Coincidences Don't Happen ((1919))

[Meadowlark]

Cohen returned a few minutes later, setting the scissors down. "I was not joking about the jacket and shirt." He remarked, considering how to go about this.

[victoriousscarf]

Mac lifted his head, feeling a little woozy. "Sorry," he mumbled, sitting forward and shrugged out of the jacket, hissing a little in pain before setting on unbuttoning the shirt. "Forgot."

[Meadowlark]

Doc waited until the other had stopped moving around before carefully cutting away the leg of the slacks. "Bozhe moĭ, when you get yourself hurt you see to it that it is thorough, nyet?"

bozhe moĭ = my god

[victoriousscarf]

Mac rolled his shoulder, glancing down. "What can I say, I like to do things right."

[Meadowlark]

Doc glanced up at him, rolling his eyes. "Lay down, would you?" He was going to have trouble enough dealing with the gunshot wound to begin with.

[victoriousscarf]

Another deep breath and Mac complied, wincing when he tried to move the leg. "This work?" he asked once he got himself arranged on the couch. It was almost a little too short for him.

[Meadowlark]

"Da." He hesitated a moment. "I give you warning, this is going to hurt like hell, I haven't any anesthetic here."

[victoriousscarf]

Mac turned his head to glance at him quickly and then back at the ceiling. "Alright," he said quietly, his paw clenching slightly against the edge of the couch.

[Meadowlark]

Doc carefully examined the bullet wound, working quickly, but effectively. He cleaned the blood away and trimmed back the fur, withdrawing a flask from the pocket of his overcoat which was dropped near by. Just about the only thing distilled liquor was useful for was a quick antiseptic. He set the flask aside, but within easy reach, and picked up the most viable instrument he had for extracting a bullet. Cat, he'd hoped he was done with piecemeal treatments when he returned to the US.

[victoriousscarf]

Mac alternated between watching Cohen work and looking at the ceiling instead. He was trying to keep his breathing as even as possible, which was working fairly well. Though, probably not for long.

[Meadowlark]

The Russian Blue worked as gently as he could to extract the bullet, glad that it only appeared to be the one gunshot wound on Macavity's leg. It would certainly restrict his ability to walk for a while, but nonetheless it was only one. He finally removed the bullet, setting it aside and cleaning the wound with the alcohol--it was what he had to paw and he was pretty sure it was stronger than most of what he would use otherwise anyhow.

[victoriousscarf]

Mac managed not to jerk his leg around, keeping himself as still as possible, though both his paws were clenched against the couch edge and couch back, and he was sure a few times his claws came out, probably ripping small holes. He bit his bottom lip as well, trying to remain quiet. It was an apartment after all, and he did not think the neighbors would apperciate screaming.

[Meadowlark]

Doc carefully bandaged the wound, rocking back on his heels. "I'd best have a look at that arm."

[victoriousscarf]

Mac forced his eyes open, looking over at him. "... Do I need ta sit up for that?" he asked, voice rasping in the back of his throat.

[Meadowlark]

"Nyet. I can treat it with you lying down." He carefully, gently, set to work on this wound, speaking as much to keep Macavity's mind on something else as on anything. "How has your brother been these last years?"