Lita watched, a smirk playing around her lips, as her new buddy struggled to fit his large hands into the gloves. She relaxed slightly, feeling confident he'd be able to take care of all three of them should the need arise. At the mention of his "expertise", she found herself putting together a pretty vivid picture of what that might be. Fantasy aside, she hoped she wouldn't have to witness what made his hands so calloused and his shoulders so broad. The situation was already fraught with enough danger without the undead strolling by to say howdy.
"Rodeo, eh?" Lita asked, continuing to cut the sick man's shirt away. The flannel was all but glued to the skin with dried blood, pus, and what appeared to be duct tape. She began to carefully peel away the layers between her and the gangrenous wound.
"With a name like that, you've got to be the epitome of a good ole' Southern gentleman. Unless that's your given name. Then I've got to say I'm sorry your mother had such a terrible sense of humor. Tweezers, please."
Lita inclined her head to her tray, indicating which of the delicate instruments she wanted Rodeo to hand her.
"I got a feeling that even if I didn't give you my name, you'd have a funny way of finding it out." She paused, somehow knowing this to be true. She hadn't really thought about any sort of contact with this guy after today but it would be stupid not to consider it. He could be a good ally to have. He obviously had access to supplies she needed and she certainly didn't hate looking at him. Giving him her real name was a risk she was willing to take.
"It's Dr. Lalita Singh. Lita to my friends," she said, taking her eyes from her patient for just a moment. She flashed Rodeo a quick look over her shoulder.
"...but you can call me Doc."
She turned back to the wound, which she had finally separated from the surrounding material.
"Christ," she whispered under her breath. She irrigated the discolored wound, taking into account the angry red lines radiating out from it, and tried to get a better look at it what she was working with. It was bad, made worse by the waiting. He was likely already septic, with the altered mental state, respiratory distress and fevered shakes, but without tests she could only do what she could. She felt around under the man's back and, finding no exit wound, knew she was going to have to put Rodeo's Abercrombie and Fitch muscles to good use.
"Yeah, so, I'm pretty sure the bullet is lodged in his shoulder blade," Lita said with a sigh, blowing a piece of hair out of her eyes. "Even though he's pretty out of it, when I start yanking it out of there, it's going to hurt like a son of a bitch. I'm going to need you to hold him down. You game?"