Billings said nothing as she chattered on about who got her and why.  Not that he would know if she was telling the truth, mind, but even for one who was caught scavenging the abuse she'd suffered seemed a little extreme.  Probably it was something worse, and she was just trying to cover it up so he'd continue to help her out.  Even as her words flowed across his ears his brain was taking little hints and clues, the remaining clothing she wore, the obvious strength still in her body, the color of her hair.  Ahhh, that was it then, wasn't it?  This was the one they called the Gray Bitch.  Well, some called her that.  Others called her less flattering things indeed.  No wonder she'd been worked over so well.  Things between the Battery folk and the Pats had always been strained, but she was considered something akin to Public Enemy #1 with those Patfolk.<br/><br/>"Sorry darlin', but that yoke ain't comin' off with anything that I have available in here."  Cerulean eyes scanned the main room, running over cobbled-together shelves piled with neatly-sorted goods and scraps, some scavenged security lockers bolted to the gray cement walls filled with his more valuable goods, and then back to the battered figure on his second-favorite chair.  With a sigh he lumbered over to one of the lockers and fiddled with the lock, keeping his wide frame between her and it until he could swing it wide.  "You need some industrial sized metal cutters to get those off.  Can't even get a bolt cutter between the wood and metal, from the looks of it.  All I can do is try to patch you up as best I can."  Liquids sloshed and plastics rustled as he gathered a few things and then closed the locker most of the way, wandering back over to her side with a mostly-empty bottle, and some plastic storage bags full of basic medical supplies.<br/><br/>Supplies went on a rather battered and rickety T.V. tray that was mostly held up by duct tape and staples, but seemed servicable enough for all of that.  Most of the paisly flower pattern that had onced topped it was chipped away, but it wasn't all that rusted and seemed quite clean overall.  So was the small glass bowl that he carefully filled with something eye-watering from another small bottle.  "This is going to suck, miss.  Not gonna lie about that.  Gotta clean out those wounds, especially the one on the foot, and get rid of some of the burned skin, along with any skin that looks particularly unhealthy.  If you want to keep your limbs and not die of sepsis and necropsy, that is."  Yellowish teeth flashed in the dim light as he settled on a stool and lifted her damaged foot carefully onto his lap, moving a candle closer to take in the extend of the damage.<br/><br/>"Oof.  Even with what I can do, you'll be lucky to walk with only a small limp after this."  The mostly-empty bottle was unscrewed and the mouth pressed against her lips, then slowly tilted upward.  "Drink.  You need it.  It's all the whiskey I have left, but I haven't been able to scavenge any real anistethics, so getting you a little tanked before I work will have to do."  Which was a lie.  One hell of a lie, actually.  He had a stash of various painkillers, Vicodin, Codine, Percocet.  But he wasn't about to waste any of them on the Gray Bitch.  She'd hit places he'd marked before, like she'd hit just about everyone else.  The only reason he hadn't already stabbed her in the gut and fucked the hole 'till she died was that she'd also earned some respect from him.  That's a rare thing.  Not enough to keep him from taking payment outta her for the medical care, but it was still something.  "Don't waste any of it.  I know it's harsh, but it's that or you be entirely aware for what comes next."<br/><br/>Once she'd finished the bottle he set it aside gently, knowing it could be rinsed and used to store some of his home-brewed rotgut later, and dipped a strip of foraged linen in the small glass bowl.  "Try not to kick me.  This is going to hurt like hell."  Nearly pure alcohol soaked the strip, the same strip he used to clean out the brand on her foot.  Dip, brush through the channel a burned letter had seared into her foot, scraping and brushing out bits of stone, dirt, glass... dip and repeat, burnt flesh flaking and cracking off with every pass as he worked through each letter with one hand, while the other clamped down like a vice on her ankle, holding the foot in place.  It also served to hide the growing erection that her pained cries and whimpers gave him.  "I was a field medic in the Marines, you know.  Did tours in little hellholes like you wouldn't believe.  You think this is bad, you should see what skin looks like after a dose of naplam."<br/><br/>When the foot was finally clean, including the various blisters and cuts, he bound it carefully in a slightly stained but still serviceable ACE bandage, then settled it back on the footstool, before moving over to her side and studying the burn on her stomach.  "This one isn't as bad.  Probably feels as bad, but you haven't been dragging it over the ground, either."  The little bowl was drained into a bucket, rinsed lightly, then refilled before he got to work on the stomach, this time using a sharp sliver of steel to cut away bits of flesh burned beyond recovery before he cleaned.  Mmm.  A couple of the skinflakes were palmed and stashed in a pocket for later, but once he'd cut enough away the wound was flushed and scrubbed with alcohol, then patched over.  Mostly with sterile padding and another bandage, this one angled to avoid the burn on her back.<br/><br/>"The back is going to be a bit more difficult, but now that the other two are done, we can get to it.  Come on, lets get you to bed.  You're in no shape to go anywhere tonight anyway.  The sleep can't hurt."  And it'll give him time to prep her to 'repay him'.  With that he slid an arm behind her and lifted her out of the chair, guiding her over to what appeared to be the bottom half of a reclaimed army bunk.  "Your stomach'll be tender, but fine for now.  Lay out."  A bit of help later, she was on her stomach on the bed, like it or not, and he went to work on her back, once more slicing away crispy skin and unhealthy-looking tissue, soaking up blood with scraps and cleaning the wound out with alcohol-soaked rags.  Not that he had to.  There were antibiotics available.  But those didn't hurt nearly as much.  When the bloody work was done he patted her matted hair and murmured.  "There.  Now, sleep.  You need it."  And he needed to find a few items to really let her remember him by...