“Excellent!” Jack claps his hands together and rubs them. “That’s the spirit.” He hasn’t missed Natasha’s glance at his face, or the question she didn’t ask. “You’ll get used to it, I promise.” He directs this mostly at Clint, but includes the both of them. “Everyone here is wonderful, and we just want to put on a good show for our audience. They deserve the best from us, after all.” He introduces them to hair and makeup people with thoughtful personal details.

Then he leans in closer to the mirror, dabs a bit of additional concealer on the line of broken flesh that extends just beyond his lip. “I feel like this is going to show up on camera no matter what we do.” His tone is upset, a touch remorseful. “I’m so sorry, Marcia. I just keep making your job difficult, don’t I?” He may be speaking to his makeup woman, but the quick glance at Nat, then straight to Clint’s hand, hopefully conveys his meaning. Have to make it look good, by which he means bad.