Those were the real questions Mike wanted to ask. Mike the FBI agent, at least. But the part he was playing, he wouldn't have questions quite like that. He needed to sort the two out, but it was getting harder to focus. His jeans were getting more and more uncomfortable by the moment. Trying to get himself more focused, he moved to take another drink, but there was just a small dribble left in the bottle.

"That's not exactly what I wanted to ask. It was more...how..." He looked to the man, feeling that cold trickle of fear that told him his cover was most certainly blown. Out of sheer desperation he tried to hold on to it. "Should I be asking those things?"

At least he didn't have to fake that tension, his voice hitching with the question because he'd just realized what he was feeling. There was no reason he should be aroused, even in the slightest. Yet if it kept up, not even the thick denim could hide it. Slowly he looked to the empty bottle in his hand, then to the sarcophagus. His list of questions and fears kept growing.