Bolstered by her laugh, Jasper shifted his weight away from the safety of his curtain and offered a wry smile of thanks for being a good sport, opening up to this rapport. "I think you're just popular," he replied, knowing her intent could have been the hospital intake and not the able-bodied visitors but preferring to keep the focus away from anything...like that. If she had been crying earlier, she had definitely exceeded her allotted quota and he wasn't going to be responsible for the overdraft. In this scenario, anyway, she definitely was the mysterious hot chick at the bar who everyone wanted to buy a drink for, or something like that, and Jasper would be the one to say the wrong thing and make her leave. Cry. Whatever. This metaphor wasn't working.
That was okay, because he narrowed his eyes inquisitively and tried to pin down the nagging familiarity with a pointed finger now that he was really looking at his neighbour and had decided her Hot Chick status. It would have been easier, except the last time he had seen this face it had been covered in blood and she was looking particularly healthy for an impaled person. "You're not...aren't you...?" he tried anyway, a little afraid of the answer. The Avengers got top S.H.I.E.L.D. priority and deserved a more respectful introduction than, 'did she just see my butt?'.