The spoon will clatter into the sink where it's dropped, Lucius rolling his good shoulder to diminish collected tension, looking vaguely ill once she's done, but also relieved that it's over. Doctors are barbarians, clearly. He chances a look down at the ugly sight even neat stitches tend to be, a hand coming up like he might touch. These hopefully aren't forever, or something.

He stops just short as she says these next things, the prospect of staying long enough to get clean. "I really think it best if I simply leave it at this for the evening and get out of your hair," he states, dully.