Poe's attention slips back out through the sheet of transparisteel separating them from the rest of the galaxy, like he's still expecting the streaking glow of ion engines lighting up the debris field. Intellectually, he recognizes Andor's points. From where he sits, on the other hand ... well, it's hard to consider giving up his post, even if he's entirely toothless in it.

Even if he is starting to shiver in earnest, now.

After a few minutes, Poe closes his eyes, sighs and leans back against the headrest, forcing a chuckle into the end of that despondent sound. "Anyway, guess we've already laid our bet." No sense pretending otherwise.

Beneath the blanket, he begins to fumble at the buckle of his harness. "Really should've dressed for it," Poe says, and turns a crooked, half-sly grin on Andor; teasing, because it's both his way of settling and a roundabout form of gratitude. Nice to know the guy cares, even if it's only because Poe will be needed when it's time to disengage and jump. "I hope you know I usually expect dinner first."