[ And he won't be, provided he behaves himself. That's always been the doctor's position. He flits around and behind the turian, keenly analyzing the blue-splotched holes in his carapace, front to back—first with eyes, then with the hum of what is clearly a highly tricked-out omni-tool. Like, this thing is modded to hell even by Omega standards, and not all of those mods are exactly... legal, in the strictest sense of the word. ]

Almost asked if you get shot often; remembered where we are. Everyone gets shot often. Still, surprised to see you here. Reputation precedes you.

[ It's said lightly. Almost casual. A second passes before the familiar cool spread of medi-gel melts over the exit wound. It's a higher grade for deeper wounds and it burns like nothing else while it does its work, but the pain should subside before long. Mordin assumes Archangel is used to a little pain. ]

Good news! No significant organ trauma. Missed kidney by less than a centimeter. Lucky shot indeed, but still discourage future firefights wherever possible. For a while.

[ He moves away after a moment, rifling through a cabinet of meds against the far wall before returning to Garrus with a couple innocuous lavender pills and a coffee mug filled halfway with water. He foists them on him without explanation, since it should be self-explanatory. Bullet wounds are usually uncomfortable, to say the least. ]

At least killed the merc, I hope.