Who_at_50 Flash Fiction: Flight (Tegan, Nyssa, Five) Rated G
Title: Flight
Author: ponygirl72
Rating: G
Characters: Five, Tegan, Nyssa
Pairings: None
Summary: It's not her father's two-seater plane, but it will do.
A/N: Written for Round Two of the Flash Fiction Comment-a-thon at who_at_50
Flight
Tegan hastily double-checked the straps holding the jet-wing assembly snugly against her back, trying to block out the smell of smoke and the sounds of fighting rising from the roof access hatch behind her. An hour of discussing the design of the flight pack and watching Jahred use it to deliver medical supplies to the village below was not the same as learning how to use it properly, but Jahred was in a Loyalist jail cell now, and there were, after all, only so many ways to design the flight surfaces on a powered wing.
At least, that's what Tegan told herself as she ran through the arm controls, peering over her own shoulder to confirm that she understood the basics-- ailerons, rudder, elevators.
"What could be simpler?" she said aloud, choking down the slightly hysterical laugh that wanted to escape as she peered over the edge of the roof, down the side of the mountain and into the valley beyond. The TARDIS was down there somewhere, along with Nyssa, the Doctor, and-- hopefully-- the reinforcements that would help secure the Capitol and get the biological weapons out of the Loyalists' hands. Her hand stole unconsciously down to the pouch tied around her waist, feeling the crinkle of the rolled up list of security codes stowed there.
Just then, the clamour from the level below erupted onto the roof behind her, with shouts of "Stop!" and "There she is!", and there was no more time. Heart pounding, she triggered the jet-wing's ignition, staggering at the larger-than-expected kick against her lower back. The footsteps behind her pounded ever closer.
"Oh, rabbits!" she said... and jumped.
For a bare moment, it was a suicide leap. Then, the throttle kicked in and it was like hang-gliding with a rocket engine strapped to your spine. Tegan's scream morphed into a yell of victory as she instinctively corrected for pitch and yaw. The wind whipped tears from her eyes and froze them against her cheeks. She could barely hear herself over the roar of air and engines. In no time at all, the distant village was almost directly below her, and there-- there!-- was the distinctive blue of the TARDIS, a blurred rectangle seen through watering eyes, but unmistakeable nonetheless.
Tegan knew full well from her days behind the controls of her father's little two-seater plane that "flying" and "landing" were two very different things. Rather than rush herself into making a fatal mistake, she banked into a gentle turn, circling the village and scoping out the safest landing zone. By the time she had come around for a second pass, she could make out two figures gaping up at her; one tall and beige, the other small and dressed in brown.
She continued to slow her descent, thinking that, if she could nail her landing, their identical slack-jawed expressions would actually be quite funny. If, on the other hand, they ended up having to scrape her off the side of a building... maybe not so much. At the flick of a switch, the repulsor jets on the bottom of the wings flared into life, and she wobbled alarmingly for a moment before correcting for the new thrust.
At first, she thought she was still coming in too fast, but the repulsors gained more power the closer she got to the ground. Half a second before she was expecting it, her feet touched grass and she was stumbling forward across somebody's courtyard, crying out as her left ankle failed to take her weight properly and sent her sprawling onto her side. The jet-wing powered off automatically upon impact, but the harness twisted tightly across her torso, sharp edges digging painfully into her back.
Before she could even start to struggle out of the straps, four hands were steadying her and tugging at the buckles holding the flight pack in place. She looked up into the Doctor's very pale, very drawn face for a moment before Nyssa's welcome voice drew her attention.
"Tegan, are you hurt?" she asked anxiously.
"Ankle," Tegan managed, wheezing a bit. "Breath knocked out of me."
"So much for a landing you can walk away from," the Doctor muttered, his sarcasm belied by his still-bloodless complexion. "Do you have the codes?"
Tegan nodded and fumbled for the belt pouch.
"Let me," Nyssa said, liberating the roll of paper. "I'll get these to the militia leader right away. And Tegan? That was... that was amazing."
Nyssa squeezed her shoulders briefly in a one-armed hug before rushing off with the precious piece of paper, leaving Tegan alone with the Doctor. She concentrated on regaining her breath for a few moments while he fussed around her, removing the jet wing and straightening her left leg so that he could inspect her injured ankle.
"You can stop looking at me like that, you know," she said eventually. "I've been flying every crazy thing I could get my hands on since I was a little kid. The first time I flew my Dad's plane, I was so small I had to sit on a book so I could see over the controls. Would you have liked it better if I'd sat around and let the Loyalist soldiers throw me in a cell with Jahred?"
The Doctor continued to stare at her like he had never seen her before for another beat. Eventually, he shook himself slightly, a hint of color returning to his cheeks.
"No, obviously not," he said calmly. "I'd have done exactly the same thing, in your position."
"Except, of course, that you would have ended up at the other end of the valley, the way you fly," she replied, smiling sweetly as the blood rose to the Doctor's face, erasing his pale look of worry as if it had never been.
"I'll have you know that I was flying before your great-great-great-grandfather was born, thank you very much," he huffed. "Now, I should get you to the TARDIS medbay and take care of that sprained ankle... unless you'd prefer to sit out the revolution?"
"Miss the revolution?" Tegan asked, allowing the sarcasm to flow freely as the Doctor eased one arm around her shoulder and the other under her knees, lifting her easily. "I might as well have stayed in bed this morning."
"Quite," he said, smug. "And where would we all be then, eh?"
fin
Author: ponygirl72
Rating: G
Characters: Five, Tegan, Nyssa
Pairings: None
Summary: It's not her father's two-seater plane, but it will do.
A/N: Written for Round Two of the Flash Fiction Comment-a-thon at who_at_50
Flight
Tegan hastily double-checked the straps holding the jet-wing assembly snugly against her back, trying to block out the smell of smoke and the sounds of fighting rising from the roof access hatch behind her. An hour of discussing the design of the flight pack and watching Jahred use it to deliver medical supplies to the village below was not the same as learning how to use it properly, but Jahred was in a Loyalist jail cell now, and there were, after all, only so many ways to design the flight surfaces on a powered wing.
At least, that's what Tegan told herself as she ran through the arm controls, peering over her own shoulder to confirm that she understood the basics-- ailerons, rudder, elevators.
"What could be simpler?" she said aloud, choking down the slightly hysterical laugh that wanted to escape as she peered over the edge of the roof, down the side of the mountain and into the valley beyond. The TARDIS was down there somewhere, along with Nyssa, the Doctor, and-- hopefully-- the reinforcements that would help secure the Capitol and get the biological weapons out of the Loyalists' hands. Her hand stole unconsciously down to the pouch tied around her waist, feeling the crinkle of the rolled up list of security codes stowed there.
Just then, the clamour from the level below erupted onto the roof behind her, with shouts of "Stop!" and "There she is!", and there was no more time. Heart pounding, she triggered the jet-wing's ignition, staggering at the larger-than-expected kick against her lower back. The footsteps behind her pounded ever closer.
"Oh, rabbits!" she said... and jumped.
For a bare moment, it was a suicide leap. Then, the throttle kicked in and it was like hang-gliding with a rocket engine strapped to your spine. Tegan's scream morphed into a yell of victory as she instinctively corrected for pitch and yaw. The wind whipped tears from her eyes and froze them against her cheeks. She could barely hear herself over the roar of air and engines. In no time at all, the distant village was almost directly below her, and there-- there!-- was the distinctive blue of the TARDIS, a blurred rectangle seen through watering eyes, but unmistakeable nonetheless.
Tegan knew full well from her days behind the controls of her father's little two-seater plane that "flying" and "landing" were two very different things. Rather than rush herself into making a fatal mistake, she banked into a gentle turn, circling the village and scoping out the safest landing zone. By the time she had come around for a second pass, she could make out two figures gaping up at her; one tall and beige, the other small and dressed in brown.
She continued to slow her descent, thinking that, if she could nail her landing, their identical slack-jawed expressions would actually be quite funny. If, on the other hand, they ended up having to scrape her off the side of a building... maybe not so much. At the flick of a switch, the repulsor jets on the bottom of the wings flared into life, and she wobbled alarmingly for a moment before correcting for the new thrust.
At first, she thought she was still coming in too fast, but the repulsors gained more power the closer she got to the ground. Half a second before she was expecting it, her feet touched grass and she was stumbling forward across somebody's courtyard, crying out as her left ankle failed to take her weight properly and sent her sprawling onto her side. The jet-wing powered off automatically upon impact, but the harness twisted tightly across her torso, sharp edges digging painfully into her back.
Before she could even start to struggle out of the straps, four hands were steadying her and tugging at the buckles holding the flight pack in place. She looked up into the Doctor's very pale, very drawn face for a moment before Nyssa's welcome voice drew her attention.
"Tegan, are you hurt?" she asked anxiously.
"Ankle," Tegan managed, wheezing a bit. "Breath knocked out of me."
"So much for a landing you can walk away from," the Doctor muttered, his sarcasm belied by his still-bloodless complexion. "Do you have the codes?"
Tegan nodded and fumbled for the belt pouch.
"Let me," Nyssa said, liberating the roll of paper. "I'll get these to the militia leader right away. And Tegan? That was... that was amazing."
Nyssa squeezed her shoulders briefly in a one-armed hug before rushing off with the precious piece of paper, leaving Tegan alone with the Doctor. She concentrated on regaining her breath for a few moments while he fussed around her, removing the jet wing and straightening her left leg so that he could inspect her injured ankle.
"You can stop looking at me like that, you know," she said eventually. "I've been flying every crazy thing I could get my hands on since I was a little kid. The first time I flew my Dad's plane, I was so small I had to sit on a book so I could see over the controls. Would you have liked it better if I'd sat around and let the Loyalist soldiers throw me in a cell with Jahred?"
The Doctor continued to stare at her like he had never seen her before for another beat. Eventually, he shook himself slightly, a hint of color returning to his cheeks.
"No, obviously not," he said calmly. "I'd have done exactly the same thing, in your position."
"Except, of course, that you would have ended up at the other end of the valley, the way you fly," she replied, smiling sweetly as the blood rose to the Doctor's face, erasing his pale look of worry as if it had never been.
"I'll have you know that I was flying before your great-great-great-grandfather was born, thank you very much," he huffed. "Now, I should get you to the TARDIS medbay and take care of that sprained ankle... unless you'd prefer to sit out the revolution?"
"Miss the revolution?" Tegan asked, allowing the sarcasm to flow freely as the Doctor eased one arm around her shoulder and the other under her knees, lifting her easily. "I might as well have stayed in bed this morning."
"Quite," he said, smug. "And where would we all be then, eh?"
fin