[ That makes him smile, genuinely if briefly, as he pours his own ale and takes a sip. John draws his hand away and feels the need for a nonverbal explanation which probably reveals more of his discomfort than he'd like. Khan doesn't bother looking around, reading the atmosphere effortlessly simply by the change of mood alone, the rustling of clothes and the changing of breaths. It doesn't bother him, barely even serves to make him alert. He wouldn't care if a handful of ants found his presence objectionable and this is barely any different. Instead, he brushes his knee lightly against John's underneath the table and straightens up in his seat, gaze dark. Heated, somewhat, by the implications. ]

There are things even British intelligence isn't privy to. [ Aside from his untimely appearance in this dimension, he remembers from his own days - it's never easy, playing games with any governments, a former empire, least of all. But it's amusing, in its own right. One out of many ways to power. ] He should be more concerned about you. You haven't found a new job or you would have told me, presumably. Why?

[ Near the counter, the men have started talking quite loudly amongst themselves about queers and fucking faggots. He remembers this from his own time and day. Humans really can be exhaustingly puerile. He doesn't bother looking at them, simply keeps his gaze fixed on John, waiting for his answer. The beer is a bit too light for his tastes but he'll drink it anyway, it's fine and he's not, as a rule, picky. ]