“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!