Tucked was a gentle word for how voraciously Scott ate in familiar company. He'd learned to behave himself at parties, of course. His Escort had been particularly heavy-handed with the etiquette, always finding new and creative ways to shape his ward's behavior (sticking his finger into Scott's mouth whenever he was chewing with it open was among the most hated). As a result, Scott could play at being civilized just as well as the rest of them. But among friends, he usually wasn't one to stand on ceremony. Even less so now, when his blood alcohol content was high enough that it wasn't even a consideration. He was half way finished with his sandwich when Clint had worked up the nerve to ask his question.
"Nothing's going to get us out of there, buddy. Nothing big enough to stop it," he said, cheek bulging, and shrugged one of his shoulders at his friend. "I got stuff that might help in the long term, when we're gone. Maybe. Blueprints and maps and access codes. Anything I thought looked important. S'all half a decade old by now, but could be a good place to start." He took another bite of the sandwich, as the last had depleted while he spoke. "Hank's got some stuff that could help me get into places now, he was saying." Scott swallowed, breaking out into a lazy smile that was edged with mischievousness. "Got me thinking about coming out of retirement, actually."