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It's 8:08 in the morning.. Newt's been awake for six hours, twelve minutes, and thirty-three seconds. Thirty-four now. He knows this because there's a clock on the wall in front of him and he's been watching it very carefully between rounds of people coming in to fuss over him, ask him questions he doesn't know the answers to, hearing the doctors and nurses talk about him like he's not even there. He doesn't pay very much attention anyway, all he really wants to do is get the hell out of here even though he's pretty sure that's not going to be an option for a solid minute.
When he'd woken up, there'd been only pain--pain in his head, pain in his side, pain everywhere. There's been a respite since because he's got drugs being pumped in him through an IV. He's already been told that he's been in a coma for... Christ, has it really been almost two weeks? He can't really remember much, though the doctors have said something about-- what was it, recessing memories? That doesn't make sense but whatever, nothing makes a whole lot of sense right now because all he knows is that he'd been stabbed and that really freakin' sucks, dude.
The television has been turned on for him by a kind nurse whose name he guiltily can't remember right now but his attention stays with the clock. It's not until the door to his room opens again that his eyes leave the ticking hands and he raises an eyebrow at the entrance, fully expecting it to be more nurses. When he sees who walks through, he relaxes the tension he hadn't even realized has been in his shoulders and a relieved smile curves the corners of his lips. "Hey," he says softly, "it's been awhile, huh?"
[st/lt welcome ftr]
When he'd woken up, there'd been only pain--pain in his head, pain in his side, pain everywhere. There's been a respite since because he's got drugs being pumped in him through an IV. He's already been told that he's been in a coma for... Christ, has it really been almost two weeks? He can't really remember much, though the doctors have said something about-- what was it, recessing memories? That doesn't make sense but whatever, nothing makes a whole lot of sense right now because all he knows is that he'd been stabbed and that really freakin' sucks, dude.
The television has been turned on for him by a kind nurse whose name he guiltily can't remember right now but his attention stays with the clock. It's not until the door to his room opens again that his eyes leave the ticking hands and he raises an eyebrow at the entrance, fully expecting it to be more nurses. When he sees who walks through, he relaxes the tension he hadn't even realized has been in his shoulders and a relieved smile curves the corners of his lips. "Hey," he says softly, "it's been awhile, huh?"
[st/lt welcome ftr]