[ he bares his teeth at her greeting, looking (probably not for the first time) like the kind of hellhound his jaeger is named after. the indifferent languidness that usually characterizes his body language is gone, replaced by a tight fury that has the area cleared out of all but the most necessary workers. this isn't the first time heine's had a very visible, public confrontation. ]

What the fuck. [ for all his sharp edges, he doesn't actually swear too often; all the same, the word tears its way out between his teeth. ]

What the hell—you almost got us both killed. You tell me you want to be the best there is? You'll get nowhere but the bottom of the goddamn ocean freezing up like that.

[ he lets the tense silence stand for a moment, teeth gritted as he glares at her. ]

And you won't be there alone. I can take care of myself, but if that happens again and whoever you're fighting with isn't ready—

[ he tightens his grip on his helmet again, trying to put the sheer frustration and anger (and, quietly, disappointment and old regret) he's feeling into words. after another second he just turns and starts to walk away. ]