Arthur tapped his foot impatiently on the taxi ride back to the hotel (they were known as 'cabs' in America, Douglas informed him). They had managed to get themselves stuck in the lunchtime rush, and the ride was interminable. His anxiety had risen to such a level that he hadn't even noticed the yellow car going past, and Douglas threw a glance at Carolyn, who appeared deep in thought. It wasn't like Arthur to be like this, as everyone knew, and it usually meant that something awful had happened. She desperately hoped that this wasn't the case, as she genuinely liked Imogen. She was quiet but effective, and all of MJN's customers adored her. Though she wouldn't dare admit it to the rest of the crew, or even herself, she had considered hiring Imogen as a permanent member of the team. It meant she could spend more time with Herc, and less time in the air.

"Mum, what if she's hurt?" Arthur asked, his voice quiet and sounding younger than usual. The poor boy was obviously terrified.

"She'll be fine, Arthur, stop worrying."

But how wrong she was. After what was an excruciating forty minute journey (it should have only taken fifteen), Arthur leapt from the taxi, urging the others onward, with cries of, "Come on, come on, hurry up! Imogen needs us!" Carolyn motioned for them to head up to the room as she paid the cabbie.

When she reached the twin room that Imogen and Arthur had been sharing a few minutes later, she was met with frowns. It didn't take long for the recriminations to start.

"It would appear that Arthur has forgotten his key." Douglas drawled, his usually sarcastic voice laced with concern.

"I think I left it in the room," he wailed, wringing his hands in a paroxysm of anxiety. "Now we can't get in and it's all my fault. What if she really needs us?" The steward was on the verge of tears, and Carolyn placed a comforting hand on the small of his back, as she had done since he was a small child.

"Douglas, have you knocked?" She inquired briskly, checking her own bag, in case Arthur had given her the key for safe keeping. No such luck.

"Of course I have. No reply. I've called as well, but nothing."

"All right, don't panic. Silly girl is probably still sleeping. I'll go and borrow another one from reception. Douglas, with me. Arthur, you stay here with Martin, and keep knocking. You might wake her up, and I'm sure you'll want to be there when she shouts at you."

Inclining her head in the direction of the lifts, Douglas followed the CEO as she set off at a brisk pace. Carolyn never simply walked anywhere, but rather adopted a sort of power walk, that told everyone around her that she was not a little old lady, thank you very much, but a very important business woman. Once out of earshot, she mumbled to Douglas;

"What do you think is going on, Douglas? And don't spare me any gruesome details, I want to know everything."

The first officer took a breath before answering, stowing his hands in his trousers before answering (making sure, of course, that they were alone in the lift). "I dear she may have had some sort of accident. You must have noticed that she rarely eats, Carolyn. And Martin and I have observed that she often seems very withdrawn. More so in the last few weeks. I don't want to cause alarm, but I am highly concerned for her."

Carolyn nodded, not bothering with a reply. What would she say? Any attempt to lighten the mood would more than likely fail, and she didn't want to dwell on anything morose. No, she would continue to hope and pray that her star stewardess was simply sleeping, as she had told Arthur. After the restless night that Arthur had made her aware of (it had been a simple, "Imogen didn't sleep very well, so I didn't sleep either," after she had remarked that he looked slightly drawn), she would have been exhausted. Carolyn knew the feeling. Often, after a trip as long as this, she slept long and deeply, barely waking for her alarms.

Marching towards reception as soon as the doors of the lift slid open, Carolyn prepared for battle. She knew what these hotels were like, hated giving out extra keys. And Lord knows she had fought this battle a million times or more, with Arthur forever accidentally locking himself out or losing his key.

"Miss Knapp-Shappey, a replacement key will not be possible for a few hours."

"You must have some sort of master key, I know you do. And I don't need another key, it's more than likely in the damn room. I just need to get into the room to check it for the said key." Her tone was sharp, and discouraged further argument.

"All right, fine. But if you cannot find it, there will be an extra charge of twenty dollars to your bill." The receptionist was cool, having dealt with a thousand Carolyn's before. Being a family orientated hotel, he was often having replacement keys cut, and as such had decided to charge for them. After all, they cost him money, therefore they should cost the idiot that had lost it in the first place money too.

"I don't care, just get me into the bloody room, and quickly. It's urgent."

Having taken umbrage at her tone, the receptionist moved deliberately slowly, taking his time to leave his desk and hunt for the master key. Carolyn was about ready to force him along, though refrained when Douglas placed a warning hand at her elbow, reminding her in hushed tones that he was more than likely to slow further if she attempted to chivvy him along. Instead, they increased their pace, forcing the receptionist to take longer strides in which to keep up with them.

They returned to the room ten minutes after they had left it, and thankfully, Martin had managed to calm Arthur down, who, according to the Captain, 'was about two minutes away from breaking down the door,' and the steward was simply chewing his nails in apprehension, a habit he had picked up in childhood. Though he had successfully ceased this habit (after Carolyn had forced him to wear the foul tasting nail varnish), he had been known to revert to it in times of extreme stress. His mother refused to chide him for it, and instead moved aside for the receptionist to unlock the door, motioning for Martin to keep Arthur at bay until they knew what was going on. If Imogen was hurt in some way, Carolyn wanted to shield Arthur from it.

"Douglas, help me look for her." Carolyn marched over to the bed, finding it empty and cold, indicating that it had been vacated for some time. Frowning, she pondered where Imogen might have gone. It was too late for breakfast, similarly for lunch, and if Douglas' stories about her skipping meals were true, then she wouldn't have had any anyway. Searching in her bedside drawer revealed no further clues; a well used lip balm, facial wipes and various other toiletries were all that were there, along with her travel documents and passports, and a few stray dollar bills and loose change.

"Jesus Chri- Carolyn! Someone call an ambulance, for God's sake!" Came the bellow from the bathroom, and Carolyn rushed to Douglas, and also, she correctly assumed, Imogen. Arthur had charged in despite Martin holding him back, and entered the tiny bathroom at the same time that she did.

Carolyn's hands flew to her mouth, and tears sprung to her eyes. Douglas had dragged the unconscious stewardess out of the bath, depositing her none too gently onto the bathroom floor. The first officer being gentle was immaterial; resuscitating Imogen came first. Scrabbling in her bag again, Carolyn was on the phone to emergency services, barely able to string a coherent sentence together.

"Martin," she called, "Look for any pill bottles, they want to know if she's taken anything."

The captain manoeuvred his way carefully around Douglas and Imogen, and searched the bathroom, finding an empty bottle of sleeping tablets beneath the sink, prescribed to Imogen.

"Sleeping pills, Carolyn," he managed breathlessly, bringing the bottle out to her for her to give to the paramedics.

"Come on, damnit, breathe!" Douglas was administering cardio-pulmonary resuscitation, chest compressions that would no doubt damage her sternum and ribs, but again, that mattered very little if she did not breathe for herself soon. A few minutes had elapsed, and for everyone else, the time seemed more like a few seconds, but for Arthur, who looked on in horror, it felt like hours, possibly even days. He had known instinctively that there was something wrong with Imogen, and there most certainly was.

There was a choking, gurgling sound as Imogen took a breath of her own. She didn't regain consciousness, but her breathing was testimony to Douglas' skills, and the first officer wiped the cold sweat from his face with his forearm, before putting her in the recovery position, before collapsing back from his kneeling position onto the bathroom floor with a deep, shaky breath. He had done all he could, now it was time to give Imogen over to the paramedics who had just arrived, and let them do what they could for the stewardess.