Could you fault this southern styled gentleman for being a bit annoyed? He'd been confronted with a little vulcan yesterday, eaten by birds today, and now he was sitting on a rather uncomfortable cot just festering. He was thinking about how he reeally wanted to be back in his damned quarters with his damned book and his damned sick bay. He wanted to go play some sort of prank on Nurse Chapel and get back to his old life again. Instead, he was now all pecked up with gashes and cuts. Amazingly, the Star Fleet Tunic was largely unharmed. Small favors and all that.
When a woman came in, looking a bit on the lost side of thing and asking for a doctor his brow quirked. "You don't look like they got you too badly," he gruffly mumbled. "Not much a doctor can do for you aside from give you some antiseptic." He pointed at the shelf of medical goodies. There was some wipes and things in there, he was sure.