He woke up .Desmond hadn’t been sure whether or not he’d be doing that any time soon after the chaos of the party, after everything happening so fast. But the splitting pain in his head was enough to tell him he was alive. He did a quick inventory, and truly it wasn’t too bad. His leg had been shot, obviously, and something had happened to his head. But he was alive.
Thoughts didn’t come slow, instead they poured in all at once, flashes of the party and blood running through his mind’s eye, trying to make sense of everything. There’d been a van. He’d seen people hop of it...He’d seen Trojans hop out of it. Quite obviously his next thought was of Lettie. If there were Trojans there...had she been there too? Fuck. What if she’d been hurt? Was she okay? Already Desmond was trying to pull himself from his bed, though it was most likely a bad idea with the state he was in, But he didn’t care, not when something as important as Lettie’s safety was hanging over him, the not knowing whether she was okay or not killing him. There was a wheelchair nearby, and he hoisted himself into it with much difficulty, realizing that his leg most likely wouldn’t support his weight with the bullet wound in it.
Perhaps there was someone listening up there after all, willing to give him his answer as he could have sword he heard the tones of Lettie’s voice, coming from somewhere out in the hall. For a moment he thought he might be hallucinating, it being too good to be true. But then he saw her. Someone was wheeling her down the hall. In an instant he was wheeling himself after them, his heart in his throat as he called out. “Lettie!” a tinge of desperation in his voice. She’d looked conscious at least, right? But he was dying to know why she was being admitted. “Wait!” he called after the ones taking her to wherever. “Wait! Lettie!”
