For a moment, his first reflex is to deny it, dismiss any notion that he's not coping just fine, and he opens his mouth a moment to protest just that. No words come out, his shoulders sagging a little, his gaze averting from hers. One thing is for sure, he's not nearly as drunk as he'd like to be. "Been watching TV a lot lately," he admits instead, his voice a low rumble in his chest.

He leans back a little while she browses the media library, steadily draining his beer so he can replace it with another one quicker. He squints a little at the screen, skimming the plot blurb next to the little title screen. "Don't think so. Why not? Let's put it on." It's as good as any other, probably. And, as he glances over at her, it occurs to him that seeking comfort in the familiar is something that Natasha needs right now.