There’s another eyerolling at Jack’s quip, but by now Clint’s got the idea that although a lot of that flirtatiousness is a real, genuine part of Jack’s personality, it’s also somewhat of a cover for other things. What those things are, he’s not sure yet, but in the long run it doesn’t matter: Jack wants out of here as badly as they do, and is willing to work to achieve that goal. He lets the comment go by without saying anything, judging those bruises and wondering how often Jack had thrown himself in front of pipes in that riot. Score another point for him: he was willing to take the blows for other people. That or he’s just really bad at getting out of the way of an attack, but that didn’t fit with what Clint himself had witnessed. He’s judging the bruises with a professional eye, pulling up his memories of Jack from the fight, short as they were, and placing him in the layout of the commissary in comparison to the cameras in the area. “Were you buried under anyone in the fight, or were you always visible?” If there was a point, even a short one, where Jack hadn’t been seen, they could take advantage of it. “And I’m not gonna hit you in the face with this - cheekbone’s gonna be the best place for that, you’ll still be able to talk and it bruises really spectacularly. But I can punch you, elbow you, or knee you there. A baton’s just too risky on a bone that fragile.”