Recovery was slow at best. He'd been one of the lucky ones who had been rounded up and brought back to the hospital, given the treatment there and allowed to heal the right way. With a staff of caring, if not incredibly busy, nurses and actual medical supplies.
He had no idea where River had gone to, but he had a feeling that he'd been with her. That they'd shared something.
It wasn't surprising to him when he made it back to his desk and discovered a letter there, asking him to see the Dean of Medicine. He'd gotten to see a newspaper. He knew where the blame for this was going to rest, and rightfully slow. If he hadn't done what he'd done, none of it would have happened. Of course, if that blasted nurse had stayed put, none of it would have happened either.
Hannibal was deciding on his own punishment for that woman.
He would take whatever was given to him, but then she would get the brunt of the frustration that came of it. Of that much he was certain.
When he got to the office, he knocked softly. Mostly because his skin still hurt, and the muscles in his hands felt like they hadn't been used in years. They were all new and interesting sensations that he was carefully documenting in a notebook along with everything else he could remember about his time as a zombie.