“This is the final boarding call for American Airways Flight 673 with service to Evansville, IN departing at 6:05 pm.  Any passengers still needing to board, please make your way to gate 26 immediately.”

“Shit, Shit, Shit...” Heather Jackson mumbled to herself, shifting uneasily from side to side, as if it would somehow make the stagnant line she was standing in move faster.  

She was desperately trying to peer around the other passengers in front of her to assess how far away she was from the final security checkpoint, but it was nearly impossible to see.  The throngs of people everywhere were blocking her view, and she had no idea how long it would take.  She had already been waiting in line for what seemed like eternity, stalled from reaching her destination by crying children, malfunctioning strollers, and unwarranted security checks.  Her patience was definitely wearing thin, mostly because she was about to miss her flight home to Evansville.

Gotta love the holiday season, right?

Dissatisfied with the view, she moved her hand to her face, slowly moving it exasperatedly over her cheek bones and down her make-up free skin as the seconds passed.  Unfortunately, her attempts at trying to wipe away the stress from her features were unsuccessful.  

“Come on...” she whined.

Those torturous seconds turned into minutes, which quickly felt like hours.  Everything seemed to be moving in super slow motion, and it was everything she had inside her not to just start pushing and shoving--or from throwing a three year old temper tantrum in the middle of the airport.  Either was possible at this point.

But instead, she just shifted from side to side, monotonously in an absent-mind fashion.  At least it distracted her from staring at her watch every five seconds.

“Thank God,” she finally sighed out loud, seeing the large family of five finally clearing out in front of her, allowing her eyes to catch the holy grail of airports--the conveyor belt of freedom.

“Attention American Airways passengers.  Again, this is the final boarding call for American Airways Flight 673 to Evansville, IN. The aircraft doors will be closing in five minutes.”

She felt a hitch in her throat as the panic started to consumer her, dumping her bag hurriedly onto the moving belt and beginning the process of extracting her laptop as quickly as possible.  She was trying to stay calm after hearing the second announcement for her flight home, but it was becoming nearly impossible as the adrenaline started pumping through every inch of veins, making her heartbeat pulse in her ears and her chest.  She felt like she was in college again, about to miss that 4pm deadline for her final paper.  

Thump Thump.

Except this wasn’t college, and there was no paper.  This was life, and she was about to miss her family.  Heather did not have time to miss her flight.  Not this year.  Not after last year’s disaster.

Thump Thump.

As soon as the bag left her hand, she nearly sprinted to the metal detector, failing to realize she had forgotten to take her shoes and jacket off, and that her cell phone and keys were still in the front pocket of her low-rise jeans.  These were her favorite jeans, so it was easy for her to forget her keys and her cell phone in their natural home position.

“I’m sorry, ma’am.  I need you to take off your shoes and your jacket.  And put your personal belongings in one of those small bins,” the man said, crossing his arms over his chest in a bored fashion to silently reiterate that there wasn’t a chance in hell she was getting through his machine until she did what he told her to do.

She looked down and sighed exasperatedly, desperately trying to hold back the mounting feeling of frustration.

Thud, Thud.  Thud, Thud.  Thud, Thud.

“All I want to do is get on my damn plane,” she started mumbling, pushing back the soft blonde hair off of her face.  She was starting to feel antsy and claustrophobic all at the same time as she started taking off her converse hurriedly.  While doing so, she almost fell down a couple of times while trying to pull them off her feet, but found that the laces were too tight to do so, a byproduct of her putting double knots in them when she first got them because they almost came off her feet every time she took a step.  As a result, she spent longer than anticipated fumbling with the laces, and nearly tripping out of pure frustration in her hurried state.

“American Airways is paging Ms. Heather Jackson.  Flight 673 to Evansville, IN is departing in 3 minutes.  Ms. Jackson, please make your way to gate 26.”

As soon as she got them off, she dropped them in the bucket, and began ripping off her “jacket” (which was really just a hoodie to keep warm, but apparently hoodies are considered “jackets” in today’s security hoopla.  Who knew?), leaving her in a solid gray Army t-shirt left over from her previous soured relationship with the Army boy.  Once completely de-clothed, she immediately rushed back to the metal detector, preparing to just run through and be done with it.  Unfortunately for her, it beeped and denied her entry again.

“Do you have change in your pocket...a cell phone?  Keys?  A belt?”  he finished, unemotionally.  ‘God, could you be any more enthusiastic?  Seriously...’ she thought.  It was times like these that she felt screaming ‘if you hate your job, quit, you asshole!!’

Thud Thud Thud Thud.

Thankfully, she didn’t.

Instead, she groaned, trying not to let the pulsing in her veins and the antsy frustration make the tears pool at the bottom of her eyelids, even though she knew it was possible if she didn’t get on her plane in the next four minutes and thirty two seconds.

She stepped back to the belt for the second time, pulling her items out of her pockets so that the white inner lining of the insides were pulled out, making her look like a poor person begging for change.  She nearly ripped her belt off, and sighed happily that she had gotten everything removed and sent through.  She was ready, now.  Just...five more steps.

As soon as she was about to step through the metal detector again, a blur rushed passed her, knocking her to the ground without warning.

She looked up to see what just happened after regaining her breath, and her jaw just dropped.

Turns out it was a man.  And he was cutting in front of her.

“Oh, hell no!” she nearly screamed, scrambling to get to her feet.  She was fuming that he was standing in the middle of the metal detector, talking with the security man after he had made it buzz like she did nearly two minutes ago.

They ignored her.

ThudThudThudThudThud.

“Sir...excuse me, but are you serious!?” she countered, walking past the metal detector, not caring about buzzing, or etiquette.

“Ma’am, I’m going to need you to step back.  Only one passenger is allowed through the metal detector at a time,” the guard finished, obviously disinterested as he looked over the man’s materials, the same one that just budged in front of her so rudely.

“Step back!?  STEP BACK?  He just cut in front of me, and you want me to step back!?” she asked, incredulously.  At this point, she could feel her blood starting to boil, and it was only a matter of seconds before the pools in her eyelids became a reality.  

“I am...I am two seconds away from missing my flight.  I’ve been standing in this line for nearly three hours, getting pushed back and passed by because of unruly children and people with extra baggage and stupid additional security screenings, and now you’re going to tell me that I have to be patient and STEP BACK for a man who just budged in front of me.  I DON’T THINK SO!” she finished, her voice becoming louder with every word that passed her lips.  A solitary tear hotly escaped her eyelid, burning a hot trail down her cheek, leaving it flushed pink in the process.

“Ma’am, I’m going to need you to calm down,” the guard offered, a hint of warning in his voice, just barely peering above the man’s passport and boarding pass.

“Attention American Airways passengers.  Flight 673 to Evansville, IN has concluded the final boarding procedures, and is now preparing for departure.”

THUDTHUDTHUDTHUDTHUDTHUDTHUDTHUD.

“CALM DOWN?  Calm down!?  You want me to calm down!?  This ASSHOLE just made me miss my fucking flight!!!” She was no longer speaking loudly at this point.  She was full out yelling.

Turns out, the temper tantrum wins.

She watched as the man and the guard continued to ignore her.  Her eyes took in the young gentleman, probably in his mid 30s, as he retrieved the boarding pass from the guard after his intense scrutiny with the magic wand. Afterwards, he continued casually to the end of the conveyor belt to pick up his golden book-bag. Just watching him just made her even more angry.  

As he walked away, she couldn’t help but analyze him--the way he walked, the way he looked. He had a confident, careless structure to his jaw, which made her own clench out of frustration.  His hair was shaggy, his jeans were tightly fitted, and his sweater vest made him look like some pretty Harvard grad.  

“What an asshole...” she mumbled.

She really couldn’t fathom that a) security would allow someone to budge through like that without recourse to the rest of the people standing in line--and b) that someone could so carelessly not only walk through security, passing hundreds of waiting people during an insanely busy holiday season, but also c) do it without even caring--not even so much of a blink of remorse was written on his face!

She was not going to let him get away with this.  She shoved her boarding pass at the guard in a flippant fashion.  Of course, now that she wasn’t in a hurry, she made it through the metal detector without a hitch.  While she waited for him to scan her details, her eyes remained fixated on the man with the golden book bag that had just ruined her Christmas.

“Oh, looks like you missed your flight, ma’am,” the guard said.  He didn’t say it remorsefully, just stated it more matter-of-factly.

“No shit, Sherlock,” she replied, not even looking at him.

“I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to go back to the ticket counter and get another boarding pass.  I can’t let you through here now,” he finished.

She laughed.

“You’re joking, right?”

“HEY!  Hurry it up!  We’ve all got flights to catch, you know!?” she heard, coming from somewhere deep in the line.

The irony of this situation was just so thick it was almost unbelievable.  Was this really happening to her?  Again?

“SHUT UP!” she turned around and yelled.  Yelling seemed to feel good right now, considering everything that just happened.

“Ma’am.  I’m sorry, but I’m going to need you to take your things and head back to the ticket counter.”

“But...But, I...” she fumbled.  He was really serious?  Surely he was just speaking in jest.  She stood there, staring up at him, taking in his facial features in attempt to try and find some semblance of mild humor there.  But she found none, the look on his face proving that he really was not joking at all.

Just as she was about to finish her sentence--or cry, whichever came first--she felt a hand just above her elbow, lightly gripping the bottom of her bicep.  She went to jerk it off of her instinctually, but before she could, she heard the most saccharine voice on the planet.

“Excuse me, sir.  She’s with me,” he finished effortlessly.  There was a calming tone to his voice--something that just made you sit back with ease.  Perhaps even close your eyes and breathe in a calm breath of tranquility.

“I’m sorry, Sir, but we can only let in one passenger at a time,” the security guard regurgitated routinely.  

“Here...” he handed him a small little black book.  His hand was moving too quickly for her to see it, but it resembled a passport--but not quite, although she couldn’t place what it said, or what it even looked like, really.  It surely wasn’t the ugly green color she was used to, but something different.  She tried to move to get a closer look, but the grip the newcomer held on her arm prevented her from doing so.  Whatever that document was, the look on the guard’s face hinted that it was something more official.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Timberlake.  My sincerest apologies,” he offered, handing him back the material discreetly.

“Not a problem,” he smiled.  “We’ll be going now.  Thank you.”

She took the time to glance up at her makeshift captor, noticing the slight stubble adorning his cheek.  His smile was bright--almost too bright, as the whiteness of his dental work was almost blinding. And then she caught his eyes when they peered down at her, and she felt her breath catch slightly in her throat.  

There was something about that deep cerulean blue lined with lighter steel fragments in the middle.  It almost reminded her of lightning or a storm, the way it was calm and gentle, yet dark and moody all at the same time.  His eyes were definitely captivating.  But it was the full package that really got her--the eyes, the smile, the beautifully lined jaw, the short, buzzed hair.  He was picture perfect, certainly too perfect to rescue her from having to battle the masses to get back to the ticket counter and find another flight.

“Evansville, IN, correct?” he asked quietly, flashing that smile again. She felt her knees go weak a little at the gesture.  Or maybe it was just his hand cutting off blood flow to her right arm.

“Uh...yes...h-how did you know?” she asked, a little confused.  She would be alarmed if he wasn’t so damn beautiful.  Those eyes.

“I saw your boarding pass.  You dropped it back there, when you fell,” he replied, handing it to her, letting his fingers brush hers in the process.  “Heather Jackson, right?  The same Heather Jackson they were paging over the loudspeaker?”

He effortlessly walked her over to the conveyor belt to grab her things.  He wasn’t traveling with anything, which her piqued interest.  Did he work for the airport or something?

“Oh.  Yes...” Heather blushed profusely.  She wanted to say more, but she was kind of taken by surprise, considering she had been through just about every emotion possible in the past three hours.  She was also still desperately trying to process and understand this strange occurrence of events.

“I...how did you know?  Do you really listen to loudspeakers that well?” she asked, curiously, finally finding her words.  He must work at the airport.

“Not really...I just happened to remember hearing it as I walked into the building,” he nodded.

“Oh.”  Silence.

“I’m sorry--who are you again?  I mean...I didn’t even get your name...” she trailed off, trying to get his eyes off of her mind and back to the topic at hand.

“I’m Timberlake.  Justin Timberlake,” he smiled, flashing her the smile as he gently grabbed her bag.  She couldn’t help but giggle at the execution of his name.  What was he...in a James Bond movie or something?

“Right.  Timberlake.  Got it,” she sighed, thankful that she was finally through security and inside the terminal area.  She went to head towards the information counter, but realized that his hand was still gripping her arm firmly.  “Uh...you can let go of me now, I’m okay.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am...but I can’t do that,” he smiled.  

“Uh....why--why not?” she asked.  This was starting to get creepy.

“I can’t tell you, or I’d have to kill you.”

“You’d have to kill me?” she asked, confused.  She should be scared by that, right?  I mean...who was this guy?  He knows her name.  He knows where she’s flying to.  He’s grabbing her arm, and refusing to let her leave his grip.  She just missed her flight and got knocked over by a complete stranger, and then magically rescued and allowed to come into the terminal because this man magically shows up and makes it all go away.  Something definitely wasn’t adding up here.

“Nah, I’m just joking,” he smiled again.

“Is he really joking?  Or just saying he’s joking?  And by the way...he is hot, but does he really need to smile this much?  He is always smiling, damnit.  It’s so...distracting.” she thought.

“Oh, good,” she sighed, hoping that he was telling the truth.

“Come on, let me help you find a new flight out.  I happen to be headed to the same part of town as you...I’m sure that I can get you on my flight,” he replied, gently letting her arm go and walking her to the ticket counter.  He flashed that little black book he had again, and in no time, without much fuss, they were on a flight to Evansville, IN.  

Just the two of them.  

Plus two strangers.

On a commercial 747.

To Evansville, IN.

Am I missing something?

Thump, Thump.

“Paging Dr. Michaelchuck...please report to the nurse’s station immediately.”

Dr. Michaelchuck audibly groaned, taking a brief look at the chart for the patient she was checking on in room 823.  It seemed as if the entire hospital was calling for her today, and she was about over it.  Considering this was her 32nd hour of on-call duty, not only was she was about to fall over from exhaustion, but also from hunger--she had barely had time to wolf down her salad in 0.5 seconds before getting called again.

“Looks like you’re going to be fine with the new dosage of morphine, Mrs. Morgan.  I’ll be back in the evening to check on you.  Hopefully we can knock this out and get you out of here sooner, rather than later,” she smiled, that fake plastic smile that you give when you’re far too tired to really care anymore.

As soon as she finished in room 823, she meandered to the nurse’s station. She had long since quit hurrying, as there was no point in doing it at all.  It just meant she spent her entire day bustling around to cater to other people’s whims, and if she didn’t want to have a heart attack by the end of the year, she realized she needed to make things come on her terms.

Approaching the nurse’s station, she silently cursed under her breath when she saw the young man that had started haunting her on a daily basis.  She was not in the mood to deal with him today.

“Mr. Timberlake,” she called as she neared her approach.

“Dr. Michaelchuck,” he smiled, gently pushing his languid body from the counter he had been leaning on, no doubt flirting with the nurse-receptionist.  He always came in here, dressed in his little suits, as if he was going to some fancy dinner party.  Sometimes she wondered if he even had more than one of them.  He always looked the same to her.

“I see you’re back to taunt my life today.  Don’t you have a home?  Or a job, maybe?” she asked, disinterestedly as she grabbed another chart and started scribbling on it quickly.

He laughed.  The laugh that resounded through the bare, clinical walls of the 8th floor of St. Mary’s Hospital, and made all of the girls’ knees buckle.  He was a flirt, that was for sure.

“Oh, you wound me, Kara...” he smiled playfully.

“Dr. Michaelchuck.  Not Kara,” she offered mutedly, still focused on the chart she was working on.  How he even knew her first name, she would never know.

He sighed.  “Sorry.”  And then his hand was on her arm, his fingers gently swiping against her wrist ever so slowly.  If she weren’t married, she probably would have taken him to an empty room and had her way with him.  But his charm was ineffective on her.  She was happily married with three kids, so he could touch her all he wanted.  He still wasn't going to get what he wanted.   “Please.  Can you just tell me if she’s out of ICU yet?”

She rolled her eyes.  Everyday it was something new with him.  He wanted to talk to her, he wanted to visit with her, he wanted to stay after hours, he wanted to go into surgery with her, he wanted to sit with her in ICU.  He was the classic case of 'you gave an inch, and he'll take a mile.'  “No, Mr. Timberlake.  I can’t.  You are not her next of kin, and I don’t care what kind of fancy little badge you flash at me, you cannot see her until she’s fully recovered.”

His hand fell from her arm, an obvious pout pulling on those pefectly thin little lips of his.

She looked up to see him start biting his lip in thought.  She was aware that he was a ladies man, and she was also aware that he was not used to failing to get his way with a woman.  Unfortunately, she had a job to do, and she wasn’t going to do anything that would jeopardize that job in this horrid economy, especially breaking protocol.

Even if she had been transferred out of ICU and into Trauma Recovery.  He would never know.

Ever.

He wasn’t next of kin, she reasoned in her mind.  She finally had a reason to get him out of her damn hospital, and he still wouldn’t go away.  He was probably a stalker or something.

“Please?” he begged.

“No,” she finished, popping the pen against the paper in finality and tossing it to the counter before handing the chart to the aide sitting at the counter, Paige.

“Why not?” he asked again.

“I’ve told you,” she replied, moving behind the counter to desperately try to find the cup of coffee she had left behind earlier.

“And I’ve told you that I’m not leaving here until I get to see her and talk to her,” he finished.  “It was an intense surgery, Kara, and you know it.”

“I frankly don’t give a shit, Mr. Timberlake.  You’re not related to the patient, and you’ve been disrupting my hospital for the last 28 days.  I’ve put up with you until now because you’re the only one that’s here for her, but I can’t keep putting up with this constantly.  You're a disruption to me, which means you're a disruption to my patients. You can’t see her until she’s out of ICU, so please...do me and yourself a favor, and leave.  Go home.  Make this easier on yourself...and on her.” she replied, grabbing the coffee next to her shift chair, and she put it to her lips.  Unfortunately, when the liquid hit her tongue, she nearly coughed from the cool, stiff staleness.  Nothing like day old coffee.

He grumbled again, obviously not liking his options.  “Don’t force me to make this into a matter of national security...”

“Don’t threaten me.”

He opened his mouth to protest, his jaw starting to set and the playfulness that usually adorned his features turned into something hardened and cold, something that she definitely wasn’t used to.

Thankfully, though, she didn’t have to see what was on the other end of that look, as her pager beeped, and she had to go.

“Paige, please have security escort Mr. Timberlake out,” she offered coolly before rounding the corner and heading off to her call.

Justin watched her retreating form before turning back to Paige.  His deep blue eyes, which had turned ice cold, slowly started warming again with Dr. Michaelchuck’s absence.  He let his elbows rest against the counter as he leaned down again, attempting to get just a little closer to Paige.

“Why is she such a bitch?” he asked in a hushed whisper, before winking.  “She must not be getting laid enough.”

Paige looked up at him and couldn’t help but giggle.  “I’m sorry.  I know.  I had to call her, though.  Or she’ll think something is up,” she smiled.

“You’re so right.  That’s why you’re so damn smart,” he winked at her again, pointing a finger at her as if to insinuate that she was the brains of this operation.  “Thanks for the diversion.”

“Anytime, Timberlake.  Hope your Heather wakes up soon,” she offered.

“Me too,” he offered with a sigh.  “Me too.”  My Heather

With that, Justin turned quickly with a soft wave and maneuvered his way down the hallway and through the winding corridors and lofty elevators to the Trauma Recovery unit.  He paused briefly as he approached her room, TR250, slowly taking a moment to peer into the window. He saw that she was awake and watching television, and he couldn’t help but smile before walking in, lightly rapping on the door in the process.

Heather looked up when she heard the noise, and she paused at the sight of the man that was now standing in her doorway.  Her brows furrowed as a blank look of confusion wiped over her face.  Who was he?  And why was he here?

“Hello?” she asked, her voice weak and slightly concerned.  She wasn’t really a fan of strangers, although she wasn’t sure why.  

“Hi,” he smiled cautiously, beginning to step closer to her bed.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“I’m Justin.  It’s nice to meet you,” he smiled.

“Why are you in my room?” she asked again, feeling her heart beat increase a little as he started walking closer.  She felt her body repel a little as he sat down in the chair next to her bed.  

“I came to say hello...” he offered sincerely.

“Why?” she asked again.

“Because you’re my friend,” he smiled.  He had such a genuine smile.  Those teeth--they were so gorgeous.

“You are?” she asked, incredulously.  She had no idea who he was.

“Yes, I am.  You just don’t remember me...” he sighed quietly, gently touching the top of her hand that was resting at her side.  She swiftly pulled it away as soon as their skin made contact.  She was not about to let a stranger touch her like that.

“No....no.  I would remember a friend...” she said, her voice getting more and more quiet, looking down at her hands as she started to play with them.  He was making her uncomfortable.

“Well....you had a little accident.  I know you don’t remember it, but....” he trailed off.  She was worse than she had been a few days ago.  She didn’t even recognize anything about him today.  

“Hey...come on...look at me,” he offered.  He slid his chair a little closer to the table, his hands gently grasping her jaw and pulling her face over to look at him.

She panicked at first, not liking the feeling of his hand on her jaw, but when she looked up, she saw those eyes.  Those deep blues with the intense lightning bolts that just sucked you in.  Seeing them caused something to tingle deep within her, although she couldn’t pinpoint what it was exactly--let alone what it meant.

In an attempt to regain control of this awkward situation, she pulled away, her elbow lightly hitting the remote control to the tv and forcing it to land on CNN.

“As of today, the terror threat level has been elevated to Orange after another suicide bomber was found attempting to blow up a plane earlier this week.  After the heroic rescue in late December on now infamous flight 673 to Evansville, IN, TSA has been scrutinized and revamped to ensure stricter security standards.  Unfortunately, they were still unable to catch the Nigerian suicide bomber that boarded a Delta/Northwest flight earlier this week.  To date, no one has been hurt on either flight, but President Obama is attempting to address the Senate this afternoon to ensure that these occurrences do not continue to happen under the Obama Administration.  No word yet on the timing of Obama's briefing.  Reporting from the Whit House, this is Candace Rucker for CNN.”

Following the news byte, which both of them were glued to, images flashed of planes glowing in a fiery blaze with arrests and people in every direction.  The imagery was intense, and there was a pang deep inside.  She suddenly felt a massive headache coming on, the pain stretching down her spine to the middle of her back.

Justin saw her grab her head, and he gently took her hand, lacing his fingers in between hers.  “Are....are you okay, Heather?”

“I....I’m fine....” she whispered, obviously pained.  She was too pained to even protest him having his hand in hers.  "Ow...it....it hurts," she whimpered just before she passed out, the memories beginning to flood her brain.

~*~*~*~*~



He’s looking at me.

He’s totally looking at me.

Oh my God, he’s hot.

I do not even fucking care what happened in the security line, because I just happened to end up on a plane to Evansville, IN with the hottest man alive.  The same man that happened to rescue me from taking down that crazy preppy kid that pushed me over and ruined my Christmas like an hour ago.  The same one that got me on the next flight out to Evansville like it was nothing.  The same one that’s riding on this very plane with me...right. effing. now.

You know, come to think of it, I think I should go back and find that preppy kid and thank him for MAKING my Christmas, not ruining it!

Ah, yes.  Yes, please.  Thank you, jerkface!

The only real problem with this situation is...well...we’re on a regular commercial airline.  You know, like the 747 or 727 or...whatever jet they’re flying these days.  Sounds fine, right? Well, there’s no one else on the plane, but me....and him!  oh, and two strangers--but like they matter...

Sure, considering how absolutely effing gorgeous he is, this whole thing should not matter.  And it doesn’t, because he’s sitting just across from me, and one row up.  But...it is kinda creepy, right?  Having a whole plane to yourself?

Just a little?

God, who the fuck cares.  He’s so fucking hot.  And he is only five seats away from me!

Whew.  Get it together, Heather.  You are...out of control right now.  So out of control, that I think you need to go pull yourself together in the bathroom.

Yes, that’s a good idea.  Bathroom.  Freshen up a little...put on some red hot lip gloss....find a straw and some vodka.  Maybe jump him on the way back to your seat....

That hot little suit he has on is just...delicious.  The black pants that fit his legs just right, leaving little to the imagination in the crotch area, especially when he sits with his legs spread apart like that, all relaxed-like.  Add on that white button down with the matching black blazer.  And the skinny black tie with the black under vest---mmmhmm.  Sex on a stick.  Or in a suit.  Whatever.

Whew...on second thought, maybe I should just rub one out so I don’t jump him on the way back to your seat.  He might think I'm crazy. 

“Excuse me...” there was that voice again, breaking my thoughts.  God.  utter. beauty.  I would be mad that he broke me from my reverie, but considering he’s the reason I’m lost in hot plane fantasies, it’s excusable.

I turn my head to peer at him and smile, trying to keep from letting that goofy smile plaster over my face and give away the craziness going on inside my mind at the moment. 

“Uh...” I have to clear my throat.  It’s like there’s a frog stuck there or something.  “Yes, Justin?” I squeak out.

“Sorry--I’m sure you’re listening to your iPod and all...I just...wanted to check and make sure everything was okay.  I know this wasn’t the flight you were supposed to be on and all...” he smiled.  He seemed so serene.  So calm.  Yet so polite.  

Body. melted. into. seat.  *shudder* aaaaaaaaah, deep breath.

“Oh,” I giggle.  “Yes, it’s fine.  Thank you so much.  I don’t know what I would have done if they made me go back to the ticket counter and back through security.  I’m pretty sure I would have like...combusted....”

Wow, a complete sentence.  I’m impressed.  It’s only because I did the “stare above the head trick.”  Had I been looking at those lips, I probably would have just drooled and stared like a jackass.

What is wrong with me?  I sound like a pre-pubescent teenager going after the Jonas Brothers!

“Good,” he smiled again.  And just like that, he turned back around, and our blissful conversation sent straight from Heaven was over.

Damnit!

I huff a little as my body falls back, melding into the seat for a different reason this time.  You know what?  I had the right idea before--this is the perfect time for the bathroom.

I gently grab the seat in front of me and maneuver into the aisle, grabbing my makeup bag from the stow away bin above in the process.  After procuring it, I walk towards the bathroom at the front of the plane, making sure to sway my hips just right in hopes to grab his attention before disappearing inside.  Once I close and lock the door behind me,  I push my makeup bag on the counter and start rummaging through it.  

Yes, I shall primp.  Foundation, eyeshadow...eye liner?  Nah, no eyeliner.  That'd be too desperate.

Standing back after the application process is over, I look in the mirror and pull my shirt down so that it’s exposing my cleavage just a little more.  Unsatisfied, I push my breasts up a little, making sure they were standing at attention, perky, and ready for action.

After that, I do the obligatory spin around to stare at my ass, taking in my frame and ensuring my outfit was perfect.  Now, just for some perfume and some lip gloss, and we should be good.

I bend over the counter, hoping to get closer to the glass to ensure perfection.  Just as the tip of my applicator is about to touch my lips, I hear a loud thud on the door.

Hmm...that’s strange.  There are only four of us on the plane.  You would think that they would realize this ONE bathroom was occupied.  Dumbasses.

“I’m going to the bathroom...” I replied, going back to my lip gloss.  It was probably one of those stupid effing strangers that were totally into infringing on my alone time with my hottie.  

My hottie?  Oooh...what if it's him?  What if he saw my hip sway and wanted to enter into the mile high club with me?  I could never do that before on a fully packed aircraft.  Never enough time, and totally obvious.

Speaking of obvious...he totally needs a nickname.  Knight in shining armor?  Hot Sexy Ball of Seduction?   Nah....too long.  I'll have to brainstorm.

THUD THUD.

Seriously?  They probably don’t speak English.  “I said...I’m in the bathroom.  Use one of the other 8 on the plane!” I growl, a slight sarcasm dripping at the end in volume.

I focus back on the task at hand, holding the applicator tip to my lips again and finally beginning the application process.  Just as soon as I’m about done, the plane dips erratically, and my body gets thrown roughly against the edge of the bathroom.

Holy shit.  What the fuck was that?

Turbulence.  Definitely turbulence.

I peel myself off the side of the bathroom, and grab a tissue to wipe off the smear of lip gloss that ended up on my cheek somehow.  I touched it up and reached for the perfume to spray it liberally.  

Men love my perfume.  It totally makes me irresistible. Not that I'm not already.

I’m finally finished and happy with the finished package I’ve just touched up.  Putting everything back in the bag, I grab it and open the door, stepping out with confidence and attempting my best seduction tricks, channeling my inner model catwalk.

And just as I'm about to walk down the aisle, I nearly trip over a body laying on the floor.

I pause, look down, and then look around. What the fuck?

“Oh my God...what the fuck happened here!?” panic rising in my voice.

Justin looked up from where he was standing over one of the bodies.  He had a gun pointing to one of the stranger’s heads, his knee adeptly placed in the center of his back, and one of his elbows bent back painfully.  His eyes were dark and heavy, and for the first time, I was scared of him.

“Wait....this is not what it looks like...” he mentioned, eyes scanning mine quickly as I eyed the three lifeless bodies laying around me. I just stared up at him, fear and confusion mixing on my face.

“It’s not?”




THUDTHUDTHUDTHUDTHUDTHUD!

“Shit,” Heather mumbled.

As soon as he heard her soft voice, he stirred.  He slowly sat up in his chair, the one he had been sleeping in uncomfortably for hours, and slowly made his presence known in the darkness of the cold hospital room.

“You okay?” Justin asked, ever so softly, his voice soft and sweet over the silence of beeping machines.  It was late, so there wasn’t much commotion in the Trauma Ward at 3 am.

“Y-yeah...” she whispered, slowly sitting up in a pained movement.  “My head aches.  Like I got hit by a fucking Mack truck.”  Her hands went to her head, and he watched her rub her temples in a discomforting fashion.  “What the hell happened?” she asked again.  She couldn’t see him, but she knew the voice was familiar, so she wasn’t alarmed.

“You just had a little episode.  You’ll be fine now that you’re awake,” he finished quietly.

Silence.  

“Can you come closer?  I can’t see you...” she whispered.  “It’s dark.”

He took a deep breath, hoping that they didn’t have to go through this again.  He had gotten all too used to this exercise--she would remember something, pass out, wake up, and then forget everything.  Slowly, he obliged her request, fully expecting her to not remember his face again, and mentally preparing himself for the freak out before stepping into the light.

She looked up at him.  It was silent.  All she did was stare, blinking her eyes a few times before pulling her lips into a soft smile.

“Hi,” he whispered, taking the silence as a good sign and opting to take a seat next to her bed.

“Hi,” she returned.

Hmm.  This was a strange turn of events.  Did she remember him, or did she not remember him?  She had never just sat there and stared at him before.  Usually it resulted in her screaming at him to get out.

“I know you...” she whispered.

“You do?” he asked, trying to hide the soft smile from his face.  He didn’t want to get his hopes up.

“I do.  I don’t know how...but I do,” she smiled, a twinge of sadness in her voice.

“Well, that’s good...” he whispered, reaching for her hand softly, instantly wanting to comfort her.  “Do you remember anything...?”

“Yes, but no.  I know it’s there...I just...I can’t....see it.”

He nodded gently.  “Don’t worry, Heather.  There’s no rush.  I’m just glad you’re okay, and that you didn’t scream at me this time,” he chuckled.

“I usually scream at you?” she asked, a soft pout on her lips.  He just nodded with a shrug  “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault...” he urged.

“I still feel bad...” she nodded.

“Don’t...” his fingers slowly linked with hers.  It made her uncomfortable, but comfortable at the same time.  Even though she knew she knew him, she also knew that she had no idea who he was.  That was...unnerving, to say the least, particularly considering their hands were intertwined together.  She felt comfortable with him, though, so she said nothing.

Silence.

“What do you say we get out of here?” he asked, biting his bottom lip.  “You’re not supposed to leave, but I feel like you’ve been cooped up in here long enough.  It would be fun to get away for a hot minute and get some ice cream or a milkshake.  How do you feel about that?” he asked, hopefulness in his voice.

She took a deep breath, mulling it over in her head.  Maybe if she was around him more, she could remember who he was and why she knew him.  “Yeah...yeah, that sounds good.  I’d like to get out of here, even if it’s just for a little while.  But won’t the hospital get mad?”

“Don’t you worry about a thing.  I’m super suave, so I can get us out of here and back before anyone even knows we’re gone.”

“I had a feeling you were dangerous,” she laughed, getting over her uneasiness in the comfort of the situation.

“You’re the dangerous one,” he winked.

“Flirt.”

“You started it,” he smiled again.  “Let me go find your clothes...you’ve been in like 80 different rooms since you’ve been here, so who knows where they are...” he laughed.

She sighed at the absence of his hand from hers and waited for him to rummage through doors and shelves until he found what he was looking for.  She was happy at the prospect of getting out of this hospital room.  After setting the clothes on the bed, he gently pulled the IV out of her hand, and she stood up for the first time since she could remember.

“Turn around...” she whispered, feeling a little self conscious as she felt the wind hit her bare back from the slit in the back of her gown.

“Are you sure you don’t need help?” he whispered with a groan, but obliged her by turning around.  “It’s nothing I’ve never seen before...”

“You’ve seen me before...?” she asked, nervously avoiding his first question.  He was quiet, and she sighed.  “Well, whether you have or haven’t, I don’t want you to see me like this.  That’s so gross...hospital gown?  No, thanks.”

“I think you’re beautiful,” he muttered under soft breath.

She sighed, and just let it go.  She didn’t feel beautiful, but she certainly wasn’t going to argue with a gorgeously handsome man about saying so--even if she didn’t know who the hell he was or why she knew him.

She finished changing into her jeans and her t-shirt, and she gently rubbed her temple, trying to forget about the pain and the vertigo she was experiencing from standing up.

“You okay?” he asked, once she told him he could turn around.

She sighed.  “Yeah, of course.  Just...getting used to standing,” she laughed.  He moved closer to her instantly and wrapped his strong arms around her.

“I’ve got you,” he smiled sexily.  “You ready?”

“Yeah,” she murmured, a little uneasily.  “Why are you dressed like you’re ready to be a best man in a wedding?”

“Uh...this is how I dress?” he asked, cautiously, letting out a soft chuckle.

“Hmm...” she uttered, obviously letting her thoughts run wild as she stared questioningly at him.

“So...you ready?  Or you want to stare at my outfit a little more...” he winks.

“Maybe,” she smiled abandoning her thoughts and letting her arm wrapping around the small of his back in response to his. She knew there was no way in hell she was walking anywhere without his help.  “Lactose overload, here we come.”

With that, he snuck them through the halls of the hospital slowly, taking the time to make sure she was alright and that they avoided any hospital staff until they got to the parking lot.  Once there, he could tell she was still in a little pain, so his arms grasped her back and behind her knees, and he lifted her effortlessly, making it to the car in a breeze.

“Hey...” she groaned, surprised by the gesture.

He just laughed and carefully put her in the seat of his car. “I could tell you needed a hero,” he smiled as he winks at her before getting in on his own side.

She was about to say something, but she was distracted by the car.  “Damn...what kind of ride is this,” she asked.  She peered around, noticing the shiny knobs and buttons adorning every surface and crevice.  She reached over to touch the first shiny thing that called to her like a siren.

He immediately slapped her hand away.  “Don’t touch that.”

She immediately pouted a little and rubbed her hand.  “What is it?”

“Just don’t touch it,” he laughed, but there was a serious edge to his tone.  He didn’t mean to slap her, he just didn’t want her to get ejected into the air.  He was certain that wouldn’t bode well for her memory problems, let alone with the progress he had made with the hospital thus far.

She huffed slightly and crossed her arms over her chest, a soft pout remaining on her face as she felt the engine start to rev and shake with power.  Justin felt bad, but decided just driving would be the best solution.  Soon the city traffic was passing them by until they got to a quaint little diner, and she looked at it curiously.

“Have I been here before?” she asked.

He smiled a little before speaking, gently clearing his throat as he parked the car.  His forearm slightly bulged as shifted the gearshift into park expertly.  “Yes, you have.  It’s where we had our first date....well, kinda,” he laughed.

“Oh...” she trailed. Feeling a sense of remorse wash over her, she couldn’t help but look down at her hands.  She really wished that she could just remember something!  Fucking anything at this point would be fantastic.

She felt his nimble fingers slowly wrap around her wrist gently, caressing the soft, pale skin where a few bruises had formed from IV’s.  “It’s okay that you don’t remember, you know?” he muttered, pulling her delicate wrist to his lips before pressing them to her skin.

Her eyes fluttered ever so softly, her resolve wavering as she felt the shudder slide throughout her body.  And then reality came back with a vengeance.  “It’s not okay.  I don’t even fucking know your name!” she squealed, the hot tears coming to her eyes.  “I don’t know anything about you...about us....about how we got together, why you’re sitting in my hospital room, or even why I can’t remember a fucking thing, and it’s really....it’s really unnerving!  I don’t like feeling like this!”  

He could see the pained frustration taking over her facial features, and he sighed as he gently released her wrist from his gentle grip.  This is the part where the guilt started to nag unwillingly at his chest and he looked down.  Taking a few moments to gather his thoughts, he turned to her and smiled.

“Baby...”

“Don’t call me that.  I can’t possibly be your baby if I don’t even know who you are,” she whispered tightly.  She didn’t want to be so biting, but she was just frustrated at this situation, and she really didn’t feel right with it.

“Heather...” he trailed.  “Look...it doesn’t matter whether you remember me or not.  Why not look on the bright side--you’re slowly getting your memory back, and even if you don’t, it’s a way for us to relive all the fun over again, “ he smiled, trying to win her over.

She scoffed at his optimism.  “That’s easy for you to say.”

“Look, I know this isn’t easy,” he muttered. “But you’re getting better.  You’re starting to remember things.  You just have to be patient...”

“I’m tired of being patient,” she sighed morosely.

“Well, I don’t know a lot of things.  But I do know this,” he nodded.  “We’re here, at the diner.  We should be at the hospital, but we’re not.  We’re here.  And I’d really like to take you in there and get a milkshake.”  She opened her mouth to interrupt him, but he continued.  “And I also know, from talking to your doctors, that you’re not going to remember a damn thing by being upset like that.”

She huffed again and finally agreed.  “Okay.”

Before she knew it, she was whisked inside where she was met with an overwhelming feeling of deja vu.  The waitress seated them, and she sat across from him and fingered her menu.  Her eyes dropped to the page, and she noticed a slight burn mark on the bottom right hand corner, which piqued her interest.

“What’s the matter?” Justin asked.

“Hmm?” she asked.  “Oh....nothing.  Nothing....” she mumbled, her thumb running over the burn mark again.  She slowly moved her eyes to meet his, but when she did, she noticed a bullet hole in a painting above his head, and she scratched her temple.

“You said this was where we had our first date?” she asked again, starting to peer around.  She hadn’t really taken in much when she walked in, just felt the nostalgia.  But now that she made the effort, she remembered the red pleather booths, the chipped boomerang white tabletops, and the bar to the right.  She also remembered the pie counter.

“Well...not officially.  But kind of,” he laughed.

“Coconut cream,” she mumbled, not even hearing him.

“Heather...?” he asked.   “Heather....are you okay?”



*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~



“You don’t understand,” Heather said, hushed and exasperated.

“Don’t understand what, Heather?  You were in a plane crash, what more is there to it than that?” Jake asked.  

“Wow, don’t sound so worried or upset about it,” she rolled her eyes.

He rolled his eyes mockingly, taking the time to watch the gorgeous waitress walk by.  They had stopped at their favorite diner for a quick bite at Heather’s request.  She had said she really needed someone to talk to, but he wasn’t really that sure about meeting her.  Heather had been acting really strangely since she survived the plane crash a few weeks ago.  Obviously, at first, he had been there for her for every second.  But now, he just thought she was being strange and border line psychotic.

“Heather.  Please.  Don’t act like me, or any of the rest of your friends and family haven’t been there for you through this whole ordeal.  And especially don’t act as if we don’t care about you.  We do...I do.   But....I think this has gotten to your head a little.”

“But Jake, you don’t understand.  There’s this guy.  I wasn’t...” she sighed, frustrated.  She reassessed her volume control and leaned in, keeping a hushed tone as to not disturb the other patrons.  “I wasn’t supposed to be on that plane.  I...I wasn’t.  And...there was this guy...”

“A guy?” Jake asked, incredulously.  “Look...is this about Stephanie getting engaged to Matthew?

“Yes!  I mean...no!  Of course this is not about Stephanie, or my ex.  I know she’s my best friend, and you all think I’m some dating miscreant, but for once this is not about me, or anyone else.”

“It’s okay if it is, you know.  I mean, you’ve been acting really strangely...” he interrupted.

“I’m acting strangely because I’m in a strange fucking situation and no one will listen to what I’m saying!”

“Fine...just tell me your story,” he mumbled.  He stopped the waitress to order another coffee, and let Heather ask for a slice of the coconut cream.

“Thank you.  So...anyway....I was not supposed to be on this plane.  I had missed my earlier flight because of security, and this guy bumped into me, and he got me on like the only flight out.  I thought it was just sweet, right?  But...while I was in the bathroom freshening up, he ended up killing everyone on the plane!  And then we crashed!  And he’s been like...following me around ever since!” she mumbled.

Jake just stared at her.

“Did they check your head at the hospital?  I think that crash did some damage,” Jake said coolly, stirring his spoon in his coffee mug.

Her arms went up in a flailing fashion, and she almost lost it.  No one would fucking listen to her!  Just as she was about to say something, she heard the door bell chime, signaling a new patron.  When she looked up out of habit, her eyes widened.

“Oh my God.  Jake....Jake, that’s him!” she whispered, watching the murderer from the plane near her with a smile on his face, waving goofily at her.  He looked ridiculous, wearing a touristy t-shirt and a foam finger on his hand.  He even had sunscreen on his nose.

Jake pulled out his phone.  He was seriously about to call the psychiatry ward, certain she should be committed.  But he stopped when the man sat down.

“Jake!  This...this is the guy!” she uttered furiously.  “Do...do something!”

 Justin smiled cheekily and nodded to him.  "Hello..."

The waitress walked over and gently set down the slice of coconut cream pie that Heather had ordered earlier.  She gave Justin a strange look, but just set it down with a smile.  “Coconut cream...” she smiled.  “Will there be anything else?”

“No, we’re fine.  Thanks,” Jake responded disinterestedly.  He was far too amused with this man that just sat down.  “I’m Jake...”

Heather hissed at him.  “Don’t tell him your name!  He’s a murderer!”

“I’m not a murderer,” he interrupted.  He then looked back at Jake.  “I’m not a murderer,” he stated again, as if clarifying the correct way to pronounce his last name.

Jake just stared.  “Okay.”

Justin turned to Heather.  “Look...I don’t know if I’ve made this clear, but you and I...we have a little unfinished business.  So...I’m going to need you to come with me.”

Heather’s eyes widened.  “I’m not going anywhere with you...” she growled.  “You almost killed me once...you think I want to get killed again?”

“Unfortunately, darling...I don’t think you have much of a choice,” he winked with a cheshire grin.  “Jake, pleasure to meet you.”

Jake just stared up at him, clearly thinking that he must have just come from the psychiatry ward by his initial appearance.  He was about to say something, but by the time he did, he had grabbed Heather by the shoulders and held a gun to her head.

“Nobody move, or I shoot the girl...” he called out loudly, gently dragging her to the door, meandering his way through the tables and chairs.

The entire restaurant squealed with terror, fear, and excitement.  Jake stood up to stop him.  “You can’t take her anywhere!”

“Sorry, kid.  It’s not up to you,” he nodded, raising his gun up and shooting a bullet warningly.  Unfortunately, it ricocheted off the ceiling and hit the oven, making a small fire near the menus.

Jake just watched on in horror.  “Oh my God, he is a murderer!”

“Someone call 911!”

“Heather...?” 

She felt her head pound, the blood rushing from her heart to the veins in her temple like an overflowing waterfall.  The pulse was throbbing perfectly in time with her heartbeat, drowning out every iota of sound around her.

“Heather...?  Babe....”

She could barely make out a voice.  It was echoing faintly, seemingly forever away.  She put every ounce of effort she had into focusing on the noise instead of the ever-increasing pulsing that was meandering through her cranium.

Overcoming the droning pressure, she finally recognized his voice and snapped out of her thoughts.  Her eyes blinked a few times, as she refocused her vision on the man sitting across the table from her.

As his piercing blue eyes came into focus across the dining table they were sharing, the realization of who he was filtered through the neurons in her brain.  

“Oh my God.  You’re....you’re the murderer!” she mumbled, a look of sheer terror piercing her pale features.

Justin just chuckled casually.  “If I were a murderer, do you think I would be sitting here with you in a diner?” he asked, incredulously.

She stared at him for a long time, desperately trying to judge what he was saying.  At first, the look of mock horror at his flippant response was dormant on her pale facial features, and then it began to visibly mask itself as confusion, mixed with just a slight hint of mistrust.

Not knowing what to do or what to believe, her eyes shifted uneasily down to her hands and then back up to his face, continuing to confusingly question his entire being.  

“Well, I guess I hadn’t thought about it like that...”  she admitted.

“It’s okay,” he nodded.  He debated on which approach he should take next.  Should he ask her what she remembered?  Should he just...act as if nothing happened?  Finally, he settled on just a simple question.  “Did you...remember something?”  Neutral enough, right?

She looked down again, unsure if she should share with him her previous flashback.  Mulling it over, she decided...what could it hurt?  Obviously, he was one of the few that actually knew what happened; and while she wasn’t sure she could trust him fully yet, she didn’t have much of a choice in the matter  Besides, she trusted him blindly up until this point, and maybe he could help her remember more.  “Uh...yeah, a little.”

“What did you remember?” he asked, curiously.  You could tell by the tone of his voice that he was gently trying to prod her for information without seeming too eager.  He knew how fragile this situation was, and without her full memory, he knew that he also didn’t have her trust.

“I remembered sitting in this diner, talking to my friend Jake about...a plane crash?”

He nodded.

“And...and then you came in here dressed like a tool, and you threatened to kill me before you kidnapped me.”

He nodded again, a little sheepishly.

“I was not dressed like a tool, thank you very much.” he started.

She rolled her eyes.  “You had a foam finger.”

“That makes me a tool?” he asked, incredulously.  “I just got out of the Basketball game...”

“Uh...duh.  No one goes into a diner with a foam finger,” she laughed.
He sighed, succumbing to the sound of her laugh.  “Fine, I was dressed like a tool.  Happy?”

She just stared at him, holding back a slight smile and the mental picture.
“But, uh...anyway...yeah, I’m sorry about that...whole...thing.” he murmured, his hand moving up to run through his slightly shaven head, a gesture of slight embarrassment.

She looked up at him incredulously.  “That’s all you have to say?  Sorry about that?  I’m surprised they even let you back in here...” she joked, but he could tell she was half serious.

He immediately reached for her hand, covering it with his own and quietly shushing her with his eyes.  “Hey now, let’s not ruin a good evening...so far, no one has recognized us or said anything.  Let’s keep it that way” he nodded.

“So why did you bring me here, again?” she asked.

“Because...well, it’s your favorite place.  And we have history here,” he nodded.  He saw the look of disgust register on her face and he chose to rephrase his words.  “A fucked up history, but still a history...”

She sighed.  She took in his facial features again, trying to judge whether he was lying or telling the truth about their history and his character.  

Should she trust him?  Should she not trust him?  What had happened on the plane?  Why had he been following her?  What happened after he kidnapped her?  Why was he sitting in the hospital room with her?  Why were they out in public right now after everything that had happened?  Why hadn’t anyone at the restaurant noticed them or said anything?

There were so many unanswered questions.  But would she ever find the answer?  

“What’s the matter...?” he asked.

She took a moment to mull over her thoughts again, playing with the napkin on the table out of habit.  She finally paused to look up at him.

“I just...I’m really confused.  I have a lot of questions...I kind of want to ask you what happened, but I’m afraid of your answer.”

“You can ask me anything,” he replied.  “I’ll answer it to the best of my ability...”

“See, that’s the thing, though.  I don’t even know if the answer you’ll give me is even the truth, right?  I mean...all things considered, I don’t even know you.”

“True,” he replied.  “But you also know you’re not afraid of me, so that must mean something...” 

“I guess,” she admitted.  

The two of them sat in a long, uncomfortable silence.  It was obvious that this was confusing and awkward for both of them, neither knowing how to act around the other.   Deciding to break the tension, she finally piped up again.

“All I remember is the plane...the dead bodies...the crash...you holding a gun  to my head and dragging me out of here... and well...you sitting in my hospital room.”

He nodded a little.  “Well, that’s...definitely a good start.  I mean, at least you remember something, right?  I mean, it kind of sucks you only remember the bad things, but hey--that’s more than you knew yesterday...”

“Yeah,” she whispered.

“I mean...is there something you want me to fill in for you?  I just...I don’t want to just tell you everything.  I know it’s important for you to remember things on your own and everything...at least that’s what Dr. Hopkins said.  I just...” he sighed.  “Look, I know a lot of this is my fault, and I, uh.  I know you probably don’t even want to talk to me, or trust me, and I totally get that...but you have to believe that there’s more to this fragmented story in your head.  And...you have to believe that I want you to get better.  I want to help you.   And after you get your memory back, I...well, I want to make this up to you. ”

“Make what up to me?  The fact you’ve lied to me, almost killed me in a plane crash, and kidnapped me?” she whispered, trying not to get angry or flustered again, knowing it just fueled her headaches.

He sighed.  “Well, Heather...I don’t know if I can give you the answers you want, or the answers you need right now.  I really don’t.  But...I do know that we’re both alive.  We’re both here.  And you know what?  I think that we should just try to have a little fun and enjoy life for a little while.  Get a chance to really get to know one another aside from all the craziness we went through.  And hopefully...one day soon, you’ll remember everything.”

She watched him curiously.  “Yeah, I guess you have a point.  Can we get out of here, though?  It feels kind of...stuffy.”

He nodded, smiling at her before putting money on the table and paying the bill.  One day down--a day in which they were closer than yesterday to restoring her memory, hopefully.  “Where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere but here,” she called.