Fic: Flight of Fancy, Ry/Col, Part 1

[kalimyre.livejournal.com]

Flight of Fancy

By kalimyre

Pairing: Ryan/Colin

Rating: R

Category: First time, romance, AU

Summary: A celebrity chef with stage fright and a pilot who hates to fly. Also known as that cracked AU that Clay hooked me on.

Notes: This is clayangel’s fault. (Thank you, Clay.) She gave me the idea and totally encouraged me and also betaed, so really, she’s practically a co-writer. Thanks also to indybaggins, who read each bit I sent and said nice things and made me want to write more, and to anesthesiagirl who found time to beta despite being madly busy.

~~~

The first time, Colin wasn’t sure what to make of him, but couldn’t help liking him anyway.

It was the end of a show, of a long series of shows in quick succession. He left the set and the cheers and laughter of the audience behind, leaning against the wall once he was out of sight and quickly peeling off his mike and battery pack. The scent of garlic and onions clung to his fingers like a second skin, making his eyes sting when he brought his hands up to his face. Techs and set assistants bustled past him in the dimly lit hallway, carrying the set up for the big sales pitch, the real reason for his job.

“Hey.”

Colin lifted his head slowly, and put on a smile. “Hey. That went alright.”

Jamie Mattson, his direct supervisor (with the lofty but mostly inaccurate title of “talent manager”) stood in front of him, watching him carefully. “You were great, Colin,” he said. “You always are.”

Colin just nodded, familiar with the spiel. He was great, everything he did was perfect, if he could just do this one little thing everyone would be very appreciative, and so on and so forth. Jamie liked to coddle and cajole, and while Colin preferred direct honesty, he’d gotten used to his manager’s ways. As his popularity on the cooking circuit had grown, Jamie had spent more and more time soothing what he imagined to be ruffled feathers and speaking in soft, ingratiating tones.

For all that, though, he was the one that invariably got Colin what he needed when it was time for a break, or there was a problem with the set, a wrinkle in the travel arrangements, or booking for a show. He was competent enough at his job that Colin didn’t have to worry about the administrative end of things, and for that he was grateful. He just wished Jamie wouldn’t treat him like such a kid sometimes.

“So,” Colin said, dusting his hands together, “what’s next?”

“Flight to Boston. You’re doing the clam chowder, with Kitchen Tech’s new slow cooker and food processor.”

“Okay. Tonight?”

“Nah, the show’s not till tomorrow. I’ve already got your hotel room set up, you’ll get there in plenty of time to get some rest.” Jamie slung an arm around his shoulders and steered him down the hall, chattering all the while. “Sales are down on the slow cooker in particular--no patience these days, you know. People want their cooking done instantly, it’s the age of the microwave and the drive through, no appreciation for the craft.” He shook his head and tsked, squeezing Colin a little. Colin nodded dutifully and let him keep talking. It was what Jamie loved to do, and it meant Colin himself didn’t have to come up with something salient to add. After three shows in a single day, he felt wrung out and stupid with tiredness.

“Anyway, they want you to really push the slow cooker, talk it up with that funny, charming stuff you’re so good at. Make it look fun.” He held up a hand, even though Colin hadn’t interrupted. “Now I know, that sounds difficult. I mean, it’s a pot that cooks food. Not a lot of fun. But if anyone can do it, I know you can. Didn’t you do great with that chicken recipe, the one with all the fresh herbs that took forever to chop up? There you were, standing for like twenty minutes just cutting stuff, and you kept the audience laughing the whole time. Don’t know how you do it, buddy. It was amazing how many of those knife sets we sold off that show. So I’m sure this is gonna be great, and hey, I’ll be there beforehand, making sure all the ingredients are on hand and the finished chowder will be ready at the right time. Oh, and I noticed there was a little drag today around the eggs, when you had to separate them, you want me to have that done in advance? In a couple different bowls... on second thought, you did get a laugh on the egg thing, so we could keep it in. Fewer eggs in the chowder anyway, aren’t there?”

Colin shrugged, but Jamie wasn’t waiting for an answer. He rattled on, and Colin tuned him out and enjoyed the fresh air as they crossed the parking lot. It was dark, the early autumn air carrying a decided bite that slipped beneath his thin shirt and woke him up a little. He watched the sky but could only spot a few of the brighter stars; the city lights blocked most of them.

“Oh, and we got that plane,” Jamie said as Colin was getting into the car.

“Plane?” Colin asked, staring distractedly out the window. He couldn’t quite remember the last time he had driven himself anywhere, but at the moment he was glad of Jamie’s driving. It meant he could doze a bit before the airport and the inevitable hassles that came with it.

“Mmm, yeah, I finally talked the board into contracting a private pilot and plane for you. In the long run, the expense evens out when you think of all the time we save, not to mention the stress factor, you know, airports.” He gave a theatrical shudder. “It’s only when you’re on tour, and with the numbers you’ve been generating in after show sales, you’ve got a lot of pull with the company right now. Wasn’t that hard to get, really.”

Colin frowned, wrinkling his nose. “A private plane? That’s excessive, isn’t it?”

Jamie gave him a look, amused and indulgent. “Colin, buddy, haven’t you been hearing me? You’re the big star, act like one. It makes Kitchen Tech feel like they’re treating you right, showing some appreciation for all the revenue you’ve gotten for them, and it boosts your image in the media, plus it streamlines the whole planning process when we don’t have to work around the commercial flight system.” He patted Colin’s arm, and his voice went low and earnest. “Come on, just give it a try. I know you don’t like airports, and with this we can go with small, nearby airstrips and skip the whole process, the security and the lines and all that crap. Please? Humor me on this one?”

“Okay,” Colin sighed. “It just seems... pretentious, I guess.”

Jamie laughed and patted his arm again before returning both hands to the steering wheel. “Believe me, when you see this plane, ‘pretentious’ won’t be the first word that comes to mind.”

~~~

Colin figured out what that meant when they walked around the little hangar and saw the plane parked on the runway, cast in a harsh orange light by the arc sodium street lamps. It had twin props and Colin counted four windows on the body, which meant it was probably an eight seater. It rested on three tiny wheels, nose pointed toward the sky. “Sarabeth” was painted on the side in tall, slightly crooked letters.

“Um,” Colin said, hanging back a little. “Are you sure it flies?”

“Course it does.” Jamie tugged him along, rounding one outstretched wing and coming to the door on the side of the plane. It was open, a set of thin metal stairs extended to the tarmac. As they approached, a man poked his head out, spotted them, and climbed out, bending his long, slim body awkwardly to escape the small doorway.

“Hey,” he said, extending a hand. “I’m the pilot. You the chef guy?”

“Yeah,” Colin said, a little bemused. He shook the pilot’s hand, startled by the long fingers and solid grip. People tended to handle him gently, as if he were made of spun sugar. The man was taller than Colin by a few inches, and wore jeans, a simple button down shirt and enormous sneakers.

“Go on ahead,” Jamie said, nudging Colin toward the plane. “I’ve got to wrap things up here, finish up the sales report and make sure our contact information is good with the team on location. I’ll be catching a later flight. Once you get to Boston, a car should meet you at the air strip. You’ll be staying at the Boston Park Plaza Hotel and Towers, here...” He whipped out a notebook and wrote some information down, then handed Colin the page. “There’s the address and your room number. Call me if you run into any snags, okay? I’ll have my cell on.”

“I’ve got it,” Colin told him patiently. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“That’s what I like about you, you’re so upbeat,” Jamie said, patting him on the back. Sometimes Colin wondered if his manager really wanted to pat him on the head and call him a good boy, but just barely refrained from it.

“See you in Boston,” Colin called and got into the plane, ducking his head to get through the door. It looked even smaller on the inside, a short row of seats and a low ceiling, then a pilot and co-pilot seat and a vast array of tiny dials and switches. The carpet and seats were all shades of rich, calming brown, though, and along the left side of the plane the seats had been removed in favor of a small couch that looked perfect for lying down. Colin found himself smiling; maybe this private plane idea was a good one.

“’Scuse me,” the pilot said, edging past him. They jostled together briefly in the tight space and Colin raised his eyebrows at the sharp, wiry feel of the other man. Built like a bundle of sticks, but he seemed to carry it well. Gracefully, even.

Colin sat in the first seat and watched as the pilot folded himself into the cockpit, his long legs bent nearly double for a moment before he fit them beneath the instrument console. “So,” Colin said, “I didn’t get your name earlier.”

“Ryan,” he said over his shoulder, flashing a quick, polite smile. “You’re Mr. Mochrie, right?”

“Colin is fine, thanks.”

Ryan nodded and began tapping a few switches. Colin felt the engines thrum to life and a hum filled the little plane, but it wasn’t as noisy as he’d feared. It was a steady white noise he could easily fall asleep to, actually, and he grinned. This was looking better all the time.

The plane crept forward on its wheels and turned once they were at the end of the short runway, lining the nose up with the center line. Colin could see colored lights all the way down the edges of the runway, blinking steadily, and the lights of the city beyond that, but the space directly in front of them seemed dark and empty. He’d been on so many planes that they were commonplace to him now, and boring, but the immediacy of being able to look right out the front window was actually a bit exciting. Colin wondered if he’d be allowed to sit in the co-pilot seat, and if it would be silly to ask.

Once they were poised for take-off Ryan stopped moving, and Colin could see his shoulders rise and fall as he took a deep breath. He ran a hand through his hair and from what Colin could see of his profile, Ryan was biting his lip, his face set in tense lines.

“Hey,” he said after a long moment, and Ryan jumped.

“Yeah?” he replied, not looking at Colin.

“Is, uh... are you alright? You look a little worried.”

Ryan shrugged and offered him a sheepish look. “Hate flying, that’s all. Scares the crap out of me.”

Colin blinked. “What? But why...”

“You should buckle up,” Ryan interrupted, and pushed on something with his foot. The engines cycled up and the plane began to move forward rapidly, pressing Colin back against his seat. He buckled up, fumbling in his haste. They ascended quickly, the small, light plane taking to the air with what seemed like no effort at all. Colin watched the lights of civilization retreat through the window until the low cloud cover blocked them, and then he looked forward again.

Ryan had both hands on the yoke, white knuckled, tendons standing out in his bony wrists. He was perfectly still, frozen upright in place, but his eyes flicked constantly over the instruments. Colin could see a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead and upper lip. He watched Ryan until they leveled off and he flipped a switch, let go of the yoke, and slumped in his seat with a long sigh.

Colin fiddled with his seatbelt, considered the couch, and then decided against it. It was only a one hour flight anyway, and he had a hopefully soft hotel bed to look forward to. Besides, he was curious.

“Are you okay?” Colin asked, leaning toward the still-slumped pilot. His eyes were closed, one hand covering his face.

“Sure,” Ryan said, lifting his head. “It’s just take-offs that get me. And landings.” He considered for a moment, glancing at the instruments. “And everything in between.”

Colin thought maybe he was very tired, and that was why he was confused. Maybe it made perfect sense, and he just didn’t get it. “Oh,” he said faintly. And then, when Ryan got up and sat on the couch across from him, “Shouldn’t you be flying the plane?”

“Auto-pilot,” Ryan said, shrugging. “It’ll tell me when it’s time to land. Until then, we’re good.”

“Oh,” Colin said again. He eyed the empty pilot seat nervously, but their flight was steady and calm, and he didn’t see any flashing red lights or hear any alarms, so they were probably okay.

There was a rattling noise beside him and Colin turned, raising his eyebrows when he saw Ryan holding a prescription pill bottle and shaking two pills into his palm. They were white and tiny, dwarfed by his enormous hand. Ryan pulled a bottled water from beneath the couch and opened it, swallowing the pills with a couple gulps.

“What’s that?” Colin asked, watching as Ryan put the pill bottle back in his shirt pocket.

“Benzodiazepine.” Ryan caught his look and gave a reassuring smile. “They’re just anti-anxiety meds. Makes it so I can concentrate on the flying.”

“Oh.” Colin thought vaguely that he was saying ‘oh’ an awful lot.

“You want one?”

Colin shook his head. “What? No, I... I’m fine.”

“Hmm.” Ryan shrugged and patted his pocket, where the pills were. “Well, if you change your mind, offer’s still good. It’s just that you’re looking pretty nervous over there.”

“I wonder why,” Colin replied dryly. “Why are you a pilot, if you hate flying so much?”

Ryan looked away, folding his arms. “We’ll be there in less than an hour. Why don’t you lie down for a while? I’m pretty sure your company went with me because my plane’s got a couch. Be a shame to waste it.” Then he got to his feet and slipped back into the pilot seat, putting a radio earpiece and mike over his head.

Colin frowned, but the couch did look inviting, and Ryan didn’t seem inclined to talk anymore. So he lay down, lacing his fingers behind his head and letting the deep hum of the engines seep into his bones. He didn’t remember falling asleep, but the next time he opened his eyes, the plane was tilted in a controlled descent and a light tan blanket had been carefully draped over him.

He sat up, smiling at the blanket, and saw Ryan holding the yoke again, with that same intense stillness and rapid, compulsive checking of the instruments. Colin got into the nearest seat and buckled up, although from what he could see out the window, they were nearly on the ground. It looked like another small runway, but he could see bigger ones, a confusing maze of long lines of light, crisscrossing and growing closer. They were flying into a major airport, then, but apparently into the back of it, away from the big terminal building.

They touched down with a faint bump and the nose bounced back up, as if the plane wanted to be back in the air. They coasted down the runway half grounded and half flying, on two wheels, until their speed dropped and the nose settled again with a thump. Ryan relaxed a little once that happened, and a little more once they’d taxied to a stop beside another hangar. He cut the engines and they whirred down to nothing, leaving a sudden and unfamiliar silence after the steady hum of the past hour.

“Hey, we survived,” Ryan said, offering Colin a grin.

“You’re surprised?”

“Always am,” he replied. “You sleep alright?”

Colin nodded, feeling a little embarrassed at the way he’d knocked out so quickly, in front of a stranger. He usually didn’t feel comfortable enough to sleep in the company of people he didn’t know well, but he supposed it must have been the sound and vibration, not to mention his own exhaustion. “Thanks for the blanket,” he said, darting a smile at the pilot.

“Sure, no problem.” Ryan stood and opened the door, squeezing out and hopping down the steps, skipping the last two. “Thanks for flying Ryan air,” he chirped, smiling like an overly perky flight attendant. “Have a nice day. Buh-bye then, good night, we know you have a choice when it comes to flying and we’re glad you chose us...” He trailed off, laughing, and lifted a hand to Colin, steadying him as he went down the steps. “All that jazz,” he finished, shrugging.

“Flight attendants are usually good looking,” Colin said. Then he let go of Ryan’s hand when he realized he was still holding it.

“Yeah, that’s a myth, actually. Urban legend.” Ryan looked at him for a long moment, then shook himself and turned toward the hangar. “I think that’s your car over there.”

“Oh, yeah, guess it is.” Colin took a few steps, then paused, glancing back at Ryan. “I’m here for a couple days... so I guess I’ll see you for the next flight?”

Ryan leaned back against his plane and smiled, nodding at him. “Yeah. See you then. If you’d like drinks on the plane--bring your own.”

Colin laughed softly and nodded, then turned and headed for his waiting car. When he got there, he could still see Ryan, tall and lean in silhouette, standing with one hand resting on the gangway of the plane and speaking to someone Colin assumed worked in the hangar. Ryan looked in his direction, and it was too dark to see his face, but Colin smiled anyway.

That was the first time he flew with Ryan.

~~~

Continue to part two.