“It was my first time in an airplane and I was nervous. Still, it was totally unexpected when the missile hit. I guess I was expecting something more like… Well, I dunno what exactly I was nervous about happening, but not that.”
“I can imagine. So what happened then Mr. Rodriguez?”
“The whole plane shook and it was loud, really loud. I didn’t know what was going on, nobody did, but there was stuff flying everywhere and people screaming. Those masks dropped down, the ones with the oxygen, so I put mine on. I don’t know if it was working, though.”
He looked at the reporter questioningly, clearly unsure if his answer was what she wanted, and then his eyes flickered towards the cameraman and where Roger stood beyond the lights. Fran smiled at him reassuringly but shifted her look to one of concern for the next question.
“And what was that like? What were you thinking in the moments after the attack?”
“Uh… That this was it. I was gonna die,” he said plainly.
His eyes widened but little else changed in his stolid expression. There was a metallic squeak as the reporter shifted in her seat and she winced in annoyance but immediately recomposed her face. Roger made a mental note to have the chair repaired or replaced and then recalled that he’d already spoken to his assistant about it the day before.
She stretched a perfectly manicured hand out and laid it on top of his.
“How horrifying for you. If you could say anything to the terrorists responsible for this attack, what would it be?”
Mr. Rodriguez stared at her hand and swallowed. Jesus Henrietta Christ, thought Roger, is he blushing? He shook his head and moved quietly to the left, to where she could see him clearly. This guy wasn’t going to give them anything good. He drew a finger through the air in front of his throat.
“I-I’d tell them that was fucked up.”
His eyes immediately grew wide.
“Wait, I can’t say that, can I?”
“That’s fine, Mr. Rodriguez. Thank you so much for your time.”
It took him a minute to realize his interview was over. While Fran was exchanging a few final empty pleasantries, Roger pulled out his phone and shot off a text to his worthless assistant, so he missed seeing exactly how it happened.
By the time he looked up Fran was on the ground awkwardly sprawled over the broken chair while that idiot hovered over her, apologizing for tripping again and again but doing nothing useful. Pocketing his phone again, Roger rushed over.
He shouldered the heavyset Mr. Rodriguez out of the way and bent down, quickly finding that Fran was shaken but not hurt. She shifted her weight and discovered that her clothing hadn’t fared as well.
When he saw the rip in her dress, he had a hard time controlling his anger. He’d just bought it for her, for an exorbitant price, as an apology for their last fight. Still he managed to keep cool enough not to yell at anyone. That had been one of her main complaints, his anger.
The interview subject was still standing next to them, still apologizing. Roger pulled over a crew member to guide Mr. Rodriguez out of the room and off the premises, hopefully to somewhere Roger would never have to see him again, and then helped Fran up.
She clung to his arm after she was up, giving it a grateful squeeze before looking down at her dress and sighing.
“Maybe it can be saved.”
Roger shrugged, feeling silly for how much that little detail bothered him.
“I am really ready to go home,” she said.
When they left the studio, there were clouds in the sky threatening imminent rain. Fran smiled wryly at him.
“At least I don’t have to worry about getting my silk dress wet.”
He forced himself to smile back, though he’d be happier never to hear about the damned dress again. He was still angry. Not even sending off a quick email firing his assistant had relieved his feelings.
She could clearly sense his mood and brushed her fingers over his upper arm.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
“I’m just worried about work,” he lied. “We need enough of these interviews to run them for at least two weeks, maybe three. There’s all kinds of rumors online about this being faked or an inside job and the ministry is putting a lot of pressure on the station.”
Fran shook her head and sighed. “People are so awful.”
“What we really need is a passenger who lost someone, like that one who’s husband died,” he said. “I wish we could convince her to come in.”
He saw Fran grimace out of the corner of his eye, no doubt thinking that he was one of those awful people. He wondered how much longer they could last.
This was inspired by this weekend's three #freewrite prompts by 
Image from LittleVisuals via pixabay.