3. Recount

"Lillian?" You hear an unfamiliar, male, voice address you.

Though the remark was worded as a question, something about the speaker's tone tells you he's well aware you are the person in question. However, before you're able to get a good look at the incomer, the man before you moves to stand between you and the figure.

"That's her." He replies brusquely, his body language indicating his initial distrust. "You the Doc?"

"I am." You hear the stranger reply in a casual tone. "Though I believe I was speaking to the lady. Besides, only family should be allowed back here."

"In a few weeks, I'll be her husband." The rough edge in the man's voice causes you to wince slightly.

"Come back in a few weeks then."

Your breath catches in your throat at the unexpected reply. Inhaling shallowly, you slowly glance over at your would-be-husband. To your surprise, he simply lets out a half amused scoff before giving the Doctor a slight nod. He then turns to you and gives you a soft smile. Though your brow continues to knit, you remain silent until he finally turns and leaves. There's a small moment of silence after the door shuts behind him. During this time you're able to get a better look at the man before you. He's far younger than you would have expected given the cadence of his voice. Relatively tall and surprisingly well built, he doesn't look at all like any of the Doctors you've seen. His face is quite angular, including his long, sharp nose. Piercing, dark gray eyes stare at you beneath a few stray locks of his curly brown hair.

"Now," He suddenly states in a rather chipper tone. "Where were we? Ah, yes. You're Lillian, correct?"

You couldn't help startling somewhat at the sound of his voice. Though his tone is superficially cheery, something about him seems rather off. You silently tilt your head down in confirmation while continuing to watch the man somewhat apprehensively.

"That was quite the accident you were in."

"So they tell me." You finally speak, your throat still feeling rather hoarse.

"Then you don't remember any of it?"

Once again, you remain silent, slowly shaking your head 'no.' The Doctor regards you for a moment before looking down to a chart fixed to the end of your cot. He briefly flips through its contents before tossing it aside onto the foot of the bed.

"You seem to have come out relatively unscathed." There's a pause as you look down to your casts then back up at him skeptically.

"I don't feel 'relatively unscathed.'" You retort through slightly gritted teeth.

"Really?" This comment appears to peak the Doctor's interest as he rather swiftly moves forward. "Tell me, how does it feel?"

You hesitate briefly given the strange phrasing of his question. Not to mention the odd, almost hungry, look in his eyes. Shifting back slightly, you can't help feeling rather on edge.

"It's everywhere, a deep, dull ache. As if every one of my nerves has been battered. Or as if I've just run across the world and back." You finally admit, trying to reassure yourself of man's intentions to help. "The worst is in my head."

"Your head." The man repeats, subtly licking his lips after speaking.

"Yes." Your voice grows hushed as the throbbing in your throat continues. "Particularly my face."

"Ah yes, of course." You quickly shift away further when he takes a seat on the bed beside you.

The load creaks and groans from the old springs feel like daggers in your ears. You're unable to keep from visibly flinching, though the Doctor seems to pay little notice of your discomfort.

"They haven't told you what happened yet." You've nowhere left to move when he suddenly reaches up and brushes a hand across your left cheek.

Flinching again, you try turning your head away only to be hit by another wave of pain and nausea. His hands are unexpectedly cool, feeling oddly pleasant against your burning skin. You feel his fingers gently slide across the side of your face as he begins inspecting the bandages partially covering it.

"What haven't they told me?" You barely manage to get out, though you're rather afraid of what the answer might be.

"It's your eye."

Your breath catches in your throat at the response. Swallowing nervously, you wait for him to continue. Instead he remains distracted by the impromptu examination. You can't help blushing slightly as his long fingers brush against the nape of your neck. Despite every instinct telling you to get away, you remain still and silent. That is until his fingers begin drifting below your collarbone. Your sharp inhale seems to draw him out of his trance. Pulling his hand away, he straightens up briskly. A light blush remains on your face as the man's grey eyes stare down at you.

"Your left eye was badly damaged during the accident." He finally explains. " It may begin to heal, it may not. If it doesn't, we'll have to remove it."

Your undamaged eye widens in surprise. You hadn't been aware that the gauze covering your face was for this reason. Though you can't help feeling as if this is the least of your concerns right now. Regardless, you're still rather distracted when the Doctor makes his departure. Leaving you with a multitude of questions and no idea where to turn.