There are many stories Sarge could tell about how exactly one can learn not to be bothered by pain. None of them are pleasant, and they have little to do with training how to fight. Luckily for both of them he is not in a sharing mood, and even though it does feel like someone is trying to set a fire in his stomach he finds the time to roll his eyes at her.
"That's why I got two hands," he grumbles, demonstrating by keeping one on his stomach, placed ever so gingerly, the other up in what might pass as fighting stance if one habitually fights people that can barely keep their arms up. His bones are tired from being alert at all times, from fighting, from facing that horrible death cocktail they injected him with. And, quite possibly maybe, from not sleeping more than a few fitful hours every night, waking up at the slightest noise. But if he had to he would keep his guts in with one hand he would. Survival of the others is important, his insides not so much.
Sarge nods his way through her news, something that might be relief flashing over his face when she says that the Park is doing alright. No more attacks at least, that is a good start. He is fairly certain that another attack wouldn't have gone unnoticed, even without Rodeo there to ask her for help.
Then he flinches when she mentions Addie. Of course she would know, Lita would have told her when she got called in. But he doesn't want her to worry about him, because he is an irrational creature and wants to coddle her in spite of knowing that that would earn him a swift kick at least. "Good thing I'm locked up, she'd kill me for this." It's a gruff statement, grumbled and not entirely meant to be heard but yet loud enough because he's lost in his head for a moment, knowing full well that this isn't exactly his fault but getting killed seems like a big deal breaker anyway. Thoughts rolling around in that thick skull of his until he finds the resolve he as looking for, licks his lips and kind of looks at Lita. "Can you give her a message?"