Frankly, if someone wanted to go through the effort it would or would not take to poison him, killing Richie off in a way that didn't involve glowing swords or overly much running, he was just kind of fine with it at this point. Let it happen. Anyway, he hadn't been eating great this week so the cookie was kind of just nice.
No, he hadn't withdrawn, and he hadn't looked away and that was -- that was on Richie, and maybe all the things he wouldn't let himself openly say, but couldn't seem to stop thinking about lately anyway. The idea of being more open with himself as well as others was there. It just -- felt somehow less important than the other stuff going on. The ending up in a weird alternate dimension town, and finding Eddie and making sure Eddie was really himself, wasn't dead and wasn't going to disappear if he glanced away for even a second. Now getting his glasses fixed, too. See? He just didn't have time for all this emotional unpacking right now. He had other things to be doing.
"Sure," he agreed with a lopsided smile. "I'll volunteer to be Mr. March on next years' calendar. I'm sure it'll measure up between you and whatever month a double feature of Captain Rogers and his guy would go on." Hey, if nothing else, he still had his jokes, right?