Murphy is right in that Frank usually wouldn't be the sort to have a boss. Yet he had easily picked out Rocket's similarity to himself. They both live in solitude, though they don't thrive on it. They both enjoy working with their hands. Their workdays were carried in comfortable silence until one of them picked up a thread of conversation from hours previous, and yet it's seamless. There's a multitude of reasons why he had volunteered to work for him, and he wouldn't take it back now.

"Manners," he snaps critically, stepping on John's foot with the sharp and heavy heel of his boot. Behave, the daggerlike gaze he gives the younger man seems to say, even as he shoves him deeper into the train and nudges in beside him before turning to Rocket. "Gang's all here." These two will be a handful, but he can't think of anyone better suited to the task at hand. He (thinks he) knows what he's doing.