"Hn," Namor gave one of his grunts again as she defended Clint. His goal wasn't to agitate Carol further, so he left it at that exactly what he thought of the archer. He held the bag still when she punched it, feet braced on the floor to absorb the blow, and then met her look when she denied being emotionally unstable.
Curious, Namor let go of the bag and watched Carol remove her gloves to move to the mat. He declined to comment on the way she had removed her gloves that bellied her denial, and instead simply stood and observed, crossing his arms over his chest while Carol stretched.
Jack, he knew, was a type of alcohol, and while three empty bottles might be an over exaggeration, he couldn't be sure with the way she was behaving. It wasn't as if it was a flattering image. He and Carol had never had what one might call a 'good' relationship, but he had learned a lot about her through watching and through their banter, their sparring. This was a new type of anger in her that he hadn't witnessed before, particularly when it wasn't directed at him.
Which was why he didn't take immediate offense to her insinuation of his own emotional instability. While it was true, and would have normally instigated an angry retort and possibly a challenge to fight, this time it hit Namor's pointed ears and had little effect except to make his shoulders tense and his head to turn away from her. "I am aware of my weaknesses. Are you conscious of yours?" Dark sea shaded eyes turned back to her with a intent gaze.