The road to recovery Part One

Doctor - 'Son, all I can say is that it's a miracle you're not suffering some major trauma after the abuse you took in that ring.'

**The nurse adjusts the IV to make sure the drip is running as it should. The doctor flips through the chart in his hand as he examines his charge.**

Doctor - 'We have it listed here you were hit squarely in the head with a steel chair, then beaten down shortly thereafter while you tried to clear your head. Have you been feeling any pain in your neck, or troubles adjusting your eyes to bright lights?'

**The doctor looks at Choirboy awaiting a response. Choirboy lays in bed and coldly stares at the doctor, not saying a word. He has seen some better days, propped up on sterile foam pillows with a bandage encircling his head, and with a neck brace limiting his movement. He still doesn't say a word, and he doesn't have to. After a moment of cold silence, the doctor shrugs his shoulders and places the chart on the end of the bed.**

Doctor - 'Quite the talker, huh? In any case, we're going to want to keep you here for a few days under supervision just to make sure you're doing well. If you need anything, be sure to buzz us and one of our nursing staff will be sure to help.'

**Choirboy continues to stare at the doctor as he quickly walks out of the room with the nurse. Choirboy softens his gaze as he is left alone in the room, and realizes for the first time as far as he could recall, he was alone. No fellow orphans to play tag with. No stable mates to talk shop with. No fans to boo his mere presence. With a sigh, he reaches for the remote control and turns on the tv, in an attempt to watch what is going on while he is gone. His eyes grow heavy as he slowly but surely falls asleep in his bed, not noticing someone entering very room.**

**The man stands there, observing Choirboy. He quietly closes the hospital room door and walks towards one of the bedside chairs and takes a seat. His eyes scanning the sleeping Choirboy, and with a sigh as well, his eyes start to tear up. 'My sweet Lord', the man thinks to himself, 'what has he done to himself?' Just then, Choirboy's eyes open wide and he sits there, in shock, at the sight of the man sitting next to his bed.**

Choirboy - 'What the hell are you doing here?'

Man - 'My son, we need to have a talk....'

(OOC - End of Part One. Trust me, this is going to go somewhere.)