It probably shouldn't have taken as long as it had for Clint to find some cheap drive through that served tacos at ass o'clock in the morning. And to be fair, it hadn't, exactly. He'd just had the very wise idea of going through the drive through despite not having enough hearing for a conversation with a teenager using a speaker system to be effective. There'd been a lot of what he assumed was yelling (although he hadn't really been going for that), some awkward apologizing, and eventually his order had shown up somewhat coherently on the screen, and he'd been able to drive up to the next window.
He wasn't an asshole. He paid on card.
But hey, he'd made it eventually. And after he'd knocked a bit of an obnoxious rhythm on Jamie's door and was greeted by the guy who he only felt like he'd met a billion times, he grinned, plopped the over-full bag of tacos and side... accoutrements into his waiting hand (what else would he have his hands stuck out for?), he slipped in through the door to look around like the slightly nosy friend that he was. He appreciated the place looked lived in.
"Sweet digs," he announced, probably too loudly for the time of day. Sorry, friends and neighbors.