"Then that means I got that much time to figure it out, doesn't it?"

And what fucking business is it of yours is on the tip of his tongue, but he bites down on it— literally, jaw clenching. He's being petulant and he knows it. He glares somewhere in the direction of the trilobite queen's looming corpse, and counts backwards from twenty in his head.

He gets to fifteen.

"Look. This isn't exactly a situation I've been in before, all right?" That's not strictly true; he has, but before he always had someone two steps behind him, watching out for him and cleaning up after him. "So if you got suggestions, I'm open to hearing 'em. If not, lay off."

... better...