Men like me? No amount of pain would be deterrent enough to keep Wrench from smirking at that sentiment. He doesn't think he needs to guess very hard at what Claire might be insinuating, but he's curious nonetheless to needle her into expounding on that point. Just how much like the man she married does she believe Wrench to be? Would she still believe the same way if she knew much more about him?

Haven't seen much money cross hands in this place, but you name your price and I'll consider if I can afford it. Anyone would be a fool if they didn't want a competent doctor on call. And discreet he thinks, though he doesn't say it. The doctors Wrench has known throughout his life have largely been the latter, but 'competent' isn't an appellation he'd give to most of them. On the whole, he might consider himself lucky he's survived the brand of doctoring he's come to know, but most of the evidence that he still wears across his body points to injuries patched by his own hand.

Wrench blows what blood he can onto the ground at his feet and does his best to clean around his nostrils and give Claire a clean view of what she's working on. The way he handles the task is rough and utilitarian. If there's any concern for pain, he doesn't show it. If he could make things worse by treating himself so roughly, he doesn't consider it.

After the way I patched you, I think I deserve whatever's coming. Do your worst.