(no subject)

This wasn't in the slightest what Lucy had been expecting when she'd ventured out into the storm. Retrospectively, she supposed it was her own damn fault for not expecting the worst, for once, but acknowledging that didn't change anything now, and sure as hell didn't make her feel any better about being stuck in the clinic. The actual turn of events, she remembered mostly from having been told about it, not actually experiencing it. What she knew now was that she'd fallen, resulting in a concussion and the stitched-up cut on her leg; that George had found her and he and Dr. Grey had been bringing her back to the Compound; that a tree branch had hit them, leaving her with a ruptured spleen and a worse head injury; and that she'd been taken for surgery in the newly-built operating room, leaving her where she was now, still in a hell of a lot of pain — she'd refused any painkillers, thinking too much of her brother — but far more alert than she had been following the accident.

In short, she hated it.

Of course, she never would have expected anything else, knowing herself well enough to suspect that she wouldn't be a good patient. She was too prone to restlessness to take well to it, even while recovering from surgery and with several other injuries on top of that. She had talked someone into bringing her a few books from the bookshelf, but for now, they sat untouched on the table beside her bed, Lucy not caring as much as she thought she would about keeping herself occupied. Her focus was elsewhere, anyway; like this, after everything, it was too hard not to let her mind wander, so much so that she wasn't paying any attention to the door when someone walked in.