Joe may have just met his gaze, but Nicky has been watching him since the lab. He doesn't need the chair at the door, or the lean against the wall to read the other man's mood -- he knows Yusuf's form all too well by now. He never could have missed the tension of those strong shoulders, or the rigid set of that handsome jaw -- all signs that a storm is brewing. Nicky's own brows knit together, but he exhales a small sigh of relief once Joe comes into his reach.

"Shower," he agrees, equally quiet, but the slow move of his hand to reciprocate Joe's touch shows he's not exactly racing for the bathroom door.

They definitely need to shower. Nicky can still feel the stickiness of gore in his hair; the phantom ache of his wounds, but he hardly pays that any mind. Joe's anger is all but vibrating under his sky, and Nicky finds that much, much more important.

"Talk to me?" He bids gently, knowing things to be serious, if only because he has to ask.