Carmine didn't believe for one second that Khalid hadn't killed, or hadn't been requested to kill. They even wanted Carmine to try to kill with his telepathy; although he usually preferred his telekinesis or explosions for such deeds. It felt less personal that way. "You fell off that cliff, or you-as-someone-else fell off the cliff?" he asked. It was a guess, rather than reading the other man's mind. Though he still had access to his telepathy, Carmine did try not to use it on his fellow agents unless it could specifically benefit him. As such, he didn't catch on to the possibility of PTSD from the event, the way it shook Khalid except for a minor tick in his demeanor. Carmine glossed over the casual disclosure of classified information, in large part because he didn't care about classification. "If there's a commission, I'm owed some back pay." He chuckled, perhaps a bit darkly, at that.
At their reactions to his suggestion of laundry, Carmine shook his head with a smile. He knew why they did it, of course. Poor Dean, with agents like these who deliberately tried to torment him by assailing his nose and sense of cleanliness. Although, in the process, Carmine's own nose was offended, but he let that slip for the sake of their fun. Whatever made it easier for them to pass the time. "I suppose you do still have some blank spots on your clothes you could fill with some more stains," he suggested, pointing at one such empty space on Rory's green fleece. "Why don't you pick up some messy snacks while we're here? You'll get the munchies anyway."
An eyebrow lifted at Rory's question. "Why, my favorite floormates, of course," he answered smoothly. "Sharing is the neighborly thing to do, after all."