Tea. His brain latches onto it as a distraction, something to direct his mind towards. Besides, it is cold out, and his fingers are a little stiff. The earmuffs Warsman gave him were part of the property he lost when the Core sent them back in time, along with the anonymous gloves.

"I'd like some tea," he says, shifting his weight onto one leg. He can feel Warsman looking at him, and it makes him uncomfortable--as though he's supposed to be reacting in some way that he isn't. The nervous energy is palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife.

So he gives a half-smile, and crouches to unlace his boots. "It's not as bad as you made it sound."