"What the fuck." His head jerks back in alarm at the apparent ease with which the civilian removes the plating and he forgets for that crucial instant that he is, in fact, horizontal. Rush's head comes into abrupt collision with the ship's floor with a sharp, highly pronounced clang. "Fuck!"

Thrown, he rolls to his feet, braces one arm against the console for support and rubbing vigorously at the throbbing section of his head with the other.

"Where did you come from?" he demands, paranoia sharpening. "We don't get fucking stowaways." Not several billion light years from Earth. Not aside from those of the distinctly nonterrestrial variety. Which, again, is also largely unrelated.

He is fairly certain this man is human, he is - he is reasonably certain. He had better be human. He shouldn't have been able to achieve that directive so easily, unless Rush has miscalculated his own wariness which is - entirely possible. Fuck. So which is it?