AN: I flew somewhere and wrote this on the plane. I hope you enjoy.
There is no reason to believe that the two men seated beside her are anything but respectable, upstanding members of society. There is also no reason to believe that the two men sitting beside her aren't secret serial killers waiting for the chance to cyanide her into submission. Maybe that guy has a secret dungeon under his house. Maybe the other one likes to chop young women up into little pieces, save the bits in the freezer. Maybe they share girl-flesh margaritas on their weekends.
Oh god! That one just brushed his hand against his shirt pocket. He's preparing for the opportunity to strike.
Rachel can feel her heart speeding up to double time. Her palms are sweating and she can feel the slickness of them against the rough plastic of her arm rest.
She jumps a little and her shoulders rise abruptly when her right hand tingles in fresh sensation. Light, cool fingers press over hers, forcing her fingers' release of their grasp on the hard, grey plastic.
She looks up into gentle, hazel eyes and instantly feels calmer. Feels her heart rate slowing and the tightness of panic releasing and dissipating from her chest. She glances away from hazel eyes to see the two men down their row exchange a pack of gum between them. One rests a hand lightly on the others thigh as they talk—she thinks maybe about their dog—quietly together.
Rachel looks back towards the hand now resting comfortingly on top of hers. Their fingers are tangled and Quinn's thumb is moving in small circles over the small stretch of skin between thumb and wrist.
Rachel sees Quinn's lips twitch up into a smile. As usual Quinn had read Rachel's thoughts and sensed her anxiety. Somehow, with the drama of high school behind them and with the aid of a Metro North pass they had become friends. Travelling together back to Ohio for the first mid-collegiate Christmas is now not only practical but preferable in Rachel's book. Especially now with Quinn looking at her like she knows exactly what Rachel is thinking, or at least some approximation.
Quinn's small smile turns into a full blown grin when Rachel's cheeks flood with colour.
She gives Rachel's hand another squeeze, "What was it this time?" she asks, glancing over to the rest of the people in their row, "Axe murderers or gun toting maniacs?"
Rachel tries not to smile at her friend's playful teasing, "Cyanide wielding, cannibals," she says quietly, hoping that no one is listening in on their conversation.
Quinn's grin melts into a warm smile as she bumps her shoulder into Rachel's, "Everything's fine Rach. The seatbelt light is still off," somehow she knows this is about a fear of flying rather than a sudden anthropophobia, "The weather report for Columbus is for clear blue skies, and," she gives Rachel's hand a squeeze for emphasis, "I'm here to protect you from any and all cyanide wielding cannibals,"
Rachel tries to feel comfort in the words. She knows that it'a silly to be afraid of flying. She knows that driving would have been time consuming and ultimately impractical. She knows that statistically speaking, air travel is still the safest mode of transport. But there is always that nagging doubt; there is always that question of how in the hell does a metal box filled with hundreds of people remain suspended at ten thousand feet above the ground without plummeting to the earth and killing everyone.
Oh god! Did that guy just murmur something into his lapel? There are secret police on board because they know of a terrorist cell targeting flights to Columbus.
Quinn squeezes Rachel's hand more firmly and then pulls the whole arm attached to it into her lap. She runs her fingers up and down Rachel's arm from wrist to elbow, occasionally running her fingers down and across the open palm.
Rachel sighs and leans more into her friend as she lifts her left arm allowing Rachel to snuggle more easily into her side. Rachel's shoulder must be nudging into her ribs but Quinn doesn't say anything about it; Rachel rests her head on the surprisingly comfortable shoulder, her cheek nestled in the dip above Quinn's collarbone. Her left hand holds onto her friend's where it wraps over her shoulder.
Rachel closes her eyes and tries to block out the noises of the plane by listening to Quinn's breathing. She imagines she can feel a steady heartbeat against her cheek and smiles.