This is my favorite episode by far so I may have gotten a little carried away on the word count... oops ;)
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Dalton headed out of the tiny ger happy to have an excuse to get out of the overcrowded and slightly interesting smelling hut. There really were only so many conversations one can mine with hand gestures, but the villagers seem eager to try nonetheless so he leaves Preach and his unending supply of patience to it and slips away unnoticed.
The tribe had been very happy to see them return and had proudly handed over the electronic equipment that they had safe guarded during their absence. McG had insisted on staying a few minutes to check on the boy's shoulder wound before they headed out and initially Dalton was annoyed at the delay but now he was appreciative as it had given him enough time to realize that his patch was missing from his chest plate.
Hopefully the velcro had just gotten caught when he dismounted the horse so he was heading back to the pastures to see if he could find it on the horse or in the tack they had used. If it wasn't there then it could have fallen off anywhere in the Mongolian outback. Or perhaps it had dislodged in China somewhere between rolling off a moving truck, running through a forest, or wrestling with a russian brute. Either way it was probably long gone.
He normally wasn't one to get over sentimentally attached to objects and yet he had to admit there was a certain sense of sadness at the prospect of heading home without it. Not only was it a perfectly ironic statement for their line of work, his "does not play nice with others" patch had also been given to him by a fallen comrade back in his delta force days. He had grown accustomed to its constant presence on his hat, or vest, or backpack throughout many different tours and deployments and it never failed to make him smile when he figured out a new place to stick it as they headed out on a mission.
Nearing the pasture he scans around trying to find his mount from earlier. He finds the roan conveniently still tied to the side fencing because one of the villagers it seated on a crate beside it working to clear debris out of the front hoof.
"CRACK"
His hand is instantly at his side on the handle of his gun before he registers the cause of the noise and sheepishly lifts his boot off the broken stick he just stepped on.
But he isn't the only one that jumped. The loud noise caused the khazak's head to shoot up. The young man's shoulders tense and when his head turns to seek out the threat, Adam can see the fear in his eyes plain as day. The groom's violent startle caused him to drop the brush into the grass and he quickly stoops down, reaching around frantically near his feet in clumsy stressed movements.
Adam doesn't want to scare the poor guy further so he calls out "Its ok, just came to grab something I forgot" but of course the young man doesn't understand him. The villager continues his mission to find his dropped tool all the while shooting panicked glances at him so he slows his pace forward and plasters on his sickly sweet smile from earlier miming his intention to look for something.
As he nears the horseman, his frenzied movements finally settle, evidently having found what he was looking for. Adam is within an arm's length of the rear of the horse now so he reaches out a hand to touch at the hindquarters and announces his presence with a soft "woah". He's not sure who he is trying to settle the horse or the skittish man.
The horse nickers softly, far less concerned about his arrival than the man below it.
He runs his hand along the horses back and approaches the front explaining his purpose again even though he knows the man won't actually understand.
"Just looking for something I forgot, will be out of your hair shortly"
The villager turns suddenly.
"Watch the hands"
It's pretty much the first lesson they teach you in combat training. To always watch the hands because everything dangerous comes from there. Punches, guns, knives, detonators…. If you can't see the hands you can't see what they might be holding.
He knew that dammit. Hell he preaches it often enough to his own team.
As the man's hands come out from behind his back, his eyes are automatically scanning them and quickly they identify the long thick metal spike, as if from an old railroad. It's been securely taped at one end to form a handle and crudely warped at the end to form a hook to get under the lip of the hoof. He recognizes the homemade hoof pick right as the man drives it into his stomach.
It's more surprising than painful. But it does steal his breath and he finds himself gaping, making no sound even though he is pretty sure his mouth is moving, and staring downwards in disbelief at the handle sticking out of his stomach.
What the fuck.
He slowly lifts his head, just as the other man does the same. Confused eyes meet terrified and hysterical ones and they remain frozen for a long second.
The man other man blinks first. He pulls back suddenly, removing the pick sharply from it where it was buried in his gut. Once its out they both stare at it in horror, seeing the bright red blood coating it all the way up to the tape line.
Now the pain hits, and it sends him to the ground doubling over on the wound, choking out a wordless gasp as he falls. His knees hit the ground hard and the shock reverberates up through his core, amplifying the pain in his side and making his vision go blurry.
When it comes back into focus he looks down, frowning as he sees blood starts to leak out over his fingers that have automatically tried to cover the wound. Whatever it hit it isn't good, it's coming out fast.
Fuck.
But the Kazakh man seems to have recovered from his shock and he isn't done yet, fear and adrenaline combining into one hell of continued "fight response". He readjusts his grip on his bloody tool and comes back for more, letting out a guttural cry and launching forward to attempt another blow.
This time Dalton is more ready for it. He blocks the man's swing with his other arm, grunting at the impact and the lance of pain it sends through his core. But the man is strong and continues to struggle, pushing the spike downwards, driving Dalton's arm and shoulders towards the ground until the man is practically lying on top of him..
Normally it wouldn't even be a contest but Dalton is at a slight disadvantage here. He is pinned on the ground and leaking important fluids at an alarming rate. He can feel his vision going in and out and his limbs are sluggish and not as responsive as he would like leaving him struggling to keep up with the attempted strikes. He does manage to get a hold of the man's thumb and wrenches it backwards causing the pick to drop out of his grasp. It rolls away into a nearby pile of shrubs but there isn't any time to celebrate because instantly the man switches gears to throwing punches, fighting for his life in whatever way he knows how.
He can feel his defences weakening against the barrage of blows and It's clear he needs a different strategy so he abandons his attempt to staunch the flow of blood from his stomach and moves that hand down to his waist holster. His fingers are slick and tacky and they struggle to find purchase to pull it out but finally he succeeds, wrenching it out with a shaking hand.
Back off…. He grits out. But the man is too thoroughly absorbed in ranting in another language and trying to kill him.
He doesn't want to shoot this man but another lesson he learned early on is that you do what you need to do to go home.
Still the man is just panicked and scared. So he takes careful aim, as much as he can while wrestling with his other arm and trying to avoid being strangled or having his head bashed in, and fires a shot outwards towards the open fields beside them.
It seems to break the man's furor and he freezes his frenzied attacks. Eyes glued to the gun in apprehension.
Dalton takes advantage of the standstill and the space it creates and now points it at the villager gesturing upwards with it and waving the man backwards.
"Get off" He grits out, and a slight tone of desperation bleeds into his words.
The communication barrier evaporates and the man follows the motion of the fun, taking two or three tentative steps backwards and raising his hands.
McG knows the sound of gunfire better than he knows a lot of things.
It rings out just as he is finishing rewrapping the guys shoulder.
For the second time that day the teams guns raise in unison, minus Dalton, and they stalk forward immediately exiting the ger and searching for the threat.
McG fully expects to see Russian or Chinese soldiers returning to the village. He looks around for Dalton, waiting for him to bark out an order. To tell them where to form up and what threat he was shooting at.
Instead he doesn't see anything but vast mongolian flat lands. All around him his teammates peer out into the distance suspiciously, eyes glued to their scopes, fingers on the trigger ready to react to the unknown threat.
Behind them villagers start to pour out of the gers as well. They babble worriedly and while he can't understand what they are saying he understands their fearful tone. Afraid of a repeat from earlier when their defenceless village was attacked.
That's not going to happen this time.
The team will stand between them and anyone who means them harm if necessary.
The moment grows more tense as they scan and find nothing. He sees Jaz shake her head at Preach. If she can't see anything out there than there likely isn't anything to be seen. So where is Dalton, and what was he shooting at?
Suddenly there is a commotion from behind one of the gers on the periphery of the village. One of the villagers has evidently made his way over to check on the horses in the paddocks beyond it and he comes running back around waving and yelling.
Nothing is said, the team moves in an unspoken accord, they fall into formation automatically and start off in that direction, guns sweeping the perimeter at all times as they cover ground.
They come around the corner of the hut and it takes a second to understand what is happening.
Of all the scenarios he ran in his head, this isn't one of them. It doesn't compute.
Dalton is on the ground, on his back with his head and shoulders slightly raised in a partial crunch and a wavering gun pointed at a terrified looking villager several feet away.
The team freezes, evaluating the situation and the thoroughly unexpected threat.
The villagers too hit the brakes, skidding to a halt and muttering as they take in the scene.
At first glance it looks crazy. Why would Top be shooting at a scared villager? But quickly McG's keen eyes go to the kazakh man's hand and they see the spray of red substance that coats his arm. Then they sweep Dalton and notice the way the gun is shaking in his hand and the fact that he isn't even trying to get up.
No something is wrong here.
The stalemate is broken by the gun clattering to the ground with a dull thud.
The pained grunt and discoordinated movements from the fallen man are enough for McG to move, not caring if everyone else is still assessing the situation. It's clear to him that Top is hurt. He will leave the why and the hows for later. Right now he needs to figure out how bad it is.
As he rushes to his side he vaguely registers the rest of the team descending on the villager. restraining him and checking for weapons until they can figure out what happened.
McG lands on his knees at Dalton's side, hands quickly reaching out and sliding under his vest, just like they had at the Afghani Prison a few months ago. This time he knows instantly it's different, the fabric is sopping wet and there is liquid pooling under his hand, He doesn't even have to slide it out and look for red to know the answer. Instead he slides his other hand in, covering the area and applying pressure as best he can right off the bat.
That taken care of its time to see what he is dealing with.
'
"Jeez Top, only you …"
He isn't sure if Dalton registers what he said, instead of responding the injured man reaches up a shaky hand and clasps it onto mcG's arm, eyes wide with adrenaline and confusion. Top looks like he isn't sure how this happened either. He pulls at the medics arm, trying and failing to pull himself up into a sitting position and then looking frustrated when it doesn't work.
"Lay back….Hey no, stay still"
Amir drops on the other side and gently helps push their leader back down. Then his hand's lower to the vest straps shooting a questioning glance at the medic. McG gives him a grateful nod. He wants to see what they are working with but he doesn't want to move his hands to do it.
When the vest comes off he has to work hard to school his reaction.
Shit it's a mess.
Only a couple hours earlier he had been relieved to find the blood stains weren't from Dalton. This time there is no doubt. His shirt is soaked and dark and the stain is still spreading.
Blood is continuing to pool over his hands even as he applies pressure. He lifts for a second, trying to see around all the dark fluid to the actual wound itself.
More blood rapidly fills the hole making it hard to tell anything and he quickly reapplies pressure, pushing hard into Dalton's stomach causing the man to moan and close his eyes for second. .
It must have hit something vital, he mentally maps the area in his head, Spleen maybe? Hopefully not the liver? But it could of if it went high enough.
"What happened man, he shoot you?"
"Not…. shot... " Dalton bites out his first word
McG gives him a look of exasperation, how on earth the man could try and deny it at this point…
"s…..stabbed'
Oh.
Shit. That changes things.
He lifts his hands again, trying to wipe away the blood and see the exact location of the wound, and the angle its gone into the skin at. Quickly more blood recovers what he has wiped off and it's too hard to get a good idea so he gives up and recovers it. Best guess on the angle takes it slightly upward, right up into all the vital stuff that the vest is supposed to protect. But he can't be sure how far until he sees the length of the knife.
"Here, Amir, Trade spots with me."
Amir comes around the other side of his fallen CO and kneels beside the medic, quickly and efficiently McG pulls his hands off and Amir replaces them with his own, earning another grunt and a baleful look from the patient.
Hands now free, the medic begins digging through his kit, pulling out gauze and other equipment he anticipates needing. He sets up an IV and then scanning around him drags over a crate and lifts Dalton's feet up onto it, covering as much of the man as he can with the emergency blanket. Satisfied he has done as much as he can for now he turns on his heel, still crouched beside Top and Amir, and pivots to face away for the first time in a few minutes.
He allows himself to tune back into the real world and suddenly there is a sensation overload as he realizes the entire village is gathered around staring back and forth between the injured man and the one who did the injuring. There is a healthy background noise full of of chatter as they mill about anxiously discussing the events in Kazakh or whatever the hell they speak.
Preach has disarmed the man and is trying and failing to communicate with him, in the hopes of understanding what happened. Jaz, in contrast, is standing still and silent, covering the rest of the crowd, gun at the ready. Preach may be struggling with the language barrier but Jaz is not. Her scowl and posture are a clear warning to anyone that she is pissed and to stay away. No translation required.
"Preach, I need to see what he was stabbed with" he calls loud enough to be heard over the din of the onlookers.
He watches Preach play another game of charades mimicking a knife, mimicking looking for it. But the man is too distraught. Now that the adrenaline has faded he is shaking and wailing into his hands and can barely focus long enough to track Preach's hand gestures.
Jaz quickly loses patience, abandoning her position and stalking over to grab a fistful of the hysterical villager's shirt. She goes for a different, more direct, more typical Jaz approach. She gives the young man a firm shake, trying to jolt him from his meltdown and growls, "Where is it?". When the man continues to babel nonsensically and cry she releases his shirt, shoving him backwards with frustration one motion
Top has been watching the exchange with bleary eyes from the ground and has evidently seen enough. He weighs in, launching into a halting, concerningly beathy explanation of what happened.
"He doesn't h.. ave it… 's somewhere… o'er…...th.. there.
His chin juts in the direction because even bleeding out on the grass the man still has all the angles covered. Still knows exactly what's going on even if he is struggling to communicate it.
"I ..Knocked it… tha'way"
Top tries to get up again, like he is going to go get it. But McG and Amir easily pin him down even though he squirms with a surprising amount of strength under their hold. Still he manages to kick his feet off the crate, searching for some leverage to help him getup from his prone position. McG grimaces as the blanket slides off, tangling in the IV lines and threatening to dislodge them.
"Ok Top, relax, we'll get it. We'll find it." McG tries to placate.
He lets his voice carry "Jaz? Can you take a look around over here, Top says he knocked the knife away in this direction"
He lowers his voice and stage whispers down to his patient, "That should keep her busy and out of trouble for a second"
His attempt at humor gets a slight appreciative smile and a weak chuckle from his patient, but the hint of laughter quickly turns into a cough and Dalton's face sours as his stomach very much protests the movement.
"McG"
Amir's tone is worried. He shoots a pointed look at Dalton's face and McG quickly sees what he is pointing out. There are faint traces of blood is bubbling at the corner of Adam's mouth and slowly beginning to drip down the side of his cheek towards the ground.
He gives a grim nod, using a piece of gauze to subtly wipe away the evidence. No sense panicking anyone yet, Top could have just bitten his tongue in his struggles.
Adam has gone back to watching Preach deal with his attacker and McG is 99% sure that the look of worry on his face is for the young villager and not for his own health.
Sure enough Top isn't done with trying to explain what happened.
"I…. forgot smethin… hrse"
McG rolls his eyes. "Don't talk"
"Nt hisfault…...spooked'm"
The gasps for air are becoming more pronounced in between and the words slurred together in an effort to get them out quicker.
"Top, seriously save your breath and stop moving you are making it worse"
"I's …...notthat bad"
The stubborn man tries to get up again as if to prove his point. Amir grumbles in exasperation as his hands slip and he struggles to apply them on the blood slicked surface. More blood leaks out at a rapid pace as he tries to find the right spot to push down. He looks at McG desperately, panic breaking through his cool demeanor for the first time.
McG calmly assists him in locating his hands back on the right spot and gives the former spy a nod of reassurance. His medic front is always controlled even when internally he is calculating the amount of blood he has seen leave the man's body and assessing the clammy skin and pale lips on his patient, and freaking the fuck out. Their leader's status is declining rapidly and he needs to form a plan of action stat.
The first step is easy: get his mule headed patient to stop making himself bleed out faster.
Normally the first rule of treating a patient in combat is to keep them calm. To make them believe that it's not that bad and that they are going to be just fine.
In McG's experience with omega operatives, that doesn't always work and sometimes a healthy dose of reality is necessary to get them to cooperate.
So he grips both of Top's shoulders, leaning over so that his large frame occupies all of Dalton's view, blocking him from focusing on anything but the medic.
"Listen to me...It is that bad, you are just in shock" He waits until the man meets his gaze and then continues, voice firm and earnest and losing all pretence of lightheartedness…. "Trust me on this Adam, you really need to stop moving and let me work"
He's not sure if its the tone or the unusual use of his first name, but Top seems to finally pick up on the fact that the medic isn't exaggerating and that there might be a problem here. He gives a short nod before slumping back and returning his head and shoulders to the ground with a grunt.
"That's it, just relax and let us work. We've got you covered. It's gonna be fine." He praises, recognizing how hard it is for Adam to give up control and let the team take care of the situation, and him.
McG gives the man's face another wipe with gauze, cleaning away another trail of red leaking down from his mouth. He pauses briefly to consider the implications. It's probably just a nicked lung. Not great, but the man's breathing is actually not too laboured considering, so that's more of a problem for later.
The infinitely more pressing issue is the blood that is still escaping unchecked through Amir's fingers and showing no signs of abating under the pressure.
Dalton's pallor is now so pale that his skin is practically translucent. And the way his eyes are drifting to half mast and having trouble focusing tells McG he is on the verge of passing out from blood loss.
He needs to find a different way to stop it now or they will never be able to transport the man. Top has already lost too much, he won't make it 5 minutes in the air. There isn't even a point in doing a transfusion until he can figure out a way to keep the blood inside the man's body where it belongs.
"Got it."
Jaz's triumphant voice breaks his morbid contemplation and she returns back holding the weapon in question out for McG's inspection. Her eyes are flaming, promising retribution, and when he looks at the crude device that did this to their CO, McG kind of wants to help her dole that punishment out. This is not a finely crafted weapon designed for clean and sharp penetration, quite the opposite in fact. When he sees the length, the blunt edges and the slight hook of the pick held in her hand he suddenly understands the amount of damage and bleeding.
What a fucking mess.
Only Top could find this kind of trouble in a peaceful village after a mission. But he has more important things to worry about than payback right now.
When he finally tears his eyes away from the improvised weapon, Dalton's eyes are shut and his face relaxed for the first time since they arrived on scene. The medic's heart stops for a second, until his fingers scramble and find a pulse that tells him Adam's heart is still beating, albeit at an alarmingly rapid and very thready rhythm. The man's most important organ is struggling to keep the remaining blood and its vital oxygen supply circulating in the injured man's body.
"Top!"
He doesn't' get a response and he can feel both Jaz and Amir's eyes break away from the hoof pick, snapping to stare at the medic fearfully. McG ignores them, rubbing his knuckles hard on Dalton's sternum and gets rewarded with a faint grumble and eyes that flutter open and then blink hard to focus on the source of the painful rubbing on his chest.
"That's it. Stay awake Adam…. Let Amir tell you all about how much he loves horses and wants us to get some on base so we can use them more often" He hopes his voice is steady and passable and doesn't betray the paralyzing shot of panic that just coursed through him.
Now Amir shoots him a different kind of look, but does what he is told. He makes small talk and builds ridiculous arguments about the need for horses at the base in an effort to give Dalton something to focus on.
McG refocuses on grabbing supplies from his bag. He needs to get this bleeding under control yesterday.
Quickly without any warning he jabs a dart of Morphine into Dalton's leg, getting a grunt and a very delayed look of disapproval in return once the man processes what that prick means.
He smirks slightly, tilting his head in acquiescence of the fact that normally he wouldn't do that. Usually he lets the team decide if or when they need painkillers. But they rarely think they do which is why sometimes, when its really bad, McG makes the decision for them. This qualifies in his book, especially considering what he is about to do.
"Hey next time try getting stabbed with something a little straighter and a little thinner and then we will talk about no painkillers"
He doesn't wait for a response, signalling to Amir to move his hands, and instantly digs his fingers into the opening feeling around for the bleeder. Dalton goes rigid under his fingers and gives a barely stifled cry as his head rolls back and forth on the ground in clear discomfort. The noise draws attention back from the crowd but Amir shifts his position blocking their view, trying to give the suffering man some privacy.
McG continues searching around, his deft fingers feeling the different organs and vessels trying to narrow down where exactly the worst of the bleeding is coming from. He is having minimal luck. Its difficult to distinguish anything because there is just so much blood everywhere. There is a reason this should be done at a hospital with scopes and lights and retractors and suction, unfortunately Top doesn't have that kind of time. At the rate he is bleeding he won't make it back to any hospital.
"Where is it", he mutters under his breath.
Dalton is trembling under his touch now, barely clinging to consciousness, and his hands keep coming up of their own accord, weakly trying to shove away the torturous thing that is digging in his stomach. Amir catches the clumsy hands and holds them tight, keeping them out of the way and giving them a reassuring squeeze.
He offers quiet platitudes to the miserable man "it's alright, he's almost done" even as his eyes shoot worried glances at McG and the amount of blood that is continuing to escape the wound.
"Yup, almost there" McG finds himself agreeing.
It's a complete lie.
His fingers are swimming in fluid, drowning in the cavity that just keeps filling and he is still completely clueless about what he needs to plug to make it stop. He has narrowed it down to the area around the spleen but he has gone over the organ several times and can't find any hole or damage to account for this. He can't see anything and is flying blind and by touch and it's just not working.
Adam's hands go limp in Amir's grip. His body finally giving into the blood loss induced exhaustion and the medic induced pain. Amir tries to shake him awake but there is no response, this time he is out cold for good.
McG feels the lack of tension as he works but he doesn't have time to worry about it. He can feel the blood still pumping under his fingers so he knows that man is still alive and keeping going with what he is doing is the only way to keep it that way.
His internal diatribe gives him inspiration, keying in on the word pumping. For blood to be coming out this fast it must be arterial. The heart has to be pumping the blood through… so where are the main arteries. It must be one of them.
He closes his eyes, shutting out the all the blood, the stares of his teammates and the crowd, the sight of his leader limp and too pale.
He retreats into one of well worn human anatomy books, visualizing this area of the stomach and mapping out the main arteries surrounding the liver and spleen. He mentally tries to align that with what he is feeling. There… thats the common hepatic. He finds the first landmark, fingers quickly searching it and finding it intact. Satisfied he follows it along to where it branches, ghosting his fingers along what should be the splenic artery until ...THERE! His fingers find something irregular, returning back and forth over the location until he is sure he has the right spot.
Yes.. that has to be it. It feels like a tear in the artery wall. He quickly pinches down, holding down the two sides of the vessel and forming what he hopes is a seal.
He opens his eyes and winces at the bright daylight. The breath he has been holding comes out in shakey whoosh of air and he feels faintly dizzyas he re enters the real world outside of Dalton's stomach. When his eyes refocus he sees too many people staring at him expectantly and he doesn't have any answers for them yet. He doesn't know if he was successful. Hurriedly he glances down at where his right hand is partially embedded in the wound. He holds his breath again, waiting, watching, and when no new spurts of blood appear after a minute he hesitantly reaches his free hand to Dalton's neck.
There is a pulse.
Its weak, its faint, but there is still a damn pulse.
He offers a shaky smile to his teammates. They aren't out of the woods yet, but that was a big hurdle. He scrubs his free hand over his face, trying to clear away the sweat he can feel coating his forehead, but instead he succeeds in smearing some of Dalton's blood on his face.
Crap.
McG pulls, clumsily at his sleeve with the same hand that's in it, trying to pull it up to cover his hand so he can wipe away any of the transferred blood.
Preach's voice cuts in distracting him with some welcome news "Bird is two minutes out"
Thank God.
Okay, now that he has found the bleeder he needs to clamp it and prep Dalton for transport. He digs out one of his clamps and slides it under his hand and into the wound. It traces down along his fingers but he can't seem to get the right angle to get it to where he needs it. Slowly, carefully he withdraws it, starting to hear the faint sounds of rotors approaching. He tries again from a different angle, going in from the side and then when that doesn't work from the top of his hand. Each time the clamp lodges in the spleen, refusing to go around to get to the backside where his fingers have found the tear.
The helicopter is landing now, maybe 800 meters away.
Fuck it.
He will transport like this. It's not worth trying and failing to clamp and losing his hold on the artery. Dalton will bleed out before he finds it again.
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"So let me get this straight, you had your hand in me for over three hours... I feel so violated"
Two days later Dalton is sitting up in his hospital bed looking incredulous as the team recounts the story of the end of their mongolian mission. Turns out his memory was pretty much a blur after heading out to go to the pasture. It was probably for the best, although he seemed hell bent on having them fill in the gaps. It's the third time they have tried to tell it and first time he has managed to actually stay awake past the first few minutes. Probably by sheer stubbornness alone. He is healing well, but is still ghostly pale and is scheduled for another blood transfusion this afternoon to try to help with the extreme exhaustion that is plaguing him while his body replenishes.
"Trust me not my idea of a good time" McG grimaces playfully, pretending to be disgusted "Besides blame your surgeons, they wouldn't let me take it out once we got here… I had to sit there with it in until they did an MRI, and an ultrasound, and prepared you for surgery" … He pauses for dramatic effect before continuing on "I'm putting in for workers compensation, I got a hand cramp."
The team laughs at his feigned complaints. Dalton smiles in amusement but his abdominal muscles are not up for much right now. Breathing is still a chore, and sitting up is well beyond his current capability, so laughing will have to wait for good while longer.
Tops eyes are pretty much shut and he is well on his way back to sleep for his fourth nap of the day, all before noon, when he mutters "I'll be sure to get you a manicure for your dainty digits next christmas, maybe even a pedicure if you are nice to me"
He is asleep in seconds, getting the last word by default because it feels childish to snipe back at someone who is already snoring softly. But thats okay, they are happy to let him have this round. There will be plenty of time and plenty of ways to remind him that a village groom got the jump on him.
They also will have to find a creative way to return his patch to him. They hadn't realized that was what he had gone looking for that had led to all this mess until one of the villagers had found it and brought it forward just as they were loading on the chopper. Sometimes it paid to play nice with others.