Title: Shuttle 1403 Rating: PG-13 Word Count: 452 Warnings: Imagined character death, imagined severe injuries.
Jocelyn was half an hour late. McCoy's leg twitched as he watched the clock tick ahead second after second. Two shuttles had docked in that time, their passengers looking all cheery and alive. One guy had run to his rumpled boyfriend with a bouquet of roses. Another woman had dug a pink sehlat toy out of her giant black purse to give to the toddler who had run to her and clung to her leg. It was all too much like a fucking storybook, if it weren't for the fact that Jocelyn was so damn late.
Drumming his fingers on the seat of his chair, he fought back the urge to run to the courtesy desk and check about her shuttle flight for a third time. The last time the attendant, a kid that still had his baby fat and a matching voice that couldn't stop breaking, threatened him with security for making such a damned scene.
Thirty one minutes.
In that time her shuttle could've crashed five times over. If Jocelyn lived through the initial crash, she could've been skewered by a pipe and bleeding out, or limping around on a shattered leg. She wouldn't even be concerned for herself, she'd be trying to help others, using her med school lessons to tourniquet what she could and keep others comfortable. She could die from not giving a damn about herself, so far away from Leonard, who was usually the only one to remind her that she wasn't invincible.
Thirty two minutes.
The shuttle could've stalled just outside of Earth's atmosphere. It could be stuck, running out of the reserve air supply, the engineers becoming more and more lethargic the longer they're immobile. What if Jocelyn was struggling to breathe because she gave her air supply to a little kid, and here he was, sitting around like a useless fool?
Thirty three minutes.
What if they were being held-up by some sort of terrorist, someone sick of the Federation's interference and –
His vision was tunneling, and he couldn't breathe. Damn, damn, damn. He tried to shut his eyes, to focus on something reassuring, digging his fingers into the hard plastic armrests of his chair for grounding. It didn't work. Every time he shut his eyes he imagined Jocelyn in some new, horrible situation. What if –
“Shuttle 1403, now docking.” Leonard's eyes shot open. That was Jocelyn's shuttle. Finally.
McCoy struggled to get his breathing back under control, and used his anxious energy to propel himself forward and towards her gate. The sooner he saw for himself that she was okay, the sooner he could hug her and try to convince her never to ride those damned shuttles ever again.
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Fic: Shuttle 1403 (Warnings: Imagined character death, imagined severe injuries.)
Date: 2010-09-12 09:46 pm (UTC)Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 452
Warnings: Imagined character death, imagined severe injuries.
Jocelyn was half an hour late. McCoy's leg twitched as he watched the clock tick ahead second after second. Two shuttles had docked in that time, their passengers looking all cheery and alive. One guy had run to his rumpled boyfriend with a bouquet of roses. Another woman had dug a pink sehlat toy out of her giant black purse to give to the toddler who had run to her and clung to her leg. It was all too much like a fucking storybook, if it weren't for the fact that Jocelyn was so damn late.
Drumming his fingers on the seat of his chair, he fought back the urge to run to the courtesy desk and check about her shuttle flight for a third time. The last time the attendant, a kid that still had his baby fat and a matching voice that couldn't stop breaking, threatened him with security for making such a damned scene.
Thirty one minutes.
In that time her shuttle could've crashed five times over. If Jocelyn lived through the initial crash, she could've been skewered by a pipe and bleeding out, or limping around on a shattered leg. She wouldn't even be concerned for herself, she'd be trying to help others, using her med school lessons to tourniquet what she could and keep others comfortable. She could die from not giving a damn about herself, so far away from Leonard, who was usually the only one to remind her that she wasn't invincible.
Thirty two minutes.
The shuttle could've stalled just outside of Earth's atmosphere. It could be stuck, running out of the reserve air supply, the engineers becoming more and more lethargic the longer they're immobile. What if Jocelyn was struggling to breathe because she gave her air supply to a little kid, and here he was, sitting around like a useless fool?
Thirty three minutes.
What if they were being held-up by some sort of terrorist, someone sick of the Federation's interference and –
His vision was tunneling, and he couldn't breathe. Damn, damn, damn. He tried to shut his eyes, to focus on something reassuring, digging his fingers into the hard plastic armrests of his chair for grounding. It didn't work. Every time he shut his eyes he imagined Jocelyn in some new, horrible situation. What if –
“Shuttle 1403, now docking.” Leonard's eyes shot open. That was Jocelyn's shuttle. Finally.
McCoy struggled to get his breathing back under control, and used his anxious energy to propel himself forward and towards her gate. The sooner he saw for himself that she was okay, the sooner he could hug her and try to convince her never to ride those damned shuttles ever again.