[ Karl gives her a look, one that lingers for a moment longer than is polite, but it's brushed that off as assessment easily enough as he flashes her another brief smile (thanks; no, really. Then he turns, wheeling himself away from her in his little office chair, propelling himself the short distance to the opposite side of the small visitation room. He's been in practice for a solid decade now and while his private practice is four days a week, on Fridays he's here, at the hospital.

It doesn't take him long to find the things that he needs. Gauze, wipes, swabs, thread; a tiny pair of tweezers, a set of gloves from the box on the wall. He makes chitchat while he collects these things and arranges them on a small wheeled cart. ] I can give you something for the pain, if you want. Not gonna lie, it'll hit like a Mack truck but the stitches go down a hell of a lot smoother. [ He glances at her, a sterile packet of needles in his hand. Karl shakes the contents and holds it up to the light. ] Your call.