Who: Isaac Franklin What: Recovery from TWD Where: Gotham City When: After the kick Warnings/Rating: None to speak of
Consciousness came back to him slowly, nothing like waking up and feeling well-rested and comfortable. No, consciousness came back with pain, a steady beeping nearby, and the smell of antiseptic in the air. One hand came up to touch his face gingerly, the memory of injury still fresh in his mind even though he had no idea how much time had passed since that meeting with the Governor. He could feel bandages beneath his fingers, the rasp of gauze and pain beneath it all. One eye flew open as a burst of panic rushed through him, feeling the way the bandages covered the left side of his face, up over his brow, down his cheek, taped securely in place. The beeping grew more frantic, and it was only a moment later that a nurse burst into his room with urgency in her steps.
"Calm down. You're in a hospital and you've been injured." He heard the words, of course he did, but they didn't really register with him. He knew what a hospital was, he knew he had been injured, but connecting that with himself was just impossible at the moment. The population of the room grew moments later, scrubs and white coats, and even as Isaac tried his best to pull the bandages off, to figure out what had happened, a surge of warmth through his veins dragged him back down to the darkness.
It was hours later before he stirred again, and this time it came with the heavy weight of sedation holding his arms down. Moving felt like too much effort, and as one eye cracked open, he caught sight of a nurse checking the monitors beside his bed. "Where am I?" Isaac asked, his voice a hoarse thing that he barely recognized. The nurse didn't answer until she had a cup of water and a straw in front of him, helping him to sit up to take a sip and then settle back against the mattress.
"Gotham General," she provided a moment later. "I'll get the doctor in for you in a moment to explain things more. And maybe you'll be able to tell us who you are."
It turned out it was a bit difficult to come up with a good explanation as to what had happened when you really didn't know what happened. He had been found in a park, they said, with a phone nearby, unconscious and injured. Someone had called an ambulance and he had been brought in and treated. That was three days ago, the doctor informed him. Dehydration, malnutrition, a bevy of cuts, scrapes, and bruises. Everything had been easily treatable but the doctor did warn him about the cut on his face. Oh, Isaac remembered that cut, the slash of the knife, the burst of pain that had brought him to his knees, the blood. So much blood he couldn't see, and he hadn't been able to tell then if his eye had been injured.
Luckily, it had not, but the cut had been deep and had required ten stitches to close, and would likely leave a scar. He was advised to keep it bandaged and come back in a week to have the stitches removed, and even though Isaac promised up and down he would, he doubted he'd keep that promise.
It was another day and night in the hospital before they finally released him after a stack of forms had been signed. One of the nurses had been kind enough to purchase some clothes for him, leaving him in more than a pair of boxers when he was finally discharged. He thanked her with a kiss on the cheek and when he pulled away, her number was tucked into the chest pocket of the plain white button down he was wearing. Some things, it seemed, never really changed.
Once outside and on his own, Isaac spent a few moments trying to decide what he'd do next. He had his phone and little else on him, which was problematic, but Isaac was a man who could be incredibly resourceful. It was just a matter of figuring out the first step. His thoughts went to the number in his pocket, the nurse who had given it to him, and even though things weren't as great as they could be, Isaac walked away from the hospital with a grin on his face.