The source of the laughter is none other than Rory. Cowboy and Casey, both grinning widely, are holding him by the arms while Doc tries to tend to a cut on his cheek. Rory struggles against his captors, protesting indignantly.
“It don’t mean a thing, Doc!” he insists, wriggling in vain. “It’s just a li’l scratch – good grief, have you seen how many scars I got when I was a kid?”
“Shut up, you idiot,” Doc answers, not at all dissuaded. I think he’s actually enjoying himself. “That was back home – little stuff like this gets infected easily over here.” He dabs Rory’s face with some alcohol.
“YOW!” Rory howls, jerking his head back. “You’re killin’ me, Doc!”
“Big baby,” Doc grins. “Cook, hold his legs, will ya?”
Petey drops by Rory’s feet and grabs his ankles in a football hold. “It does look bad, Rory,” he comments, obviously trying not to laugh. “You’ve got blood running down your face.”
“Good.” Rory tries to pull away as Doc makes another pass with the alcohol, but Cowboy grabs his hair and holds him still. The best he can do is make horrid faces and half-choked growling noises while Doc cleans his face and sticks a Band-Aid over the cut.
“Never a dull moment with you around, Rory,” I remark as he gets released. “You’re good for morale.”
He rubs the bandage on his cheek and scowls resentfully. “Aw, give it a rest, Sarge. Band-Aids are for sissies.”
Petey tilts his head to the side, assessing Rory’s new decoration. “Naw, I think it makes you look tough.”
Rory gives him a funny look, then breaks into a grin and messes up Petey’s hair. “You’re okay, kiddo.”
“It don’t mean a thing, Doc!” he insists, wriggling in vain. “It’s just a li’l scratch – good grief, have you seen how many scars I got when I was a kid?”
“Shut up, you idiot,” Doc answers, not at all dissuaded. I think he’s actually enjoying himself. “That was back home – little stuff like this gets infected easily over here.” He dabs Rory’s face with some alcohol.
“YOW!” Rory howls, jerking his head back. “You’re killin’ me, Doc!”
“Big baby,” Doc grins. “Cook, hold his legs, will ya?”
Petey drops by Rory’s feet and grabs his ankles in a football hold. “It does look bad, Rory,” he comments, obviously trying not to laugh. “You’ve got blood running down your face.”
“Good.” Rory tries to pull away as Doc makes another pass with the alcohol, but Cowboy grabs his hair and holds him still. The best he can do is make horrid faces and half-choked growling noises while Doc cleans his face and sticks a Band-Aid over the cut.
“Never a dull moment with you around, Rory,” I remark as he gets released. “You’re good for morale.”
He rubs the bandage on his cheek and scowls resentfully. “Aw, give it a rest, Sarge. Band-Aids are for sissies.”
Petey tilts his head to the side, assessing Rory’s new decoration. “Naw, I think it makes you look tough.”
Rory gives him a funny look, then breaks into a grin and messes up Petey’s hair. “You’re okay, kiddo.”