His expertise. Right. John's face twitches at that, some mild twist of irritation. He can't tell if Ianto is digging at him on purpose or if he's just projecting, but either way he can feel himself tensing up again -- as if preparing for another round of attack.

"Maybe you should," he drawls, even though it's not exactly done a lot of good so far. His supposed expertise hadn't helped when the carriage was attacked. He supposed expertise hadn't stopped him being stabbed or Ianto being hit in the head. He glances down at his phone again, agitated, and quickly types a message before stowing it away again. "You need anything else while we're here?"

Other than shoes, apparently, and gloves. John has a little food and water packed, but he doesn't know what Ianto picked up while he was lingering around Wyver. Or what Kirk might have givn him, for that matter.