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Lockwood's knee bounced up and down as he stared up at the ceiling tiles, trying to ignore the glaring fluorescents that shined back at him. Three in that row, two there - skip one for one of those ghastly lights, four in the next row. Four? How did that work? Oh, two smaller panels to account for a vent.
Lockwood lost track of time as he catalogued the gypsum squares. He tried to breathe. He tried to keep his heart from leaping out of his chest from worry. His eyes darted to his watch; it has been over two hours. His leg began to bounce again and he heard a sigh from his left as a hand came to cease its movement.
"Mate, she'll be fine. You panicking won't help her right now," George said as he used his free hand to place a receipt in the book he had been reading and closed it. Lockwood started to chew on his lip instead.
"I know George, but they haven't said anything! No update, no one asking for us to come back --"
"Lockwood!" George's voice was sharp but he didn't raise it. Not yet, at least. "They'll get us when they know more. There's literally nothing we can do."
"I'm her husband," he scoffed, looking back up at the ceiling tiles and quickly closing his eyes as he fought to keep the growing migraine away, "I should know something by now." George sighed and gave a small nod.
"You're right, but I'm certain she's fine. It's Lucy we're talking about here," The researcher shifted to digging through the kit bag that had made it inside with them. Eventually he pulled out a pair of shades and tapped them against Lockwood's chest. The teen opened his eyes and squinted down at them before sighing in relief and putting them on.
"Thanks, mate." He mumbled, resigning himself to going back to counting the grey tiles. George merely grunted back as he picked up his book again.
It looked like there was nothing they could do but wait.