CAPTAIN GEORGIOU. ( @georgiov. | c. )
  When the distress call came, everything had been a flurry of activity -- there had been no time to stop, to think, to breathe. Everything had been instinct, had been finely tuned training kicking in, people performing their tasks almost before orders were snapped, anticipating each next move; lives, after all, were on the line, and every second counted. Medical officers scrambling to find beds for the injured, to tend to the most serious wounds first, to get patients stabilized, to get the less severe injuries treated and out of the way. Each of them working like cogs in a machine -- but not nearly so smoothly as that. No, though Medical is sterile, it is every bit as organic as the people passing through it, officers squeezing through crowded paths, weaving their way from one end to the other as intricately as signals through a nervous system.Â
  By the time the flurry of activity trickles to a slow crawl, with all major injuries being seen to, and all minor injuries tended and shooed out to be given temporary quarters wherever they could fit, the staff is exhausted -- Hugh sees it on their faces, feels it in himself. But there’s no time to rest; those still in their care still need help. His PADD flickers with glowing text as he flips rapidly from one chart to the next, monitoring the live feeds of vitals, of updates pouring in from other medical staff. An alert comes up, and all other windows minimize as he taps it, brings it to the front.
  GEORGIOU, PHILIPPA. Spiking heart rate, increased neural activity; she’d suffered serious wounds, internal bleeding, and had lost a lot of blood. She’d been very touch and go -- really, she shouldn’t be waking up so soon for fear of her going into shock, still, but sedation had been discouraged due to the amount of blood lost. The last thing she needs is to wake up in an unfamiliar place, with no one there to answer her questions, and so he’s moving out of his office, where he’d gone to take a breather in between tending to patients, and immediately makes for her bedside. He’s there as her head begins to turn in distress, as her lashes flicker, eyes moving restlessly beneath her lids. She’s making noises, and he reaches out, lays a hand soothingly on her sweat-slick brow.
  When her eyes finally open, his face is the first thing she sees, and he endeavors to convey calm, to convey safety. His voice, when he speaks, is even, kind, steady. “Hey, I’ve got you. It’s okay.” But the words hardly seem needed -- already the woman is beginning to settle, and he nods his approval of it, drawing his hand back slowly and smiling at her gently.
   “Welcome, Captain Georgiou, to the Discovery. I’m Dr. Hugh Culber; I’ll be your attending physician through your recovery. I’m sure you have a lot of questions -- but try not to push yourself. I’ll answer everything as fully as I can.”
