Oh. Oh, shit. He stared, then rolled his eyes up to hers, before back down to the stump. That looked painful as hell, and he wanted to ask more, but instead—

“I know a guy who would be able to build you a new arm. It might be painted red and he would probably tell old man war stories about how Blue Team sucks, but it’d be an arm.”

It’s just that Sarge wasn’t here, and they were all probably better for it. Especially Grif.

“I can’t show you my scar without taking half this stuff off.” He shrugged his shoulders, waving at his own armor. “It’s nowhere near as epic as yours, though, but if you want me to be naked, I can’ blame you.”

God, his accounts seemed so minor in comparison. He got off lucky with the entirety of all of his limbs still in tact. “What happened?”