"No kidding," John says, and lifts a corner of his towel to rub absently at his hair. "It's not exactly got much in the way of feedback, so I'm hoping it's off."

He tried to will it to turn off? It doesn't seem to be doing whatever it did before, anyway. He sighs and throws it back toward his bag, rubs the towel through his hair more vigorously.

"I guess maybe we can wrap them in towels in case they aren't, muffle anything they record."

You know, a token effort. He sighs and lets the towel drop to his shoulders again, leans back on his hands and stares blandly at the ceiling.

"Remember when you were complaining about the heat?"

His lips twitch into a fond sort of smile. This is what you get, Ianto. Complain about the heat and you get a snowstorm instead.