Whatever meandering path that train of thought of the doctor's had gone on, Rat dragged himself along it. It was a good thing to hang on to as blood rushed in his ears. He forced himself to breathe evenly, and didn't do much other than move his hand as Hawkeye needed it. He didn't even have any smart comment in return to his contention that he wasn't old. Once he was done, though, he stayed right where he was. He wasn't in a condition to get up yet.

He just waved a dismissive hand and raised his knees up, putting his feet flat on the ground. He hung his head between his knees in a pose Hawkeye might find typical of someone that was more than just a little dizzy and being stubborn about it. But he didn't let go of the machete that his maimed hand clutched. Sure, he was a terribly stubborn patient, but he patently refused to pass out. He knew this would pass.

And it only took a little bit longer for it to do so. When he finally moved again, he pushed back on his heels and just rose up to a full standing position. "You sure as hell know how to take an open invitation..." he finally said. "My hand's fine."

He looked Hawkeye up and down again. "You're a dead man walking, though."