The little woman only laughed, her dark eyes flashing with genuine good humor, and patted Connor's reassuringly. "Oh it's all right Connor - if I may call you that?" Devika asked with a questioning lift of her eyebrow. She followed his gaze to her white coat and, with a small, resigned sigh, began to slide it off, tossing it over a nearby chair, but not before she rifled out the small packets of alcohol wipes she had in one pocket, and the stethoscope in the other. 

"You're not the first person I've met who doesn't like medical... Well, medical [i]anything[/i] really, and frankly? I'm just grateful you haven't cussed me out yet, or tried to punch me, kick me... " Devika nodded as she glanced up to the young man's face, that small knowing smile telling him without a word, she wasn't exaggerating at all. If anything, she was understating the matter to a staggering degree, her experience in the triage units during the Sino-Korean war an experience that... That [i]changed[/i] her. Profoundly. 

But that had nothing to do with poor, bleeding Mr. Douglass before her now, of course. "For that alone - and I wouldn't do this for just [i]anyone[/i] you know. Yes, I will give up all my convenient pocket space... " She said as she shimmied out of her white coat, draping the pocketed stethoscope around her neck and tossing her stash of alcohol wipes on a nearby counter, "But since I know First Sergeant Larson dragged you down here - hey, I can meet you halfway, right?"

"Besides, there's no way for me to make this place look like your favorite tattoo parlor either - not without chasing off all my 'business' all together. I'm afraid you're stuck with the bucolic water paintings... " Devika found no need to mention - or rather, boast - that all the framed art was actually her own work. The mountains and the lakes, the vineyards and farmlands rendered so lovingly were a labor of salvation really, after many solitary hours near her family's home in the Catskills when she returned from her various tours of duty. 

"And no upgrades, I'm afraid. If only I could slip a new gear or two in you, and make you right again, all this would be a little easier, I bet. But no, you're just fine the way you are, though you know... ? I think I can probably close this up with absolutely minimal scarring over the ink you already have... "

Devika had long since mastered the skill of multitasking, of speaking easily to a patient while simultaneously inspecting an injury. It was an ability honed over years, a skill that easily kept the grimace from her face as she looked to the dirty rag that once wrapped Connor's arm. The only saving grace there, she supposed, was the knowledge that it had been likely soaked in just motor oil and engine grease, and not biowaste. And thankfully, the edges looked clean - a pretty simple slice, if rather deep. With practiced ease, she pulled up Connor Douglass' medical record, tapped the screen quickly to record the vital signs and her notes on the patient's wound, and then - 

- And then, her full, pretty lips screwed up to one side with a surprise that even her professional facade could not hide. But she caught herself quickly, swallowing back the lump in her throat, fighting back the cold dread, her heart hammering in her chest. Devika glanced up to Connor from the corner her eyes, the sudden dread swiftly masked again.

"No allergies, serious previous injuries that I can see... Why is there an MRI scheduled for you, Connor? Is there some previous head or neck injury you didn't mention to me before?"