"I'm afraid I don't have anything for the pain ... although with your history of what you've taken over the years, it would probably be like taking aspirin." Instead, he brought forth a bottle of whiskey and set it on the table. "This might dull things, however."
And so he began, carefully cleaning the wound as best he could, stopping as much of the bleeding and then tackling the stitches. His glasses were taken out for that work and he peered through them as the needle and thread moved back and forth. "I seem .... to recall you doing this for me once," he said, voice thoughtful now. "In Arkham, after a guard had beaten me with a chair. It had sharp edges on one part of it ... and you sewed me back up." A tiny smile formed. "Glad I can repay the favor, all these years after."