Connor didn't flee from the acting director, even when he understood she was on her way to inquire. Some of the medical staff did, though, he noticed, eager to be out of her way. ("At least until she's had a full pot of coffee!" one staff member had noted with nervous cheeriness while running off to attend physicals.)
He didn't seem nervous, more like a bit embarrassed that she was being bothered by this, offering her a faltering smile while getting to his feet from the exam table.
A glance down toward his bandaged, stilted fingers was given. The hand injured was the one he was used to drawing with. That was going to be challenging... "Four to six weeks, if I take care to not reinjure the bones." Unlike many patients, Connor would follow doctor instructions to the best of his abilities. He understood his body and listened to it. This wasn't an aching pain that could be conquered by moving and stretching. This was a don't-move-it pain.
"He's a member of the Monkey Fist Cult. Likely he isn't here on orders from any higher source, but here for personal reasons. I'd appreciate if he could be watched closely though so he doesn't indulge in any self-harm."