The pain was slowly getting worse and with every step Pete took, his head pounded a little harder; his jaw seemed to crunch a little louder when he opened his mouth to take a breath. Not too many steps into his walk, he had to start limping. He'd forgotten, for a bit, that Tommy had hit him with a metal pole or something. He was happy to be distracted from the pain by the sound of a woman — another Yank, that figured — asking him if he was all right. She seemed to have come out of nowhere. Fuck, maybe that was just because there was bloody two of her when he looked back at her. The blood was starting to sting his eyes, so he squinted against it and offered what would normally have been a cheeky grin. Christ knew what it looked like while he was in this state.
"'ello, love," he greeted back, winking. Oh, shit, that hurt! Pete winced before continuing. "Good as gold, yeah? It's nothing, just a bit of a row," he replied nonchalantly. More like a blood bath, really. It had been a full on brawl; at least fifty grown men beating the tom out of one other over what? A tragedy that happened before Pete had ever joined the GSE and the fact that his brother Steve was rotting in a hospital and losing his family over it. Pete hadn't planned on taking that sitting down and if he'd had to die to keep Shannon, Ben, and Matt safe, then so be it, and he had. Pete had never been afraid of dying. The thrill of not knowing when it was all going to end kept him going most days, if he was honest.
Trying to focus in on the woman in front of him, who might've been pretty if he could see straight, Pete cleared his throat and turned his head to spit blood. Normally he wouldn't have bothered turning his head but there was a lady present, so, there it was. Bollocks...he had to be missing teeth. At least one. Or if not, they'd be falling out soon, he was sure of it. "Y'mind telling me where I am...?" he asked.