#13 bobbed his head along whenever his keeper turned in his direction for validation, but he didn't really care otherwise. Maybe that made him a bit of a brown-noser too, meaninglessly agreeing with the judgements of his leader? Naw, couldn't be. After all, nodding to the words of the buxom lady wasn't going to promote him to #12 or whatnot. Listening half-heartedly to whatever she said, just enough that he wouldn't be caught offguard if she suddenly tested him on it, the two made it to the helicopter without incident. Pleasantly, the propellers were loud enough to drown out whatever else the woman may have said, and #13 sat himself snugly in the seat as they took off. Occasionally, he looked out the window, marvelling the scenery that rolled on by. Other times, he read passage or two, drowning in eloquent phrasing and subtle rhythmn. Still more times, he glanced towards his keeper, the bitter cold's effects evident in how she vibrated in place, pale flesh paler.

Well, maybe he was just imagining it. The heli itself shook, after all.

But it came easily for #13 regardless. Expression neutral, the youth shrugged off his own uniform's coat, sniffed his wrist in an attempt to see if any unpleasant odors emanated from himself, before offering it to the woman. No smile, no words, just a proposal of sorts. It'd be bad if she got sick, after all. More so than if he became sick.

Did Numbers get sick? He heard somewhere that low-IQ individuals were less prone to disease, but wasn't that just because sports-inclined individuals were in better health and shape than the bookworm types with their frail constitutions and bulging brains. Something else to read up on, if he could get access to it. Regardless of whether or not she took his coat, he left it on his knee as his inkstone eyes found the glowing screen of his Kindle once more, quietly passing time as Finland neared.