Yeah, okay. Important as her answer was, this place wasn't gonna cut it. "You hungry?" he asked, a question not remotely relevant to the S.H.I.E.L.D. sales spiel he'd been making pre-bird shit and pigeon murder (not that he minded the latter, fucking pigeons). It was a polite way to suggest they leave without drawing any further attention to the fact that she was living in fucking squalor.
"We could continue our conversation somewhere else. Have something to eat. My treat." His own stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn't had dinner that evening. Nick could only think of a few places open this late, and he knew there was a McDonald's nearby. Not the nicest place he could take her, but anywhere was probably better than this and he wouldn't say no to shoveling down a couple Big Macs.