Setting Things Straight
Setting Things Straight
Summary: After Greje violates some unwritten protocol in Sickbay, Zaharis calls her in for a little talk.
Date: 11 BCH (1 November 2008)
Related Logs: None

Sickbay Genesis - Deck 13
11 BCH 2235 Souls

The medical facility is large enough to hold a few dozen beds. Each bed is set with a curtain for privacy, a chair near the bed and any monitoring or medical aids needed. A nurses desk sits at the front near the hatch and a surgery area, Medical Officers area and supplies are on the far wall behind the desk. Nurses, doctors and medics man this area at any time day or night. Visiting hours are usually kept to the day and evening schedules, unless stated otherwise by medical staff.

Zaharis is in his office, or what passes for an office up here. Really it's just a glassed-in, very small room where he can occasionally work without the entire of Sickbay all over him.

It doesn't last long, of course, as there comes a brief rapping at the glass, quite early in the morning, as far as the clocks go. A bright-eyed and bushy-tailed (far too much so for such an hour of the morning) priest flashes a smile through the glass as a follow-up to the knocking, and then pokes her head around into the enclosure proper. "Good morning, Jesse."

"Good morning, Greje." Zaharis sets down the stylus he was using to scribble across the front of his electronic tablet. "Come in, have a seat."

Greje does so, stepping in briskly and settling down on the edge of a chair, leaning forward over crossed legs and confounding her hands together with a complicated combination of interlocked fingers, wrists and elbows that might look nerve-wrought if it weren't for her otherwise placid demeanor. "Thank you," she offers. "How can I help you, Jesse?" she wonders brightly.

Zaharis rests his hands on the arms of his chair, turning it slightly with his foot so he can give her his full attention. Despite the pleasant greeting, his posture seems rather formal. "How long, exactly, have you been in the military?"

Greje considers the question with a slight narrowing of her eyes, "From the time I began the Ecclesiastical Support Training program? Almost four months. Actual time on a post? Almost three weeks, now."

Zaharis nods once. "And please tell me when, exactly, you got a medical degree and were promoted over my head."

Greje looks about to reply quite in earnest, before the question fully sinks in and she looks completely baffled. Tilting her head to one side, "Excuse me?" she asks.

"I will take that to mean 'never' on both accounts," Zaharis' dark eyes stay on her. "Look. I have given you a great deal of freedom in this bay. I don't want to have to revoke it, so I will make this abundantly clear. The next time you feel the need to criticise the way I schedule personnel for shifts, particularly about the shifts of someone who is doing them voluntarily, you will not do so in front of another officer and two enlisted standing right there in the hall. The CO of this battlestar does not treat me with that kind of disrespect, and neither will you. If you have a concern over someone's well-being, you will inform me in private. Is that understood?"

Greje stares with a blank, mildly oblivious, still-tilted gaze while Jesse speaks, and a beat beyond, until her eyes light with understanding and her slouched back straightens as she exclaims, "Ah! You mean Amalina," she concludes, looking pleased to have figured out what he was on about, though the pleasure in her features lasts only an echo of a moment past her words, and the color, what little there is, quite drains from her face as the full brunt of the dressing-down finally hits her. "Oh, Jesse," she adds, with a little bit of sorrow in her tone of voice, "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to make you come off poorly in front of your staff, of -course- I shouldn't have done that," she realizes, chewing on her lower lip a moment as she mentally kicks herself for the error, looking rather concerned about Jesse's well-being. "You aren't going to get in trouble, are you?" she asks. "I was just worried, that's all. Amalina had just been telling me she'd been up all through the night… she looked exhausted… and when she mentioned she was going to stay through -another- night, well, I just… but I shouldn't make excuses, it was wrong of me to do, and I'm very sorry. Is there anything I can do to put it right?" she asks, leaning forward, worry marking her features.

"You can not do it again, and I'll consider the account settled," Zaharis replies, folding his hands across his waist. "And keep it in mind around here. I've pulled you in rather than do this last night in front of everyone. But there are many officers who won't be so pleasant about it. So mind yourself." Now that the Chew-Out is done, his tone isn't quite so chilly, just matter-of-fact. "As for the Staff Sergeant, she is a Marine, not personnel of Sickbay. Her shifts are her choice, and she's a big girl a class away from a medical degree. Whether or not I can trust her to make decisions that don't endanger herself and her patients is up to her to show me. Now if you feel she's overworking, like I said, you come speak to me. Or speak to her, if you have mutual trust."

Greje smiles quite gratefully at Jesse, "I will, Jesse. Thank you," she bows her head just a little in a further gesture of gratitude, then, lips drawing into a concerned line, she nods her head a few times. "Amalina and I spoke at some length last night as to the cause of her… over-working," she refers to it quite gently. "I don't feel at liberty to discuss the particulars of the matters she divulged to me in a professional context, but I do think we'll be continuing to work together to get her past them and back to healthier work habits. I think we made a good deal of progress last night, but… that said, I -would- appreciate it if you could give me a heads-up if you see signs of this behavior from her again."

"To a point, I will," Zaharis says. "I have a lot of other staff who also have their own problems and workaholism, Greje. And there comes a point when someone has to learn to be mature enough not to need people to hold their hands and tell them it's past their bedtime. Particularly in a field where lacking that maturity could cost someone else their life. So I will keep what eye I can on her, but I will have to trust whatever personal problems she has to you."

Greje nods quietly, looking to one side for a moment, out through the glass to the ward with a pensive look. "Do we know what happened, yet?" she wonders in a soft voice after enough of a pause to indicate a complete change of subject.

"That's a question that's answered by paygrade around here," Zaharis replies mildly, also glancing at the corridor out the glass window. "We know there were explosions, fires, and shrapnel, and that's what matters to those in Sickbay. The rest is being handled. The bay should be back to normal function in the next half week, I'd estimate."

"You mean that we're not allowed to know who did the… exploding, and firing, and shrapnelling," Greje decodes softly.

"I mean that what caused it is being investigated by those who investigate those things," Zaharis says in return. His voice is neutral, no real hint of what he may or may not know, himself. "And when that information's cleared to be released, it will be."

Greje turns her head slowly back toward Jesse and closes her eyes for a moment with a subtle nod, recognizing that the military simply works this way, and that it does so for a good reason, even if she isn't used to it, quite yet. "I suppose we'll find out soon, then," she equivocates slightly.

Zaharis smirks slightly. "Maybe." He exhales, picking up the mug of lukewarm coffee on his desk. "You know, I've been doing the military thing for nineteen years, Greje. If there's something to be learned, it's don't drive yourself crazy being all focused on what you don't know. Military's about trusting those above you and those around you, no questions asked. Cause you never know when you'll need that trust to save your life. So just take what you've got and be the frakkin' best you can with it."

Greje keeps tangling her fingers together as if she were trying to create a diorama of the Gordian Knot with her hands as the centerpiece, but for all that she gives a soft laugh and looks at the very least comforted by the sentiment, if not cheered. "Ask not which jar wherefrom Zeus draws our lot. For all that we might ask, we'll know it not," she recites with a small smile.

"Whatever floats your boat," Zaharis replies, tone not unfriendly.

Greje straightens her back again, eyes coming back from somewhere distant to focus on Jesse in the here-and-now. Yes, she's even a little spacy when she's not off visiting Olympus with her secret blend of seven herbs and spices. "I'm sorry," she replies. "You're not religiously minded, I hope you don't take offense if I ramble from spripture," she offers him with a friendly smile. "Whether you practice is your own decision, and I -do- respect that. I know there are priests in the worlds who don't. I hope you don't count me among them," she expresses, her voice warm and earnest.

Zaharis shrugs. "Not yet. But don't worry about it. I find it more offensive when people suck down what they believe in out of fear than when they go on and do what they feel they've got to do. So, you go right on. You think I'm the type of man that wouldn't tell you straight up if it were getting obnoxious?" He smirks.

Greje untangles her hands, miraculously not breaking any fingers in the process, and she leans her cheek on one hand, elbow on her knee, and smiles a friendly sort of smile, "Well, you might take me aside into your office first," she replies.

Zaharis makes a single 'hah' sound, finally grinning. "Alright, Greje. I need to get back to work. Anything you need around here?"

Greje shakes her head and stands up, "Not a thing, for the moment. Thank you, Jesse. I'll see you soon."

Zaharis nods, picking up his stylus from where he'd abandoned it earlier. The list of incoming messages on the tablet screen have already multiplied tenfold in the last twenty minutes. "Have a good afternoon, then."

Greje lifts a hand to wave a chipper good-bye, and slips out around the doorjamb and along the glass wall, back out of the sickbay.

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