God, what is he talking about. What are these words. Solution sets? Is this a fucking math problem? Her arm is broken and possibly beyond repair, and he's asking her about her solution set? She grits her teeth.

"I am fucked," she says harshly. "That was - you don't force it like that, it all ricochets back up and now the whole fucking arm is-" She breaks off with a wince as she tries to pry open a hatch to get a look at the innards. "I don't have a fucking solution set, you incomprehensible fucking prick." She lets out a breathless cry as she forces her arm open and takes a moment to breath unevenly before lifting herself up a bit and staring dismally at the smoking circuitry. "Goddammit," she murmurs. "Ugh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean - just." She puts a hand to her face, trying to calm down. She doesn't like losing her cool in front of anyone, much less a colleague.