"I gotcha," Tony said absently, focused on his work. Soon, the bullet was out. "There we go," he said, dropping it onto the tray. "Good job," he said, holding up a fist for Raylan to pound it. He was pretty cute when he was all drugged out, Tony couldn't lie. "The bullet looks intact, but we're gonna look for any shards, and then we can throw some stitches on it and bandage."
If it was at all possible, Raylan seemed to relax even further once the bullet was out. Like even under the weight of the pain killers, he'd still maintained some tension that he finally let go. And the world seemed to have settled at last. It was all still rather distant and muddled by a haze, but he felt marginally less like he'd float away now. "What's the prognosis?" He asked. Or intended to ask. He wasn't entirely sure that third word came out as intended, but he figured the muddled syllables would get the point across all the same.
"I think the patient's gonna live," he said, probing at the wound with a finger. Ideally they'd throw an ultrasound at it to make sure, but he doubted he could get someone to approve that right now. He picked up iodine prep pads and swiped at the wound -- it would sting, but if Raylan felt it, it wouldn't be enough to care. "Stitchy time," he declared, picking up the curved needle.
If Raylan was even aware of there being anything on his leg, he made no show of it. "For now," he said, far too delayed, responding to the comment about him living. His face broke into a slow smile, half laughing at some thought that flit through his mind. "Close me up, doc," he said a bit more on cue, while Tony was getting the needle.
"You're not gonna need a lot, wound's not that bad," Tony said, pulling up a chair so he could sit and work carefully. "You're gonna have some weird-ass bruising around it and on your leg, though." Raylan ended up with just seven stitches, even and neat.
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