The Sky's The Limit (WLW)

9

"What in god's name possessed you, Levin?!" Tanner listened to her boss as he bit her head off over the phone. "Do you realise what this could do to our reputation?!"

Tanner tapped the speakerphone button and placed her phone on her kitchen counter as she picked up her bottle of anti-inflammatory tablets, popped the lid off and shook two tablets into her palm.

Four days had passed since the Brazil incident. Tanner and DeMarcus were discharged from the hospital the morning after. The doctors had prescribed rest and and a week-long course of medications to help with their pain, and so they were ordered to spend that week recovering at home.

For Tanner, home was her studio apartment in lower Manhattan. It was a simple, modest place but Tanner had done a beautiful job hanging photos and paintings along with contemporary décor to make it feel like her own cozy corner away from the world.

"I realise that, sir," Tanner spoke calmly. Just because Wallace was shouting and losing control didn't mean she had to stoop to that level. It was rather unprofessional in her opinion, even in their present situation. "but I acted in that refugee's best interests because if I hadn't, she would have been killed. Just like the rest of her family."

"This isn't about her, Levin!" Wallace barked. "It's about you violating several rules in Spartan's code of conduct!"

"I saved a life, sir." Tanner replied, downing a glass of water once she had swallowed the two tablets. "I had no choice but to take her with us."

"You always have a choice, Levin! You're the Captain of the 737 fleet for God's sake!" If Wallace could have reached through the phone to slap Tanner, he certainly would have tried. "And you chose to break these rules!"

"Sir, am I grounded or not?" Tanner sighed as she slumped down in her armchair with the phone next to her.

"With immediate effect." Wallace replied. "We're scheduling a tribunal hearing for next week to discuss the future of your career with us."

Every hair on the back of Tanner's neck stood up and she tightly clenched her jaw.

"Levin? Do you hear me?"

"Yes sir, I understand." Tanner pinched the bridge of her nose and balled her free hand into a tight fist. "Thank you. Good night."

She heard the beep of Wallace hanging up and she threw her head into the back of the armchair.

FUCK!

A deep numbness swallowed Tanner's body. Her mind was completely blank. She had just lost her flying career. Her childhood dream. The opportunity of a lifetime.

She forfeited it all.

Fuck it. She thought, standing up and making her way to the liquor cabinet in the corner of the living room. She popped the tin cap off a bottle of single malt Johnny Walker and poured a double shot of the liquid fire into a glass. She didn't add ice. She needed to feel that burn go all the way down.

She gazed out her enormous glass window at the city in front of her; the whole of Manhattan was lit from basement to ceiling. Lines of cars moved through the streets like tiny fireflies. It was a view fit for kings.

Yet all Tanner could focus on was the soft white glow of the Spartan logo that adorned its office building way off in the distance, South East of her apartment. Just a few days ago, it was her greatest pride; a trophy. A badge of honour that was embroidered on her uniform and symbolised everything she stood for.

Now it was her execution site; a hangman's noose to leer at her until it destroyed her and everything she had worked for.

"Hey, Mel." DeMarcus answered his phone. Spartan had granted him leave to go back to his Philadelphia home with Justina while he rested and recuperated after the Brazil incident.