At first he was about to ask her why he would argue, then remembered how Oliver behaved sometimes about injuries. So he only smiled awkwardly.
"Only if she's not too busy with other things." But by the hopeful look in those green eyes, he really hoped she could. He would much rather give a verbal report than clumsily type one up. He was horrible at typing.
"Hm... Maybe." He wasn't so certain. The two had an odd seeming relationship, but he hadn't pinned down what kind of relationship yet, just that it was definitely more than superior and subordinate. "If Coulson does get it banned to serve at SHIELD's break room, though, that doesn't mean people can't invest in it for personal use, right?"
Connor looked to his hand and flexed it a few centimeters carefully. The bone didn't prevent the fingers from working some, but the immediate stinging burn instantly made him stop. He lift his arm straight up to turn it for a slow observation. The knuckles at least didn't look out of place, compared to the other hand, but it was still definitely puffy. "The anti-inflammatories helped. So long as I don't try flexing my palm, it seems okay." That was truthful enough. He leaned over to dig a fresh icepack out of the small chest in the cockpit. The one he'd fallen asleep with had melted. "That's what I get for choosing to follow a punch through even though the other guy moved so I could only clip him." It had put the opponent down though enough he could finish that fight and focus on the other two fighters coming at him, but still it'd come with a price. All things considered, though, he was grateful nothing was worse.
Still... "How many missions end up like? I didn't get nearly as much information as I hoped, nor could I break up the fighting rings that branched off into China." He looked to Bobbi. "I know thinking back there were a few things I could have done better, but what's expected?" Rookie jitters--how much did he need to improve?