Sarge's voice is gruff and deep and Lita is fairly certain it's the most she'd heard him speak in their limited interaction with one another. The ebb and flow of his cadence is familiar to her; Lita can easily hear shades of that particular Tennessee drawl she knows so well in James in his best friend. The fact that he's talking at all is a good sign that he's on the mend but it's nowhere near enough to allay her concerns for his health after such a major
"Been practicing in Texas for awhile now so, to be honest, I could do without knowing another Billy-Joe-Jim-Bob'. I'll just stick to Sarge, if it's all the same to you."
His reference to their previous admittedly terrible interaction makes Lita pause. The both of them being in this place, him so injured, and her doing her part to make sure the Hellhounds say the light of day warranted a temporary truce at the least.
"Guess you didn't need my card for me to impose myself on you," Lita replies, approaching the bed. "I'm like a bad penny, I always turn up. Even in a place like this."
Lita doesn't elaborate on how much work had gone into her being the doctor to be brought into La Quinta, how much was riding on her being there. Sarge knows, or at the very least, has to suspect the risk she's putting herself by being here and ensuring she does her part in the overall plan. She's pretty much resigned to the fact that he will never feel warmly toward her but at least he knows what she's willing to do for him and his people. Lita surveys him with an experienced eye. It didn't escape her that he avoided her question regarding his level of pain. If he thought he was going to get off that easily he is sadly mistaken.
"Well, you look like warmed over garbage," Lita remarks, picking up his wrist, checking his pulse while she consults her watch. "So I'm going to take an educated guess and say you feel pretty terrible. It's a usual side effect of being run through. Shocking, I know. But seriously, I need to know about the level of pain you're experiencing."
Her gaze flicked up from her wrist and up to Sarge's eyes, her face turning serious and her tone business-like.
"I mean it, no bullshit. I don't want to hear you're 'fine' or it's 'nothing'. Pretending like this ain't nothing but a scratch isn't going to do you any favors. So, please. On a scale from 'papercut' to 'kill me now,' what are we looking at?"