Two things were immediately apparent once that threshold had been crossed. The first being a pervasive smell of flowers emanating from a substantial bouquet of red and white sagatheas. Placed quite aesthetically underneath the floral arrangement was a badly cracked and scorched helmet, the orange tint a little faded from the punishment suffered. If something needed to be accredited for preserving the life of the pilot, then it was definitely that very same helmet. Which despite the extreme stress had managed to retain its seal and continue functioning, the precious seconds of life support breathing air into lungs that would have otherwise been vacant.
One of the more qualified members of the medical staff was still attending to him, being as patient as possible with the Commander's defiant attitude despite constant assertions that he should just lie down. Instead, he was seated at the edge of the bed and slowly moved his head in the direction of whoever was calling out to him. When it was clear who it was, he gestured for the person attending to him to leave and they did so promptly, needing a break to restore the patience needed to put up with his stubbornness.
On closer inspection, the left side of his face had a long bruise crossing up across his cheek, over his nose and onto his forehead, almost perfectly matching the crack on the helmet which had served to protect him. His hair was a mess and he hadn't bothered trying to tidy it for the sake of appearances, strands cluttering his forehead while others stood up in many places. His condition seemed fine otherwise, but was likely much worse to behold upon first being brought in. With the amount of equipment tidily stored in the room, it suggested surgery had been performed recently, and if a guess has to be made it must have been to resolve internal bleeding of a fairly large scale.
Abruptly, he stuck a hand out in her direction. Initially it might have seemed like a request for help in order to stand, but his palm was facing upwards and he wasn't postured in a way to reflect that intent. Since the only other person in the room with them had just left, it was clear he just wanted some sense of comfort. When he tried to speak at first, he just coughed harshly, like he must have inhaled smoke at some point which was still choking his airways even hours later. "You're going to ask why I called, aren't you? I want to say that would be a silly question to ask, knowing what you know." His chest clenched painfully while his throat burned, cursing him for the fact that he was refusing to cough and seemed to just grunt it away. "I called because I wanted to see the reason I punched the throttle until I broke it."
