Clint actually dropped his fork when she said she'd brought him painkillers. "You did?" he asked, a hint of wonder in his voice, as if this were a thing he'd never expected in a thousand years. "That's so--" he cut himself off then, clearing his throat.
Probably best not to sound too excited. It didn't hurt that badly, and he didn't want to give the relatively false impression that he needed them. Still. They would be good to have in his corner. They softened things a little, blurred the world at the edges in a way that didn't make things seem pleasant, necessarily, but certainly more bearable. "Thoughtful of you," he finished. "Thanks, Tasha. I appreciate it."
The smile dimmed a few shades as she chose to answer his question. "You suppose," he murmured thoughtfully, his eyes flicking back up to her eye. This was her version of it could have been worse, and they both knew it. Trouble was, it always could be. And they both knew that, too.
So there wasn't anything good to say, then. Sorry wouldn't help, and he didn't want to press her. So he just lifted his hand and rested it on the table, palm open, offering his hand if she wanted it.
"Well, if you need to be cheered up, I'll show you the little emoji Tony made of his reactor thing and I'll tell you what it reminded me of."