The uneven meter of his breath, the way the pain seemed to physically grip him, gave her more cause for concern. She was on the verge of calling 911, her free hand sliding toward her bag, when something appeared to ease in him at least slightly. The strain was evident in every line of his body, and she stroked the back of his hand with her thumb as he collected himself -- or attempted to, watching him quietly and with great concern. When he asked who she was, she blinked as she realized that it was an almost absurdly appropriate question. Quietly, since she couldn't be sure how much his condition would be aggravated by loud noises, she said,
"I'm Catherine St. Giles. You can call me Cat, though, if you like." She smiled at him slightly, her head canting to one side as she took in his expression, tried to assess his condition. It work for which she was highly underqualified, but he did seem to be calming, which made her think the pain he'd so obviously been suffering was subsiding.
"Are you all right?" she repeated the question without any indication that it had already been asked. "What's your name? We should get you back to your room."