim stares down at his borrowed sweatshirt and clenches his jaw. There has to be something he can do.

"Let us help, Clint. Verity and I can head to a store or something, leave you to go question whoever or beat this fucker senseless. Whichever. Just get it on record when you do. I'd pay to see it." He doesn't even realize he's doing that Captain thing. Habits are hard to break.