He had followed, though his interest was not in the wonders of their surroundings but instead the dangers they presented. He could smell everything whether it was the oddly sweet rusted steel or the pungent fungus vine that crept up most of the ruins. His companion was hardly exempt from this acute awareness and it was obvious to him that for all her composure, she was no more at ease in this place than he was. There was plenty more that he could hear, which included the ticking of her watch. He'd decided an hour ago that when he paid attention to it, the second hand was moving irregularly. He might have kept sense of time from the sky above, but the sun had been moving so slowly across the sky that he was half convinced a full day should have already passed since they arrived, even though they had yet to see nightfall come.
It was the very reason that prompted him to remove the partially used cigar from his pocket and once more light it up again. Smoking was not as much of a stress relief to him as it was for others, but it worked well enough when it came to strangling his senses. There was too much everything out there and he was tired of smelling it all. This place was wrong and he had long come to regret ever agreeing to the demands of that pencil mustached asshole that had convinced him he was the best choice for protecting the passcode. After his previous mission with Agent Carter, it had become clear that the rough looking northerner was as close to Captain America as any of them were likely to encounter again. But no one would ever argue he was a paragon of virtue. He was capable and strong and his similarities to Steve Rogers began and ended there.
"Personally, I ain't got any plans of talking about this place." He exhaled smoke and grimaced as he stared at her outstretched hand. Of all the complications he'd encountered on missions, this was by far one of the stranger. Howard Stark had justified the physical contact as the only way of keeping the passcode charged, but he'd been tempted more than once to call the bluff and keep moving on his own. Yet that robot had not gone down easily and Logan had nearly lost a hand in the fight. The wound he did take had been deep and one leg of his trousers was soaked in blood, though there was no wound to be found underneath it all. Another encounter like that would make it hard to keep his mutation secret.
Reluctantly he pressed his hand into her and let their fingers entwine, just as they had been instructed. As ever, he could feel the warm pulse in his wrist that indicated the connection was active. Though he glanced briefly at her, he quickly looked away and maneuvered the cigar to the opposite side of his mouth.
no subject
It was the very reason that prompted him to remove the partially used cigar from his pocket and once more light it up again. Smoking was not as much of a stress relief to him as it was for others, but it worked well enough when it came to strangling his senses. There was too much everything out there and he was tired of smelling it all. This place was wrong and he had long come to regret ever agreeing to the demands of that pencil mustached asshole that had convinced him he was the best choice for protecting the passcode. After his previous mission with Agent Carter, it had become clear that the rough looking northerner was as close to Captain America as any of them were likely to encounter again. But no one would ever argue he was a paragon of virtue. He was capable and strong and his similarities to Steve Rogers began and ended there.
"Personally, I ain't got any plans of talking about this place." He exhaled smoke and grimaced as he stared at her outstretched hand. Of all the complications he'd encountered on missions, this was by far one of the stranger. Howard Stark had justified the physical contact as the only way of keeping the passcode charged, but he'd been tempted more than once to call the bluff and keep moving on his own. Yet that robot had not gone down easily and Logan had nearly lost a hand in the fight. The wound he did take had been deep and one leg of his trousers was soaked in blood, though there was no wound to be found underneath it all. Another encounter like that would make it hard to keep his mutation secret.
Reluctantly he pressed his hand into her and let their fingers entwine, just as they had been instructed. As ever, he could feel the warm pulse in his wrist that indicated the connection was active. Though he glanced briefly at her, he quickly looked away and maneuvered the cigar to the opposite side of his mouth.