Damn it, why hadn't you moved? He'd called you over half a dozen times at this point, each one had been a more frantic whisper as he attempted to make sure you were clear of the line of fire before actually returning fire on the enemy who'd started up the firefight in the middle of a bar. You instead sat trembling with a terrified expression plastered on your face while you stared at the floor under the temporary cover of the smoothed wood. After a few more attempts of calling you over, he figured you'd be dead if he couldn't eliminate the threat and he reasoned he was a good enough marksman to make sure he didn't hit you despite the bad angle. So after a few bullets later and the crosshair of the gun angling a bit closer to your head than he would've liked, he heard the strained gagging of an enemy that he assumed the bullet had missed its target of their head and instead flipped their throat. After the final thud of the bodies, he grabbed you by your shoulders and began demanding to know what the hell you had been thinking. His anger evident in his face and grip as he continued verbally reprimanding you, only stopping when he needed to catch his breath. He wasn't aware that your silence was due to you racking your brain to try and think up the English sign for sorry which you eventually did with trembling hands, forming the 'a' and then moving your hand in a few clockwise rotation on your chest as you fought off the encroaching wave of tears. His rageful expression almost immediately dropped and he'd grimaced while he rubbed his eyes. He knew barely any sign language and struggled for a few minutes before attempting to sign it was okay, forming the small 'o' with his prosthetic hand and then tapping his middle finger to his thumb while keeping his pointer finger straight to form the 'k'. He eventually remembered the sign for sorry and performed it a few more times before eventually speaking as clearly and concisely as he could while he spoke and signed "Are you okay?"