monaboyd_month | Fic: Transatlantic Flights

Transatlantic Flights
Rated PG
Billy/Dom

Billy is distracted at the airport. The man in line behind him has to clear his throat three times before Billy realizes that it's his turn to pass through the metal detector.

He almost leaves one of his carry-ons on the table, remembering once he's a few steps away.

He catches the end of the boarding message and realizes he's missed his section. He has to awkwardly shuffle past two other people to get to his window seat.

*

On the flight, he can't sleep. He puts headphones on and listen to his ipod, but makes it only a few lines into each song before he's clicking over to the next one. When the in-flight movie starts, he puts the ipod away and tries to watch it instead. He's seen the film before, and it isn't much better the second go around.

There's an older woman beside him. They exchange a few niceties... the conversation is more engaging than anything else, so Billy welcomes it.

"I had a fight with my best friend," he finds himself admitting to her. "It's his fault and mine all the same. We're both so bloody hard-headed sometimes, I knew if we kept it on without being face to face that it'd be the end of us."

She makes a fuss over what a dedicated friend he is.

He's not always been so dedicated, he responds to her. He's done some awfully rotten things before, but so has his mate and they've both learned to forgive.

He hopes, anyway.

*

International customs is always a bitch. Billy is still preoccupied, only this time he's sleep deprived and out of his mind with nerves and dread as well.

Some time between waiting for his luggage and arriving at the hotel, he's decided what he needs to do.

*

"Sir," A young woman (all California, honey blonde and tanned) catches his attention. "I think you left this on that counter back there."

She holds out his little silver mobile. His hand pats his pockets to make sure it's his, and then takes it from her with a very sincere, "Thank you."

She has that look in her eye like she might maybe kind of recognize him from somewhere, but can't place it. Her eyes flicker wider when he speaks and she smiles. "Scotland?"

"Yeah, that's right! Very good ear you've got there." The compliment is only slightly over-exaggerated. He's come not to expect most Americans to be able to differentiate between Scottish, Irish, or even bloody Australian.

"So what are you doing so far away from him?" She steps in a little closer, body shifting toward him.

In response to her question, inwardly, he raises an eyebrow. Outwardly, he smiles.

"I think I'm going to ask a man to marry me."