Anything's possible. "All right. I'll handle my end of the deal and bring back dinner." Not that there's not some food still there.

He doesn't put any pressure behind it but puts a hand on Clint's bicep before sliding his glasses firmly on his face and heading out.

He'll be back - with food he picked up from a place down the street, that's still hot - at exactly the two hour mark. What did he do those two hours? Walk. Nothing more exciting or complicated than unobtrusive but constant motion at a reasonable pace.

Because fuck attention. Not this close to Clint's temporary place and plan going live.