[ fitz thinks, at least, that he knows similar types to jason. well, he knew one man, in particular, pushing his buttons. not so many years ago, ward might have bothered him like this, albeit with less overt flirtation, waiting in fitz's room for want of entertainment (or maybe just to stave off the loneliness). towering and teasing, too, like this.

that experience means he doesn't hesitate, tipping the glass to enjoy generous swig without seizing jason's drink, unafraid of the intimacy, despite his general misgivings about this entire sequence of events. and thank god he did 'cause, jesus christ, he's going to fire dick grayson. all press is bad press, especially the sort being volleyed back in his face now.

buying himself time to answer (and obscuring the stupid, traitorous flush), he drags a hand across his jaw. ]

Yanks are easy to impress. [ dry as anything. ] Or amuse, in your case.

[ he huffs. ]

So, were you hoping I'd entertain you, [ gesturing between them. ] or is this about scoring points in a pissing contest?

[ why does anyone even care if he has a poor opinion of them, anyway. he's just the grouchy tech monkey. ]