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“Do I even ask?” Medkit grumbled, holding Scythe’s ‘good’ arm with some concern in his eyes.
There were bullet wounds all over, narrowly missing her elbow. He’d almost been tempted to offer her a second arm, free of charge, if it weren’t for how irritated she looked about the whole thing.
“I’ll tell ‘ya now, if you ask me—” She hissed at the alcohol cleaning, continuing, ”You ain’t gonna like the answer you get.”
She got a blank look at that, and Medkit slightly narrowed his eyes as he murmured, “I’ll remind you now, I’ll charge you extra if you start ranting to me.”
“And I’ll cut money off ‘yer check! Then we’re both at a loss.”
She’d handled his sardonic attitude multiple times, but today it just wouldn’t cut it.
Fair enough.
Medkit let out a long and heavy sigh, internally debating whether or not he needed his head talked off.
Scythe was technically one of his closer ‘acquaintances’, and it’s not like he was completely unfeeling towards her. She deserved the bare minimum of his respect.
Plus, she was more annoying to deal with when she was mad enough to start cursing up some Southern storm to herself. Letting her talk to him was simpler.
“Go ahead and tell me about it. Just don’t move too much.”
It’d work as a sufficient test of her consciousness because, with how much blood there was, he was surprised she had the energy to be mad.
“Look, imagine me— right?”
Medkit wasn’t trying too hard to picture the scenario, only pretending to for the sake of keeping Scythe awake.
“You’ve seen my shots! All accurate.”
There was one bullet deeply embedded next to an artery. And much to his dismay, Medkit was becoming more concerned by the minute.
“I wouldn’t say your aim’s better than mine.”
“And this is why ‘yer getting less money for this.”
He was ignoring that, trying to figure out how Scythe could still feel her arm.
“Continuing on.” Her fist clenched and unclenched, as if testing herself before speaking, “Some lil’ punk runs up to me. And I’m telling ‘ya, nothing but trouble.”
“Mhm.”
It’d be ineffective to keep manually patching her up, but Medkit had a feeling pulling a gun on her right after a gunfight would be worse.
He could wait it out and see if she’d pass out while talking; that’d be twice as useless.
“So, bein’ the nice lady I am, I try showing directions.”
“What’d go wrong with that?”
“See, now that’s how you get yerself in my shoes.”
Being bandaged up by a competent doctor, who was partially saving her life? Was it that bad?
“No ‘fense to you, Doc.”
“I picked up on that.”
His hand fidgeted on his holster before he decided not to, cinching a temporary tourniquet while Scythe talked.
“And y’know what happens? You wanna guess?”
“Not particularly.”
“Well, I’m telling ‘ya anyway.”
Medkit internally groaned at the sight of Scythe moving her prosthetic arm while narrating, actively ignoring his advice not to move despite how badly damaged her arm was.
“This guy pulls out his gun on me! And as heavily armed as I may be, trust me— I wasn’t expecting it; I’ll tell you that!”
“Right, right.” She hadn’t realized he was messing with his revolver, sitting down patiently next to her with a judgmental look.
Dry as he may be, this was still one of his ‘friends’.
“Then what?”
“I shoot back! Now see, Med, you can’t bring ‘yer tiny little revolver to a rifle fight. May seem like common sense, but to that boy, all sense was out the window.”
“Reminds me of someone else I know.”
“‘Cause there’s just too many dummies in the world.”
Medkit wasn’t in the mood to remind her he knew how deadly her gun was, being the one who made it. The most he felt like doing was being sarcastic and dry, holding his gun near her arm.
“‘Yer a bit of a dummy too. Much as I appreciate you, you ain’t any lick subtle.”
Her eye was focused on his revolver, but she held the arm out more clearly for him with a tiny grin, “I appreciate the effort.”
What a mess.
A quiet exhale left his lips before he fired six shots straight into her arm that’d patched the bullet wounds around them. The most left were small indents of where his bullets entered, but no traces around where they’d typically exit.
Standard protocol.
“Try moving it.”
Scythe moved her arm up and down, left and right, before taking it upon herself to try to get the tourniquet he’d tied loose. Five seconds of healing were enough to inflate her ego right back up.
“Works fine?”
“Better than usual.”
Medkit stared at the blood left on her shoulder from the removal of his bandages, only furrowing his brows and grabbing the wipes for her.
“Nah-uh,” Scythe took them out of his hands, wiping down the area herself and going, “Y’done enough work for me. I don’t wanna work your head off.”
“You’ve done worse.”
“No, I haven’t!”
Did he want to argue that?
There’d been a time she came in drunk, stumbling because a bar fight had resulted in someone hitting her over the head with a beer bottle. There was another time when she’d gotten into a gunfight and forced Medkit to handle taking care of a headshot without killing her.
And both of those were only the tip of the iceberg!
“Aight, maybe I have, but no need to glare at me.”
Scythe pushed herself up and off the care bed, stretching, legs shaking from residual adrenaline. That whole thing pumped her up too much.
“Go take a break.”
“What’s that?”
“Break.”
She looked so smug, hearing Medkit give his professional medical advice.
Some part woven in was stress regarding whether or not her injury was fine; he’d never live it down if she discovered that.
“Got’cha, doc.”
Medkit followed her footsteps with his eyes as she grabbed her coat, giving him some extra without mentioning it aloud.
“You go take care of whoever’s next. Pretty sure ‘ya might see the other guy, actually.”
“He better not be as annoying.”
“No need’ta add that.”
His eyes narrowed before he made a small ‘shoo’ motion, hearing her laugh herself out of his clinic.
Then there was the next patient.
Practically an animated zombie, rifle bullets starting and exiting his body in big and gory holes.
One long sigh left him at the sight.
The extra was to cover how annoying treating this would be, wasn’t it?