HUNK pauses in the fading light, and half turns to allow the distance between the two to close. He can smell Ginovaef's scent, now: musty and metallic, beneath the sweater and worn pants.
He's not there to play alpha dog, so there's no reason to put false barriers between the two. He'll need as much trust as he can garner.
He doesn't move for a moment, and he looks straight into the Russian's eyes.
They're the same, but different. There's a strain there, limning the corners and dipping to his mouth. Finally, McLeod gives a spare nod, and says, "Glad something good came out of that."
He's neatly diverted the other soldier's ribbing, and he hadn't meant it entirely. It bothers him, for some reason, that working with Spencer for so long has gotten him dancing around the truth.
His eyes flick to the cigarette, and he jerks his chin at it, mutely asking if Ginovaef would mind sharing.