(Seriously, it's kind of embarrassing, after all this stressing over plot, to have this become the freaking focal point.)
I guess I could break it up into multiple chapters, but I hate to lose, er, momentum.
Holy crap it's almost 4am I need to go to bed.
ETA: Bed? Wuzzat?
“You look better,” she tells him.
“I do?” asks Clint. “’Cause I feel like death warmed over, to be honest.”
Her lips curve into another smile, this one holding the promise of mischief. “Well, you do look like death warmed over, but earlier you looked like room-temperature death, so this is actually an improvement.”