[ Bellamy looks at him, and it's so painfully easy to relax, let him see the similarity between them, provide some stability to lean against. Clint's good at that; pep talks, quiet comments, silent support. Not what Fury had probably expected out of an angry ex-carnie kid, but it's who Clint's become. He doesn't mind being that person here and now, especially not when they're all tied together. ]

I keep stockpiles. [ Quietly, not necessarily a secret, but. ] Small stuff, non-perishables, y'know. Sometimes habit can be hard to kick [ a little laugh, wry. ] and sometimes they're still useful.

[ Laura had tried to help, but reassurances weren't much good when you'd spent the better part of two decades not knowing when or where your next meal was gonna be. Being a soldier, an assassin, it hadn't helped much either. Maybe more to the point, Clint had always viewed it as useful having stashes, because he never knew.

Bellamy's statement pushes aside the thoughtfulness, and Clint's mouth curls with a smile, lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes. ]

Eh. [ It isn't, not really. Clint's never had someone else's mind mess with him like this. Except for Loki, but that's not one can of worms he's ever planning on opening. But: ] One time I fractured my skull, broke two ribs, and had to find my own way out of Slovakia. Let me tell ya, little bit of nausea? Ain't bad.