*Low Moaning and Swearing Sounds*

Gentle hands began palpating his abdomen again, pleased to find it wasn't rigid or distended. "I think he just tore the staples being a macho knucklehead." She looked to Dr. Turner for confirmation as she took the blood soaked dressing off. "I couldn't really suture it up then; I thought the staples would hold as long as he waited to be carried back."

"Sorry doc."

Groaned Perkins, lying back and focusing on keeping himself still as the medical personal fixed him up again.

"Maybe walking wasn't a good idea, now i know for next time."

He chuckled a little with that last bit, wincing in pain from the action and settling back down with a long, drawn out, 'fuck' sound.

A little lost in his own mind, finding a little comfort in the empty space he had made for himself in it, he took a few moments to realise Patrick was talking to him. Guessing he was asking how he was, he simply gave him the all clear signal, disappearing back into his own head immediately after.

After a few moments Perkins looked up again, trying to keep his head raised enough to address Dr. Turner.

"I'm sorry about your people, it was our job to get them out and well...we failed that pretty spectacularly."

As he said this, there was a genuine look of remorse on his face, an oddly vulnerable look compared to the usual coldness or hostility he had shown thus far.

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