Friend before capture. Prisoner of War. He lifted a hand to his head and covered his eyes for a moment, although training screamed at him that this was a bad idea. He dropped his hand away from his face and shook the rest of the moisture from his arm. He didn't bother with the bottle; it was repaired and the technician wasn't angry. No use getting upset.
"Thank you," he said. He stood up once more and looked at the technician--Loki. "I have something to think about." It wasn't, he hoped, dismissive. But his headache was creeping deeper into his head. And if he was breaking glass bottles in Loki's residence, he was slipping.
He pushed in the stool and fixed Loki with a level stare. "I'm sorry to have disturbed you."