As Haruhi walked down the hall, her heels created a rythmatic clacking sound on the tiled floor. A lost case and a fight with her brother left her drained and in serious need of caffeine. The strong, bittersweet smell of coffee filled her nose, causing her to pick up the pace down the long, narrow hallways of her law affirm. Her husband had left on a business trip last month; his flight was due to arrive this morning. She now had something to look forward to, besides her daughter coming home from her week long vacation in Maui her father had so lovingly paid for.
She finally reached the break room, stepping in quietly, whistling with a newspaper tucked under her arm. She set it down on the small, stained coffee table, pouring coffee in her "world's best wife" mug. A small, flickering TV protruded from the wall like a thumbtack from a bulletin board. She directed her brown eyes to the television screen while taking a sip of her coffee, hoping to be caught up in the past few day's events this morning since she had been ignoring them for the case she had this morning.
Though her husband had called her last night, and for the only reason being to tell her he had lost his plane tickets, she was still worried that something would happen. She always shrugged off her bad feelings, nothing she ever felt bad about ever happened, so she had learned to shrug off her instincts. She had told him to file a missing luggage report and just say the tickets were in there. There was another plane taking off an hour later than the other one. Taking another sip of her coffee, she froze mid-sip, taking a rather embarrassing spit-take in the process. The angst she had felt before turned into bone-chilling fear as her attention shifted entirely to the flickering screen as if it were the center of the world, because at that moment, it was.
"Channel 5 here, reporting that flight 648, coming from Shanghai to Boston, has crashed. Repeat, flight 648 of Saigo no Airlines has crashed." Came the reporter's voice. Haruhi could feel her heart beating miles a minute. The screen shifted from a blurry shot of a reporter holding his headpiece to his ear to a field with billowing black smoke stacks and airplane parts scattered every way. Fear gripped her body, her hand grasped the coffee mug like a lifeline, so tight it shattered under the tension her clenched, shaking fist was putting it under.
"That's his flight…" she whispered, eyes widening and her body shaking, her petite figure relying on the counter the coffee maker was resting on to keep her balance. "That's the flight he was taking home."
She wanted to scream but she was trapped behind a thick glass wall of panic, all she could do was stand there with her eyes glued to the television screen.
After 45 minutes, there was a new report. This report mentioned possible survivors. Haruhi let out a sigh of relief, knowing this could be her way out of this strange world of emotions and hurt she felt had a vise grip on her heart. A movement on-screen caught her attention, as she again directed her eyes to the flickering TV screen.
"There are a reported 5 survivors out of nearly 100 passengers on this flight. Friends and family members are suggested to call the airport so they know they have someone coming after them. Their names and faces will be shown at this time." The reporter's voice stopped, and for what felt like a lifetime, she sat waiting for Tamaki's face to show up on the screen.
Before Haruhi had time to rip the TV out of the wall from frustration, the first picture came up. Her face began to sweat. The second. Her lip began to bleed from being bitten so hard. The third. Her hands started to shake. The fourth. Her knees buckled and her eyes brimmed with tears. Her world came crashing down, and she finally broke out of her emotional trance, just in time to catch the fifth photo float across the screen.
The coffee mug crashed to the floor.
When Haruhi got home, she fell into a fit of hysterics. She grabbed every picture of Tamaki she could find and threw them in a big pile on their bed. She looked at every one, thinking she would never see that goofball of a guy she called her husband again. Then something occurred to her, what if there were more survivors? What if they found more people? Haruhi shook her head. She probably would have heard from the twins or Kyouya by now. She threw herself onto her pillow, gripping its lacy trip and burying her face in it to conceal the sounds of her sobbing. After what seemed like an eternity, she decided to turn on the television for another check up on the scene. She brushed the wet hair that clung to her face away before focusing on the large flat-screen that dwelled in the corner of the master bedroom. There were now 12 reported survivors, among them being 4 children, 6 woman and 2 men. Their pictures were displayed on the screen. All too soon, or possibly not soon enough, the men's pictures came up. She looked at the first picture. Haruhi choked on a disgusted gag. It wasn't Tamaki. Then she shifted her attention to the second picture, and for the second time that day, she felt her heart collapse. This time, it was Tamaki. That bit made her feel a small amount better. What Tamaki looked like was another story. He had crusty blood all over his arms, deep wounds all over his body. His clothing looked post-apocalyptic, torn and blood stained. His eyelids were closed. This much made her feel violently ill. She felt like the whole world just came crumbling down. The room went fuzzy and Haruhi started to weep again, enclosed in her own world. The reporters name came and carried Haruhi back to reality.
"The survivors you see on this screen are recovering at Meredith hospital in Abington, Massachusetts."
Abington was 45 minutes away.
Haruhi wasted no time grabbing her purse and keys and dashing out the front door, not bothering to shut the TV off as she sprinted to her car and jammed her keys inside the ignition, taking off like a wild woman to the hospital.
When Haruhi arrived at the hospital, there was an alarming amount of reporters lined up outside the door, asking Haruhi stupid questions, disregarding the seriousness of the matter. Haruhi had a hard time forcing her way though the ocean of photographers and microphones hanging at arms length. Sadly for them, Haruhi's frustration overflowed into microphones and video cameras being tossed into the ground, shattering into a million glittering pieces. Haruhi had lost all sense of self-control long ago, and she didn't re-gain her composure until she managed to squeeze her way through a second crowd of reporters before stumbling into the hospitals main entrance. She made her way through the pure-white, sterile hallways to the emergency ward. Once she entered the wing, she took of sprinting to the double-doors that would lead her to her husband's room. She paid no attention when the nurse asked her name kindly so she could open the doors for her. Instead, Haruhi pushed the open-door button herself and resumed her reckless trek to room 245, knocking multiple doctors over in the process. As soon as she reached his room, she breathed a sigh of relief, knowing he would be alright. She slowly turned the handle to see a wide-awake Tamaki laying down on a hospital bed, leg and arm in casts and stitched all over his face. Gauze traced the border of his forehead. He looked over at the door, startled by what he saw.
His wife barreling towards him, her outstretched arms prepared to squeeze what was left of his life out of him.