[ If Clint didn't pay too close attention to the weld of their minds, it could be any other connection. Just a couple of guys swapping stories over a pint -- or, well, over not-pasta and toast. Nevermind the fact that these are a bit heavier than any other story anyway.

Whatever, he doesn't think about it. Simply nods, mouth curved with equally rueful smile. The apology is set aside, heard but unneeded, the bewilderment easier to stomach. And yeah, ok, maybe it's a bit over the top comparison -- but Bellamy's not dwelling on the whole mind-nausea thing now is he? ]

Really bad luck. [ Clint huffed, amused despite the whole past grievous injury thing. ] I was undercover, and somehow my mark figured out who I was. A guard got a couple good hits in, and when I jumped out the window my landing was off -- hit too hard and nearly punctured a lung.

[ A shrug, some faint snippet of an angry redhead leaking through. Nat had been pissed he'd nearly gotten himself killed without her there. ] Didn't get a bullet that time though, so, could have been worse.