<strong>"Jesus."</strong><br/><br/>J.D. got to his feet and blinked hard five times, waiting for the floor of the plane to stop whirling around over his head.  Snippets of conversation floated up to his ears through a soup of vertigo.  He recognized familiar words about training and supplies and casualties, all spoken with that crisp ring of determination peculiar to military folk:  that would be Athena, assessing the situation and taking charge.  J.D. had already learned to look to her whenever leadership was required, rather than that loudmouth Welles, who was all bluster and no backbone.  (Being much shorter than her, J.D. had also learned to look to her for spectacular eyefuls of cleavage, but it was her level-headedness that counted in a situation like this, even more than her physical wiles.)  The blowhard always liked to pretend he was in charge, regardless of where the team's real loyalties lay, so it was unusual to not hear his incessant background barking.<br/><br/>The slower, sedate tones that J.D. noticed next came from Oscar:  not much of a talker, at least around his young compeer, but when he spoke, it usually counted for something and was worth listening to.  The speedster had failed so far in his attempts to warm up to the grizzled hero, who always seemed preoccupied with private matters and utterly disinterested in J.D.'s juvenile snickering.  His stoic reserve made the youngster look up to him and even want to impress him, win his approval somehow (though he'd never admit to such a thing).<br/><br/>None of these sounds were what the teenager was listening for, however, and as his head cleared, he grew increasingly alarmed at the absence of other voices nearby.  The adorable chirping of the petite doctor, whom J.D. had been crushing on hard for months now, was no longer audible, and he dimly recalled crazy Janet making a rare appearance seconds before the --<br/><br/><em>'Crash.  South America, airplane ... Jesus.  We just crashed a fucking airplane in South America, and -- just my luck -- I was almost ready to ask Stephanie for her phone number before everything went crazy ... Jesus!  Stephanie!'</em><br/><br/>The blonde was the one with whom he'd been exchanging breathy whispers before their discreet flirtation had been interrupted by turbulence and weird lights.  The painful pounding that he'd taken as he was jostled around finally registered, and at about the same time, his initial disorientation gave way to panic over the whereabouts of Stephanie and the other unheard staffpeople.  J.D. surveyed the state of the airplane and its crew in a two-second burst of motion, long enough for him to get the blood of all eight dead passengers on his hands.  At the end of his reconaissance, he dashed out the door, past his teammates, and emptied his stomach onto the jungle floor.