'Hold still, Tony!'
'C'mon, Ducky! I don't have a concussion! Can you stop with the damn light in my eyes?'
To his relief, the ME finally passed the penlight to Palmer.
To his dismay, he started prodding painfully at his wrist.
'AHHHH!'
'I take it that that is a bit tender?'
Tony just glared at him.
'Well, I don't think it is broken, but it is quite a nasty sprain. Mr. Palmer, would you be so kind as to hand me that bandage? I'll need to... ah, thank you, Timothy. Now, I want you to keep this... yes, just like that...'
Tony held the chemical cold-pack against his rapidly-swelling wrist and glared over Ducky's shoulder at Tim, who was fidgeting wildly. But before he could make a scathing comment about the younger man looking like a little boy in need of a toilet, Ducky had resumed his monologue, his tone taking on a decidedly scolding note.
'What on earth were you thinking, jumping out like that, at a crime scene of all places? For heaven's sake, Tony, you are lucky that Timothy didn't shoot you! Honestly...'
Tony tuned him out for several minutes, letting the lecture wash over him and trying to ignore the pain in his wrist as Ducky continued his examination. He apparently didn't miss very much. When he finally started listening again, Ducky was still chastising him.
'...of all the idiotic stunts...'
'Ducky, I really don't need to hear about every story that this reminds you of. Can you just wrap my wrist so I can get back to w...'
'My dear boy, for once I don't have a story comparable to your recklessness. In fact, the only thing that this little 'joke' of yours reminds me of, is a certain old expression.'
Tony looked up at him warily.
'Uh... what's that?'
'"Just wait until your father gets home"'.
'My f... uh... Ducky...'
'Tony, if you don't think that Jethro is going to have something to say about your complete lack of good sense, then perhaps I was too hasty in ruling out a brain injury...'