Deadlock knows it's true. His too obvious bluff called, he moodily stares out the window, resigned to the necessity but in no mood to be gracious or grateful about. It's petulant, but when was the last time someone expressed gratitude to him? It's overated.

He can't pretend he's not listening though, because even if the pointy white mech is not to be trusted, the promise of more information, a clue as to what's going on here, is something of value he wants. And living through this might be good too, even if it means letting some weirdo do his repairs.

"I can patch up plenty on my own," he says blithely, half a bluff, because though he has the skill, the areas that need attention aren't easy for him to attend to himself. "But fine, go ahead. If you think you're puttin' me out for any of it though you're crazy. Don't care how much it hurts."