(See PART 1 for Disclaimer)

**********

Captain Catherine Phillips idly regretted that the Boeing’s comm system was still working. She forced herself to pay little mind to the frenetic chatter in her headset, from those excitable controllers at Fiumicino’s tower. What could they really do to help her now, anyway?

She’d told them to clear the airspace between her mark and the airport, to give her their longest runway, and to have emergency vehicles on-hand. Catherine hadn’t wasted time on the details, she simply told them the basic facts of their status: the hijackers were no longer in control, there had been an explosion – extent of damage unknown – and to be prepared to receive injured people.

The big plane would be coming in heavy and hard, and the pilot had no idea if the hydraulics that remained would enable her to maintain any sort of control over the flaps, rudder, and ailerons, let alone the wheels and brakes. And all on manual… she would need every bit of Roberto’s help when they got to Fiumicino.

IF they got there. Catherine estimated they were still about 10 minutes out. The aircraft had just skimmed over the rocky hills of Corsica. The island had risen out of the ocean like a sepia and bronze-colored elbow patch, jaggedly stitched into the deep blue waters surrounding it. Kate squinted into the eastern sky, raking her eyes over the horizon, knowing that her destination was out there somewhere.

She’d been able to maintain a fairly level flight at 8,000 feet for the past few minutes. Less room for error should something else go wrong, but for the comfort of her passengers, it was a risk she had to take.

The cockpit was bathed in both the faint red of the distant sunrise, and the dozens of warning lights glowing from within. One such warning had indicated a fire in the starboard cargo container, and she’d had Roberto activate the fire suppression measures in that compartment. Kate guessed the hold probably had been where the bomb went off.

Grazie Dio…. Roberto sighed. The fire suppression system must still have been on line, because the warning light winked out.

The Italian’s swollen eyes ran across the display panels, hopelessly, before he turned them to Kate.

"So much of this… it’s not working!"

"We’ve got enough," Catherine mumbled to herself, as the aircraft once more began to buck and roll beneath her.

"Dammit!" The sole port engine was again pushing the plane into a hard right-hand turn, and Kate feverishly tried to manually compensate. "The rudder!"

"Si!" Roberto’s voice was raw. He instinctively turned his control column to the left, extending the ailerons and spoilers on top of the wing. Unfortunately, it was the wrong maneuver for the damaged plane.

Instantly, the aircraft’s drag increased, and the nose bobbed up.

"What the…." Kate’s voice could barely be heard over the dreaded ‘stick shaker’ warning. The Boeing was going so slow now, that a stall was a distinct possibility. "Just use the rudder on the tail!" she angrily swore.

Using the tail rudder alone, Kate knew the jet normally should have banked back to the left. But with the additional slowing element of the spoilers, airspeed was dramatically reduced, and so their direction of travel remained unchanged.

"Push down!" Kate shouted, jamming the control column forward, pitching into a dive, in a desperate attempt to increase their airspeed. At the same time, she furiously worked the rudder pedal, determined that the plane would accede to her directional demands.

The 777-200 dove through the sky, falling towards the blue-green waters where the Ligurian Sea met the Tyrrhenian. Faster and faster the waters rose up to welcome them, glowing and gleaming under the low rising sun.

6,000 feet.

5,000 feet… 3,000… 2,000… and at last the stick stopped shaking. But now they were too damn low. "Pulling out of it!" The dark-haired woman yanked back on the control column. Still, they were skidding to the right. What the hell….

"Get those spoilers down!" she roared, hanging onto the stick for dear life.

Realizing his error at last, Roberto slammed his hand down on the trim.

Immediately, the plane responded, leveling off at last.

"Orbis two-two-four zero… come in Orbis two-two-four-zero!"

It was Fiumicino tower squawking at her through the headset. No wonder they sounded frantic. Back in the control room at Leonardo da Vinci airport, it probably looked as if the jet had dropped off of the radar screen.

It very nearly had.

Kate sucked in a chest-full of air and held it, struggling to calm herself. At last she spoke. "This is Orbis two-two-four zero. Sorry for the scare, Fiumicino," she cast a warning glare at Roberto. The Italian’s face was deeply reddened. "We’re preparing for final approach and landing." Preferably on a runway and not in the Tyrrhenian Sea! The pilot grimaced.

"Roger, Orbis two-two-four-zero. Proceed on your current heading."

"Sorry," Roberto’s eyes were lowered.

Kate Phillips released a long and weary sigh. She could see the Italian coast looming on the horizon, felt she could touch the tender grades of distance rising up; the hills, trees, settlements. Though she could not see it, she knew Rome was there. Somewhere.

The pilot would have no second chance here. She didn’t trust the already-low readings on the fuel display, and she knew the overly stressed plane would give her one shot for a landing – that was it. She’d learned early on in flight school that a good landing was the product of a good approach, and if the approach for her wounded plane went sour… well, she didn’t want to think about that right now. Too many people were depending upon her.

She turned to the embarrassed Italian. "Look, that could have happened to anybody," she said through gritted teeth, "We’re all under a lot of pressure." God… what am I doing, consoling a hijacker? A pause, and then, "I’m going to need your help landing this plane, Roberto, okay?"

He lifted his green eyes to gaze straight out the windscreen, towards land, and nodded a ‘yes,’ even as his lower lip trembled.

"You can do it," Kate gave his shoulder a squeeze, "I know you can. Just do as I say, when I say it, and we’ll be fine!"

"Si, bella," Roberto ran a hand through his dark, curly hair, and turned to her. "For you, I try!" and he smiled gamely.

"Good!" Kate returned his grin, and settled back in her seat. She lifted up the armrests, giving herself an unencumbered range of motion. "Here we go."

As gently as she could, using the sluggish manual controls, she began to nudge the plane into a controlled descent. Grimly, she tried not to notice how that awful rattling sound began once more.

Rome’s Fiumicino airport was actually located about 18 miles northwest of the city, just east of the coastline. A few miles to the south of the airport, always visible to the pilot when she approached Rome from the west, was the city’s ancient seaport of Ostia Antica. From the first time she’d seen it in flight, the pilot had felt a comfortable familiarity with the place, now in ruins, though she’d never been there. Tall pines surrounded it, waving in gentle ocean breezes; its well-preserved temples, warehouses, and forum reached spindly, crumbly fingers to the sky.

Closer… closer the big plane flew, so near to the water now that Kate thought for sure that they must be leaving a wake behind them. Timing the touchdown of the balky aircraft was everything now.

Out the front windscreen, the fields surrounding the airport were in full view; more pines, brush, and dusty roads. How golden and green it all appeared, in the transparent early-morning light!

It all came down to this. To her. Did she still have what it took? The harbor of Ostia had been clogged and silted up with tidal mud a millenium ago. With no other use for the city, the Romans had abandoned it… left it to ruin. Would Catherine be able to summon from deep within herself, the tools she never thought she’d have need of again? Soon, she would find out the answer to that question.

"Wheels down," Kate dared not remove her hands from the shimmying control column.

Roberto’s fingers skipped over the displays before finding the proper buttons. "Wheels…" a low, groaning sound reverberated through the plane, "… down." He released a relieved gust of air.

Good. Now they had something they could land on. Kate only hoped the wheels would hold up under the weight of the damaged plane. They would smack onto the ground hard and fast. Although the Italians had set aside their longest runway – 14,000 feet – for the big Orbis 777-200, she feared she would need every inch of it.

"Orbis two-two-four-zero to Fiumicino tower, are we cleared for landing?" Like they could actually say ‘no,’ the pilot ironically chuckled to herself.

"Orbis two-two-four-zero, you are cleared," came the accented, faceless male voice.

"Roger that," Kate replied. "We’ll see you on the ground."

The plane was rocking from side-to-side, and Kate could feel the air pressure building beneath the wings and fuselage. The runway was dead ahead, but they were coming in too damn fast, and there was nothing the pilot could do about it. She dared not risk another stall. And aborting the landing was out of the question.

Kate picked out a spot on the runway, about a third of the way down. As good a spot as any for touchdown. "Partially deploying flaps," she called out, knowing from the excitement earlier that at least these still worked.

"Too steep!" Roberto’s eyes bulged at the runway – they were skimming along its surface now, barely 50 feet up - and a sharp burst of wind yawed the plane to the left.

"Vaffanculo!" the Italian swore.

"Throttle back!" Kate wrenched at the knob, while at the same time madly trying to keep the plane on course. With the power cut, their speed bled away, but not fast enough.

"Damn!" Kate swore she could see the pores in the concrete surface. "Not yet…." She hadn’t finished rounding off the attitude of the plane. The last thing she wanted to do was to slam onto the runway nose-first. The results could be disastrous. "Fully extend flaps!" Kate ordered, and Roberto complied while she worked the ailerons and control column for all she was worth.

"Get… up… you… bastard!" The stick was back as far as it would go, and in her mind, Kate was out in front of her plane, forcibly shoving the damn nose up. The roar of the engines were diminishing, but the din in the pilot’s head only increased. She could hear the silent screams of the passengers behind her… the quaking of an aircraft that threatened to fall apart around her… and the siren in her mind that told her she had no right to be the savior of these people.

Focus…! She gasped, holding the stick in a death-grip, You can do this!

In a great, grinding crash, the under-carriage wheels smashed onto the runway, blowing several tires out instantly.

It sounded to Kate like cannon fire, and she flinched in spite of herself.

A fraction of a second later, the nose-wheel hit, shoving the pilot forward in her seat. It had been too hard, too fast. But it held.

Not pretty, but I’ll take it, Kate thought. The plane hurtled down the runway in a barely controlled slide, rocking from side to side, nearly pitching over once. But the air currents were helping now, pressing against the fuselage and the underside of the wings and flaps, slowing it down.

"Braking.…" The pilot hit the screeching wheel brakes well in advance of when she normally would have, but she didn’t want to take any chances with running out of taxiing room.

It looked like a field of wetlands lay just beyond the runway, Kate could see it now, clearly. Sweat was flowing freely down her face, and her coal-black hair had long since sprung free from the orderly plait she’d featured the day before.

Brake… lift… she could see the water-reeds waving in the breeze… brake… lift…. There! The orange disc of a morning sun slipped free from the horizon’s grasp, released to begin its timeless, inexorable march across the sky… brake…. Would Bill and Hanson ever live to see it?

Catherine could scarcely believe it herself when, with a final, heaving gasp, the big jet finally ground to a stop. She imagined she could see the smoking glow of the deflated wheel carriage beneath her, as the efficient Fiumicino fire and emergency vehicles spurted to the end of the runway. The 777-200 sat there, a bit the worse for the wear, like a migrating duck who’d lost its way.

A thunk! next to her, and Kate turned to see Roberto slumped over in his seat, fainted dead away. Well, he’d earned the right, the pilot figured.

The wails of the emergency vehicles were nearly upon them now, but the pilot reveled in the quietness of the flight deck, in the solitude that was hers, for the moment. She turned her blue eyes out towards the rising sun and released a deep, liberating breath, letting it take away from her some of the burden she’d been shouldering. It felt good to let it go.

Kate reached out to the comm switch, and was surprised to see her hand shaking, as though it were not her own. Still, she forced it to do its work. "Orbis two-two-four-zero to Fiumicino tower… touchdown."

**********

Some things you’re just better off not knowing, Captain Catherine Phillips considered. Like the minor fact that there was a gaping tear nearly 12 feet long running horizontally down the fuselage, in the area of the starboard LD-3 cargo container. A haystack of wires, singed insulation, and jammed pieces of luggage butted up against the skin of the airframe, which looked as though it had been peeled aside by a can-opener.

Catherine had marveled at the sight. How had the plane had even remained airborne? Whether it had anything to do with the reinforced bulkheads and toughened graphite floor beams of the big 777-200, or the intervention of a higher power, she did not know. Preferred not to think about it. Eight of the total of twelve undercarriage wheels had blown out, and the plane now sat low and fat on the runway on this early spring Italian morning.

Once the emergency crews had reached the aircraft, a blur of activity and crisis management had ensued. The hijackers were roughly taken into custody by the polizia. She’d felt the vile glares of Stefan and Alexandra on her, as they were handcuffed, had their heads pushed down, and were shoved into police cars. She smiled as a still-groggy Roberto was taken away, and she made a point of getting a quick word in with Mishka before he was spirited off. "I’ll do what I can," she told the young Kosovar, and she meant it.

The shaken passengers and crew were carefully helped off the plane and into the buses and vans that would take them back to the terminal. Kate’s eyes searched to where the injured were being briskly transferred into waiting ambulances… and glimpsed a flash of blonde hair as Hanson was taken away on a stretcher.

To her dismay, the pilot found herself surrounded by babbling Italian officials, anxious to get the details from her of the drama that had unfolded on the plane. An annoying paramedic kept swabbing at the cut on her head, while a local Orbis Airlines representative - a chubby young man with wide-set eyes and a prominent nose - trailed behind. The poor fellow was clearly overwhelmed, and seemed to be talking to himself more than to anyone else, periodically casting a stunned look from Catherine, to the damaged plane, and back again.

Kate couldn’t understand the half of what anyone was saying. Not that it mattered. That wasn’t important right now. These idiots could wait.

Blue eyes watched the ambulances rolling off down the runway. "Quale ospedale stanno andando?" Her Italian was far from fluent, but she’d at least picked up enough to get by, thanks to her six month posting in Aviano a few years back.

"Prego?" The paramedic was confused.

"L’ambulanzas!" Kate’s eyes flashed. "Quale ospedale?!!"

"Ah… si, si!" he bobbed his head in understanding. "Mundi!"

The pilot breathed a sigh of relief. Her crew-members were being taken to one of the best private hospitals in Rome, Salvator Mundi. With English-speaking staff, at that.

"Bene," Kate nodded. "Prenderlo là." And she moved towards an empty police car.

"Che? No… no…" The Orbis official scurried up to her, blocking her path. Frantically, he waved his arms back at the stunned officials. "Per favore…." How could she just walk out on them? There were interviews to be given, statements to be made!"

Catherine’s eyes grew cloudy, and she reached down and grabbed the little man by his tie, jerking him towards her. After dealing with those hijackers, this ‘suit’ would be chump change.

"L’ospedale," the pilot said, her voice a low, threatening rumble. "Presto!" She released the bug-eyed Italian with a shove. He fell away, grabbing at his neck, gasping for air.

"Presto… presto!" she roared, boxing him on the side of his head.

The smack galvanized the man into action. "Si… si… Capitano!" He began talking rapidly to the emergency staff around him, gesturing towards the police vehicle and Kate, making the proper arrangements. Inside half a minute, the two were in the police car, streaking towards Salvatore Mundi Hospital. The Orbis representative knew enough by now to keep his mouth shut, and the pilot found herself lulled into a trance as the Italian scenery blurred by.

The hospital. Bill Samuelson. Rebecca Hanson. Kate closed her eyes and breathed deeply, fighting against the tightness in her chest, the fear in her heart, at what she might find there.

**********

Waiting. Catherine Phillips hated waiting. She’d never been good at it, whether it was waiting for confirmation that she’d gained her appointment to the Air Force Academy, or waiting to see if her father was going to somehow, impossibly, walk back through the door of their little home. That he wasn’t really dead. That it had all been some sort of mistake.

Bill Samuelson was going to be okay. A couple of long hours in surgery later, and the dottore had come out to tell his anxiously waiting crew-mates that the older man would fully recover. He’d been lucky.

The Orbis flight crew had arrived at the hospital about a half-hour after Kate, exhausted to the bone, but needing to hear for themselves that their colleagues would be okay. They had stolen sideways looks at pilot as they waited for news… they were high, giddy with the fact that they’d survived their ordeal, and they viewed Kate with a newfound, awestruck respect at what she’d accomplished.

"Where’s Dugan?" Kate asked, skimming her eyes around the waiting room.

"She quit," Joan Wetherill replied with a snort. "Good riddance, too. I heard her say something about a lawsuit--"

"Ha!" Nathan Berbick barked a harsh laugh, shaking his head. "It’s we who should sue her, for the cruel and unusual punishment of having to put up with her all this time!"

"Down, Sparky!" Alan Ross laughed, standing. "Save it for the lawyers."

"I’m going to give Bill’s wife, Linda, a call," Joan said, rising also. "I’m sure she’d like to hear from a friendly voice right about now."

"Good idea, Joan," Kate replied, giving the older red-head a grateful nod.

"Well, I’ve got to lie down before I fall down," Cindy Walter’s sweet, southern accent filled the room. "What do you say, superman?" the petite woman reached a hand out to Nathan.

The dark-eyed man stood, and crooked his elbow to her. "May I escort you to the Metropolis Hilton?"

"No thanks," Cindy said, yawning. "We’d have to fly there. The one in Rome will do just fine," and she laughed.

"Tell Becky we’ll be back tomorrow," Nathan said, ushering the petite Cindy out into the corridor.

"Will do," Kate called after them.

Alan Ross hesitated, staring at the pilot shyly. His deeply tanned features were still so pale, after all he’d been through. "Captain… are you—I mean… do you want me to, ah—"

"Get out of here, Ross," Kate lightly placed her hand on his shoulder. "Go get some sleep."

"Okay," he sighed, somewhat relieved. "Make sure Champ knows I was here."

"I will," she smiled wanly, watching the tall Californian leave.

"Catherine," it was Joan’s voice, calm and low, just next to her.

"Mnnnn?"

The senior flight attendant gave her a frank, level stare. "Are you okay?"

"I’m fine," the pilot replied, turning to look distractedly out the window.

"Are you sure?" the red-head pressed.

"Really… I’m fine," Kate swung back to her. "I’m just… just going to sit with Hanson for a while… so a familiar face is around in case she wakes up."

"Catherine, you heard the doctors. With that sedative they gave her, she’ll probably be out of it until tomorrow!" Joan was not a little alarmed at the picture of the Orbis captain in front of her. Dark circles were painted under her eyes, blood stained the collar of her shirt, bruises dotted the skin exposed on her arms, and her overall disheveled appearance certainly matched one who had been to hell and back. The woman looked as though she ought to be admitted to the hospital herself.

The captain said nothing. She just stared past Joan with unseeing eyes, her thoughts a million miles away.

"Catherine?"

A page blaring in over the intercom, a woman speaking in rapid Italian, roused the pilot from her reverie.

"I’m staying," she said firmly, shifting her eyes back to the senior flight attendant. "Just in case."

"Okay," Joan threw up her hands and smiled. "I tried." She turned and gathered up her flight bag, slinging it over her shoulder with a sigh. She looked back at the captain, and saw that her thoughts had drifted off again. The woman was amazing, Joan considered. She never would have guessed that Catherine Phillips cared so deeply for her passengers and fellow crew-members, way beyond the standard professional level of duty. The tall, dark woman had shown her a hell of a lot over the past 24 hours, and she wasn’t likely to forget it. Ever.

"Catherine?"

"Hmnnn?"

"Thanks. For everything."

"Don’t mention it," Kate grinned, following the smaller woman out of the waiting room. She peeled off to head back down the corridor, to Hanson.

"Oh, Captain!" Joan stopped and spun around, calling after the solitary figure. "Where will I be able to find you?"

Catherine replied without breaking her stride. "Here."

**********

She was lost. Floating, adrift. The pain… and fear. Rebecca struggled against it. She fought the panic… battled the darkness. And found that her uncertainty was replaced by confidence. A strength imbued her from within, and yet she felt the power of it surround her, flow into her, too. Carried on the wings of a glance. The hint of a touch. She was not lost. She did not stand alone. Never alone. Such a lovely dream after all, wasn’t it?

Crisp white-painted walls. Blinds half-closed on the windows. Hushed, distant voices down the hall. The faint smell of antiseptic and freshly laundered sheets, and the beep-beep of the monitors and i.v. line. Catherine Phillips wasn’t sure just how much time had passed by, sitting there watching the gentle rise and fall of Rebecca Hanson’s chest as she slept. Minutes? Hours? Kate didn’t care. She had no thought of being anywhere else.

How small and frail the young woman looked, a white sheet tucked nearly to her chin… hooked up to those blasted machines! Her face was so pale, nearly blending into the whiteness of the pillow she peacefully rested on; only her feathered, golden hair retained its vibrancy in the dimmed interior of the hospital room.

What was the matter with this kid, walking onto her plane and standing up to those hijackers without giving a fig of a thought to her own safety? Barging into the cockpit and… and…. Kate closed her eyes briefly against the vision of Hanson lying on the flight deck, bleeding from a bullet meant for her.

One of Rebecca’s arms lay on top of the bed-sheet. Compulsively, Kate reached out and took up the young woman’s hand in her own. She was gentle, careful not to disturb the lines running into the translucent skin. Just that simple gesture calmed the pounding in the taller woman’s heart, though she was hard-pressed to know just why.

"Hanson," the pilot said softly to the sleeping woman, "you are the crazy one!"

Kate startled as the flight attendant stirred, blinking a green eye open at her.

"I do have a first name, you know!" she complained, and she struggled to sit up.

"Wha—take it easy there," Kate said, blushing, pulling her hand away. She swung her gaze around the room, desperate to be looking anywhere rather than at the two emerald orbs examining her curiously. "Let me get the doctor… do you want some water? Don’t move… are you in any pain? I can—"

"Captain," the sharpness of Hanson’s voice stopped her in her tracks.

"Yes?"

"I’m fine. Really," she said, pushing herself into a sitting position.

"You’re sure?" Catherine persisted, calming down. She reached behind Hanson to help her, adjusting her pillows and gently easing her back against them.

"I’m sure," Becky said with a sigh and a dismissive wave. "Heck," she scrunched up her nose, "… it’s like they say on television. You know… just a ‘flesh wound.’ I’ll probably get out of here tomorrow."

"We’ll see about that," Kate said archly. She offered the younger woman a sip of water through a straw, and Becky gratefully accepted it.

"What are you," she said after a few gulps, "a doctor now?"

"I have many skills," Kate replied in mock seriousness.

Becky laughed aloud. The laughter was quickly replaced by a grimace of pain that contorted her face. Her hand flew to her shoulder. "Aaah…."

"Hey, take it easy there," Kate was right at her side. "Miss ‘Flesh Wound.’ I’m getting the doctor." She reached for the ‘call’ button.

"No… please," Rebecca flung out a hand to stop her. "I—I just want to talk a while longer, okay? I promise I’ll be good!"

Catherine looked at the chalky pallor of the innocent face turned up to her, and she hesitated.

"Please?" The green eyes sparkled. So trusting. So hopeful. The pilot could not refuse her.

"Okay," she said sitting down, and Becky visibly relaxed.

"They told me Bill was gonna be okay?"

"Yeah. He will."

"Thank God," Becky wiped away an errant tear from the corner of her eye.

Dammit, what was Hanson doing weeping again? Catherine hated to see her cry! "And everybody says ‘hi’ – they’ll be back tomorrow," she quickly rushed on, hoping to put a stop to the waterworks.

It worked.

"Tell them ‘hi’ back from me, would you?" Becky sniffled.

"You got it. Alan Ross in particular…."

"Aw, that sweetie! He reminds me so much of my brother!" she smiled, and then alarm skipped over her face. "My family--"

"Don’t worry," Kate said. "I talked to your mother a half an hour ago. She wants you to sleep," she emphasized, "and said they’ll give you a call in the morning."

"Thanks," Becky eased back, her worry evaporating like a summer sun-shower.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Kate figured, continuing, "Ahh… Alan, and the others... why do they call you ‘champ’?"

"Oh, it’s silly," Becky said. "I—I finished first in my training class. Everybody kind of thought it was a joke, but—"

"You should be proud of that," Kate said, her voice firm.

Becky flashed her an appreciative look. "Thanks. I was."

A nurse bustled into the room with a stethoscope draped around her neck and a blood pressure cuff in hand. She meant business.

"Ah, you are awake, Miss Rebecca!" her voice was only lightly accented. "And how are we feeling?"

"We’re just fine," Becky replied, shooting Kate a warning glare.

"Bene… bene!" The nurse began bustling around Becky: adjusting the drip, checking her vitals.

Catherine stood uncomfortably. "I’ll just wait outside…"

"No-no-no!" the nurse clucked, pushing the pilot back down in her seat. "You can stay here with your friend."

Catherine dared not argue with the officious, buxom woman, both on the point of leaving and whether she was Rebecca’s friend.

She stayed put.

"So, how’s your headache?" Becky eyed her carefully as the nurse finished up and whisked out of the room.

"All gone," Kate lied.

"I don’t know about that," Becky reached up her hand to lightly touch the reddened, bruised mark on the pilot’s forehead. Kate was so surprised by the gesture, that she didn’t have time to flinch away. "You’ll have to keep an eye on it," Becky said, dropping her arm back onto the bed.

"What are you, Hanson, a doctor now?" Recovering, Kate laughed and mimicked the younger woman’s earlier words.

Rebecca snorted. Green eyes flickered up to the ceiling and then swung down again, zeroing in on the tall, raven-haired woman.

"It’s Becky."

"Hmmnnn?" Catherine arched an eyebrow, playing dumb.

"My name. My friends call me Becky." The young woman held the pilot in her gaze, knowing she was squirming under the onslaught of it. Daring her to back away.

She didn’t.

Catherine stuck out a hand, feeling the warmth of a smaller one slip into her own. "Rebecca," she said pointedly, smiling. "Catherine Phillips. My friends call me Kate. Pleased to meet you!" Blue eyes melted into green, as two old souls met each other again, for the very first time.

"Capitano! Capitano!" Mario, the chubby Orbis representative, skittered into the room. Kate quickly leaped to her feet, putting herself between the red-faced Italian and Becky.

"What is it?" she hissed in a low voice.

"Telefono!" he waved a cellular in her face.

"Not now!" she said darkly, batting his arm away.

"Per favore!" he begged, his eyes shooting nervously at the phone. "Signor Vandegrift!" He stumbled over the pronunciation of the name of Orbis’ director of flight operations.

Kate weakened. After all, the little Italian had done a fairly good job of keeping the press and all but the non-essential authorities out of her way. That, and the fact that she actually welcomed the sound of another friendly voice right now, made her reach for the phone.

"Give it to me," she said, grabbing it from him. She shushed the harried Mario out of the room. "Vanno!"

The little man scurried off.

"I won’t be a minute," she smiled at Becky, taking a few steps towards the door.

She flipped open the phone. "Cyrus?"

"Great job, Katie!" The voice of her former mentor crackled through the cellular connection.

"Thanks," she said simply. "I had a lot of help."

"Delighted that everybody’s going to be okay!"

"Yeah," she flashed a quick look at Rebecca, "me too."

"Well…" he cleared his throat, "I’ve got a real tiger by the tail back here, trying to explain how those hijackers got through security… the damned strike…."

Catherine knew what was coming next. "I’ve got to go, Cyrus."

"Katie, wait!" his gruff voice was plaintive, beseeching, across the thousands of miles. "You’re a good pilot, Katie. One of the best. I don’t know anyone else who could’ve done for us… for those people… what you did today. I don’t want to lose you."

Kate gripped the phone so tightly she feared it might shatter into pieces in her hand. Dammit, why did he have to put her on the spot like this? How could she be expected to think clearly after what she’d just been through? Her thoughts were more muddled now than they had ever been.

When she’d stepped onto the jet… her jet… back on the tarmac at JFK, she thought she’d known exactly what she wanted. Now, she wasn’t so sure. It had been a flight from hell, that was for sure, but by God she’d gotten her plane down in one piece. And that success had depended upon her executing some of the most challenging flying of her career.

People had trusted in her that she could get the job done, and she had. Even when she hadn’t been so certain of the outcome herself.

"Katie? Katie – you still there?"

"Yes, Cyrus," she said patiently, casting a sidelong look over at Becky. The late afternoon sun was filtering through the blinds, speckling ribbons of light on the young woman’s face and on the bed-sheet. Her eyes were beginning to droop, heavy with sleep.

"Katie, listen to me," his voice was earnest now, "I want your opinion on something."

Silence.

"You see, it’s about this letter that was delivered to me," he continued. "It was a mistake, I think." A pause and then, more softly, "What do you think?"

Kate waited for the thousands of reasons she had for leaving to leap into her mind. After all, she had been thinking about it for weeks. Months, even. Attacked the subject from every analytical angle, turning it inside out and upside down. Finally she had convinced herself, thanks to her exhaustive personal inventory, that she was doing the right thing.

But in the final analysis, right here, right now, standing in Rebecca Hanson’s hospital room, for the life of her she couldn’t think of what a single one of those damned reasons were.

She sighed, resting her blue eyes on Rebecca. "Yeah," she said quietly. "It was a mistake."

"I knew it!" Cyrus boomed into the line, and Kate swore she could hear the smile in his voice. "Take some time off, Katie," he added excitedly. "No rush to get back here. Rest up. See the sights for once, why don’t you? You know, there’s this thing called the ‘Coliseum,’--"

"Knock it off, Cy," Catherine chuckled. "I get your drift!"

"See you when you get back then, okay?"

"Sure," she paused, and then plunged ahead. "Thanks Cy. Your faith in me… it really means a lot." But the static hum of the connection told her that the older man had signed off. He hadn’t heard.

Just as well, Catherine thought, snapping the phone shut. Wouldn’t want him to think I was going all soft on him!

"That was Mr. Vandegrift?" Hanson’s sleepy voice.

"Yeah," Kate moved back to her beside and sat down. "He just wanted to touch base with me… wants me to take a few days off…."

"Really?" Rebecca brightened. "Captain… er… ‘Kate,’" the name sounded comfortable rolling off her tongue, "You know, I’m sure I’ll get sprung from here tomorrow. I—I had planned on taking a few days off myself, you know, hanging out at a pensione, sightseeing, stuff like that!"

"Oh?" Kate kept her voice even, her face unreadable. Did this girl know what she was saying? Perhaps it was the medication she was on. Surely, she had better things to do than spend time with an irritable ex-Air Force pilot!

"Of course," Becky blushed deeply and turned her face to the window, "you’ve probably seen the sights here a million times," she fidgeted with an edge of the sheet with her fingertips. "Or have some other plans…." her voice trailed off.

Kate was stunned. The young Californian actually wanted to be in her company. The pilot wasn’t sure at all about how she felt about it, it had been so long since she’d allowed herself to get close to anyone, but what the hell. There was something about the kid… and anyway, it would give her a good opportunity to keep an eye on her.

‘Flesh wound’ or not, she was concerned about Hanson’s close call. No matter what the doctors said, it wasn’t a very smart idea for the young woman to be off on her own, so soon after such an injury. She would need time to fully recover. She was a part of Catherine’s crew, and the pilot figured she was responsible for her.

"You saved my life," Kate said, quietly. "That was a dumb chance you took."

"I know," Becky faced her, sheepishly. "But it seemed as good a time as any to take a chance."

"Now where have I heard that before," Kate said, her blue eyes laughing.

"I wouldn’t know," Becky cheekily replied.

"It’s obvious you need someone around to keep you out of trouble," the pilot resolved. "And I know a place on the Via Venetto where you can buy those t-shirts and miniatures you wanted…."

Becky’s eyes flew open wide, with an understanding of what this striking, bronze-skinned woman was implying. "And there’s a place near the Vatican where I hear the manicotti is fanastic!" the flight attendant enthused.

"You can keep your manicotti. But if they’ve got a nice veal chop—"

"I’m sure they do!"

"Then you’re on!" Kate couldn’t resist it, she reached out and ruffled the little blonde’s hair.

"This is gonna be great!" Becky smiled, yawning.

"Okay now, time for you to get some sleep," Kate said sternly, tucking the covers in around the younger woman.

"All right," Becky conceded, feeling the strength of the sedative regaining control over her worn out body. "Do… do you mind…" her eyelids were at half-mast now, "just waiting until I fall asleep? I know it’s silly, but—"

"It’s okay, I’ll be here," the pilot said, clasping her hand.

Satisfied with that response, it was only a matter of moments before Rebecca’s breathing once again became deep and even. In the dying afternoon light, Kate thought the young girl looked like an angel.

The pilot lifted her eyes towards the window. Through the blinds, she could see the blue skies overhead, a stand of pines outside the hospital dipping in the breeze, a sparrow flitting by. Though the sun was about to set, Catherine thought that her prospects had never seemed so bright. Her long night was over. Somehow, some way, the darkness had lifted.

Kate swung her gaze back down to the peacefully slumbering Rebecca Hanson. For whatever reason, the younger woman trusted her.

Completely.

Catherine Phillips did not plan on letting her down.

"Don’t worry," she whispered softly to the sleeping form. "I’m not going anywhere."