Jason bit down on the leather strap hard, holding back a pained groan as the cold metal of the forceps probed his abdomen. His surgeon worked quickly and efficiently, which was why he'd been coming here since starting the militia, but back-alley clinics like this had no access to proper anesthetics or equipment, so he often had no choice but to bear the pain.

His body relaxed visibly as the bullet was pulled out. The stitches hurt too, but nowhere near as badly. A shaky breath escaped his lips as he let the leather strap slip from his mouth. "No serious damage?" he asked. A shake of his doctor's head confirmed that the bullet hadn't pierced anything important. "Good," he breathed. "Good."

As the surgeon finished stitching him up, Jason's lips formed a thin line. "I'll get you your money as soon as I can," he said gruffly, annoyed with himself for showing up empty-handed; it made him feel indebted to the doctor, and he didn't like that. "Just...didn't have time to get it in advance today." He bit his lip. "And my men have been telling me you've been treating some of them for free? You don't have to do that."

Jason was trying to sound professional and distant, and failing. Truth was, he was grateful to be able to count on someone who seemed to not just want money from him. Since breaking out of Arkham, all of his relationships had been transactional; he'd wanted to keep them that way, but deep down, he couldn't help but feel an attachment to someone whose hands treated him with such delicate care. "Really, just send me the bill."