She could make out slivers of the conversation, unaware that it was Abby speaking until it's too late to go back and she's coming into the hospital room and shutting the door behind her with all the grace of the Duchess of Cambridge. Seriously, she carried herself like a politician more than a twenty-year-old.

"Hey," she responds with a wave of her unbroken wrist. The other lay limply across her lap in a small brace. One eye is mostly swollen shut, her lip split. Honestly, she looks like absolute hell. At least she got her makeup off. "They're keeping me for a few days- concussion, anemia." She shakes her head.

"Some stairs tried to kill me."