Summary: The plane will probably crash with both pilots unconscious, and, like a knight in shining armor, he stands up from his seat and actually pilots the aircraft. I hate to admit this, but I'm actually impressed. /SasuSaku/

PROLOGUE

I watch, with my eyebrows raised, as the attendant fumbles in front of everyone. She clears her throat and raises her head confidently, but I can see the mindless worry running about her eyes. She sets a lapel microphone onto her and wets her lips.

"Good evening, everyone," the plane attendant states in a clear voice. "This is an unordinary request, but to anyone with piloting experience, may we please have your assistance for a while."

I stare at her agape as everyone else mumbles and panics in his and her own place. There can only be two reasons that a man with piloting experience be called—one, that there is a problem, and two, that there is the reason number one. My heart thunders against my breastbone and I find it so difficult to breathe. That is, until the man sitting beside me stands up.

It is only once in a lifetime that you can actually meet people who are of otherworldly beauty, and right now is this "once in a lifetime" moment. This man . . . he is handsome, hands down. His black hair spikes up behind his head in a very good-looking way, and his equally dark eyes are tantalizing in their own ways.

The man spares me a look before heading to the front where some of the attendants have the guts to gape and gasp in surprise. OK, that's pretty exaggerated; let's term it this way—the attendants have the guts to be awed by this man's otherworldly beauty.

That's it.

I am surprised when, even amidst the commotion and protests of worries from the passengers, the same flight attendant clears her throat and continues to say, "May we also please request a support from a person with medical experience?"

I figure everyone in the plane already puts two and two together—there can only be a few reasons why they would need the assistance of a man with piloting experience and a person in the medical field. The pilots and the medics. They may have been in trouble.

The protests and murmurs of worries die down a little and I look around if there is someone who will respond to the attendant's call for medical aid. I look back in front to find the man from earlier already gone and the attendants left biting their lips in anxiety.

It takes me quite a few more minutes, but I . . .

. . . I actually stand up and head toward the front. I inhale heavily and tells them, "I'm a doctor."

The attendant sighs in relief and grasps my hands in hers. "Thank you, thank you!" She gestures toward the door where the man vanished earlier. "Please, in here."

They don't even ask me for an ID. For a license. Anything. They just let me in, as if they are desperate enough to call for anyone's help. And desperate, they really are.

I don't know what to think of when I finally reach the control panel area of the plane. Should I gasp? Should I panic? What should I do? How should I react?

I breathe in heavily as I scan the area. Two middle-aged men in pilot's uniform sit on the ground, unconscious, with their shoulders sagging. One medic aide—a man with black hair and pale skin—is fumbling around on one of the pilots, checking on his vital signs.

The gorgeous man from earlier, though, is seated on the pilot's seat, murmuring things into the microphone attached to the headset on him. He flips on certain switches and I avert my gaze, finding my own actions inappropriate for the situation. I should not dillydally.

I kneel down beside the aide and ask, "What happened?"

I feel the blonde attendant from earlier crouch beside us as I watch the aide look at me with serious eyes.

"Food poisoning." Such swift and concise answer brings out the doctor in me.

"If it were, how come it's only been the two of them?" I ask, moving to inspect the mouth of one of the pilots. Small foams move about from his mouth, and I instantly know what to do. While we are at it, the medic and the attendant explain, but from the corner of my eyes, I watch.

I watch the one man acting on saving hundreds of lives.

It has only been an hour and a half—the span of time when I help in tending to the pilots with the aids of the medic and the blonde stewardess. It has only been an hour and a half that I watch, silently, as the man with piloting experience flew us safely back to Konoha.

It has only been an hour and a half, but I feel like it has been forever.

Later, I find out that his name is Sasuke Uchiha. And even later, I find myself and him as the talk of everyone, the moment we safely landed.

I don't want to admit it, because it's rare that I feel such way, but I . . . I'm actually impressed.

Should I be given the chance to meet him again someday, cross paths with him . . . I will want to get to know him more. And had I known that that "someday" I'm talking about would be so soon it has only been two weeks since then, I could have prepared myself.

Author's Note: Should I continue? :)