"First Encounter"
Title: First Encounter
Fandom: Pan Am
Author: Alidiabin
Words: 2,150
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Warnings/Spoilers/Rating: none || none pre-series || PG
Parings: Dean/Bridget, Colette/OMC,
Summary: When Dean met Colette for the first time. Pre-series.
First Encounter
They did not usually stay at Bridget's apartment. In the three short months they had been together, if they did not spend the evening in a hotel room in some foreign city, they almost always ended up staying at Dean's apartment. Dean's bachelor pad, had been the venue for many of their late night escapades of which his neighbours were unfortunate spectators. Dean had enquired about staying at Bridget's apartment especially as it was closer to Pan Am, but Bridget had come up with various excuses over their courtship for why his place was the preferred venue. She had nosy neighbours, thin walls, or her mother was always calling from England and had no concept of time differences. Dean had never pushed the issue, not wanting something so silly to break them up, and preferring to stay at his familiar apartment anyway.
But his apartment building was being fumigated and they were in New York so they had to stay at her apartment. Bridget had seemed rather upset at this. Dean understood her desire for privacy, for a safe place but they were going steady, surely it was about time he saw more than just her front door. Her apartment was rather large and much less personal than he imagined. The walls were a bland beige colour and covered in little framed postcards of the faraway places she had been. She had a few trinkets, books and record on a bookshelf which had sheen of dust on it, indicating that she spent very little time in the apartment. Dean scanned the darkened apartment for photographs while she was in the bathroom, he found just two pinned on the fridge. One of the photographs seemed to be many years old and featured a younger stiff-looking Bridget standing between two equally stiff-looking adults he presumed to be her parents. While the other photograph showed a completely different version of Bridget, a happy smiley one. It featured Bridget and another woman with exotic features both in Pan Am uniform and both smiling from ear to ear. Dean stared at the picture wondering who the other woman was. He had met many stewardesses as the plane he was the first officer on seemed to have a new crew every week but not the dark haired on in the picture, who appeared to be Bridget's friend. Bridget never seemed to talk about her friends.
There was a knocking at the door. Dean stood still as it continued, he was not sure if he should answer it. Bridget seemed like such a private person and he did not want to make her look bad by opening the door. She had told him that her neighbours thought she was a lady of the night.
"Bridget," he called, shouting in the direction she had gone in. "Someone is at your door."
"I know," she replied sounding frustrated, "Answer the damn door Dean."
"Bridget," an accented voice called through to door, "Bridget,"
Dean rushed to the door, opening it to reveal the girl with the exotic features from Bridget's photograph. Unlike the photograph this time the girl was not smiling. Her eyes were raw and red, and make up was running down her cheek. Dean stood and stared at the creature that stood before him confused at what he was supposed to do, his dealings with crying girls had been few and far between.
"You are not Bridget," she whispered as she rubbed her eyes, trying to pretend she had not cried during the whole subway ride to Bridget's apartment.
"No, he is Dean. And Dean, she is Colette." Bridget declared as she walked out of the bathroom dressed only a silk robe which was too beautiful to be from anywhere but the orient. Dean smiled but Bridget was focused on her friend, and noticed the signs of distress in her. "Colette, what happened?"
"I will go," Colette insisted, realising she had intruded on a private party. She turned to leave, her voice was shaky "You, you have company,"
"I can't let you leave in this state," Bridget responded as she pulled her friend in close. Dean had never seen so much affection from her and stood amazed at the scene of female bonding, "Now, tell me what happened."
"Michel," Colette whispered as a fresh bout of tears ran down her face. Dean watched as Bridget sighed. "Michel, he, he,"
"He did what?" Bridget asked as they glided to the couch in the centre of the room without talking about it.
Colette began to talk to in French, and Dean got lost in translation. Bridget responded in French. Dean sat down at Bridget's breakfast bar and hoped Colette would leave soon, so he could have Bridget all to himself.
"Dean," Bridget called snapping him out of his boredom, he turned around to find Colette sobbing, and Bridget offering condolences.
"Yes," he replied, hoping Bridget would tell him that Colette would be leaving soon.
"Pass the wine and a couple of glasses," she whispered before turning to Colette and speaking French again. Dean sighed, as it seemed Colette would be staying longer.
Dean played the role of dutiful boyfriend and handed her what she wanted. He sat at the breakfast bar flicking through a life magazine from months before hand that Bridget probably took from a plane. He watched the clock on Bridget's oven, seconds dripped into minutes and minutes dripped into hours. The night was passing them by, and he was spending it listening to a Frenchwoman he had never met before lament about a man named Michel.
Colette did not leave, instead she and Bridget polished off the bottle of wine between them. Dean did not even get a glass or a word in edgewise. Eventually, once the night had bled into the next day, it was decided the Colette would sleep on Bridget's couch. Of course Dean was not alerted to the new sleeping arrangements until he saw Bridget pull out blankets from a storage box under the window.
"I hope those aren't for me," he asked as Bridget placed them on the couch.
"Non," Colette replied before rushing to cover her mouth to hide the burp that was about to erupt from her. Sadness had apparently turned into the drunken giggles.
"She is far too drunk to try and navigate the subway," Bridget told Dean, speaking about her friend as if she were not present. She gave him an apologetic look and asked him to go warm up her bed.
XXX
Dean was banished to Bridget's bedroom while Bridget settled Colette in. He had refrained from passing judgement about her French friend but was beginning to think to dislike her, mostly for monopolising his girlfriend.
"I am sorry about that," Bridget uttered as she let herself into the bedroom. "She just had her heart broken, again."
"Again?" Dean asked, he had heard all sorts of stories about stewardesses from the other pilots. Many of the Captains and so called sky gods were unashamed of their affairs with stewardesses, but still warned Dean about the predatory ones who were using Pan Am as a way to marry up.
"Yes, again," Bridget responded with a sigh.
"Why did she come to you?" he asked his jealously showing as the night had banished the filter between his mind and his mouth.
"Because I am the only one who can help her put it back together again," Bridget declared sounding like some nursery rhyme his mother used to whisper to him to send him off to sleep.
"What?" he asked not understanding the riddle that she had spoken.
"Colette," Bridget paused as she tried to find the words to describe her friend, without blabbing her life story in the process, "She is looking for something and every time she thinks she will find this something, this happy ending in these men. Every time they break her heart. She needs to learn to stop falling so hard. I think maybe she likes the idea of being in love,"
"So falling in love is a bad thing," Dean asked confused about what his girlfriend had said, and briefly wondering if they were on the same page romantically.
"No," Bridget responded digging herself out of the hole she had unintentionally fallen into, "She just gives her heart too freely. She does not look before she leaps. She also does not check for wedding rings."
"Oh," Dean replied. He felt a tiny bit of pity for the French woman who obviously liked being in love, but was just so unlucky in it.
Bridget climbed into bed, dressed only in a silk slip which served to distract him from any thoughts apart for her. She gave him a kiss on the lips, which gave him his only taste of the evenings wine. She promised him more in the morning, when her friend was not sleeping on her couch.
XXX
He was up again as the sun rose, unable to sleep in Bridget's apartment and still very jetlagged. In his few months as a commercial pilot he had learnt that jetlag was almost permanent and an acceptable side effect to all the adventures he was having. Momentarily forgetting that there was a third occupant in the apartment he walked toward Bridget's kitchen looking for a glass of water, dressed only in the stripped boxers he had gone to bed in.
The couch did not contain a sleeping French woman. Instead the blankets were folded neatly like they were on the plane, and Colette's purse lay open on the coffee table. The tap was running in the bathroom.
"Bonjour," Colette whispered as she walked out of the bathroom dressed in the very clothes she had fallen asleep in. "I hope I did not wake you,"
"Hi," he replied as he searched for a glass in Bridget's apartment. "No, I used to be in airforce, so I'm used to waking with the sun."
"Cupboard on the right," Colette muttered as she tried to fix her hair. Dean looked at her with a confused look on his face. "The glasses for water, they are in the cupboard on the right. Do not use a mug, Bridget insists that mugs are only for warm drinks."
"Noted," he answered as he retrieved a glass and filled it with water. He showed it to Colette silently offering her one.
"Please," she replied, as she rubbed her head. "I am never drinking again. Did we really drink the whole bottle?"
"I have a hangover cure," he uttered as he handed her the glass of water. "You did drink the whole bottle, but don't worry it was courtesy of Pan Am."
"I will go home and sleep it off," Colette answered as she took a small sip of water and giggled at the thought of pilot and stewardess borrowing the bottle, "And next time I turn up in such a state, you must send me back where I came from."
"Maybe next time it will be Bridget who turns up at your door," Dean answered, while had no intention of breaking Bridget's heart, Bridget and Colette seemed close enough to sit together and mend each other's broken hearts. He wondered briefly if Bridget had debriefed Colette about him.
"I do not think so, Bridget seems to like you very much," Colette replied with a smile, "Besides Bridget seems to be the heart breaker,"
"I'm sorry," he muttered as he opened Bridget's fridge in search of breakfast only to find it barren. He started to wonder if Bridget was ever actually at her apartment.
"She does not eat here often," Colette responded as she looked at her friend's empty fridge. With their job they seldom spent any time at home and Bridget was among the worst. "And what are you sorry for?"
"You're heart getting broken," Dean answered as he looked in the cupboard for something tinned to eat for breakfast, with no such luck.
"Do not be sorry," Colette answered with a bittersweet smile, "It is simply like a turbulent in the sky, soon it will be over and I will forget it even happened."
"That's a good way to think about it," he told her, as she leaned across him to pour the undrunk water into the sink.
"That is the only way to think about it," she answered as she backed out of the kitchen, "I must get home. It was nice to meet you, Dan,"
"It's Dean," Dean responded. He was hurt that she had not even bothered to learn his name,
"Tell Bridget to call me, and apologize on my behalf," Colette uttered as she opened the door to let herself out, "nice boxers Dean."
Dean watched as she closed the door. He stood in the middle of Bridget's kitchen and reflected on the past twenty-four hours, he was sure Colette was going to become a favorite of Bridget's friends.
This entry was originally posted at http://alidiabin.dreamwidth.org/238009.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
Fandom: Pan Am
Author: Alidiabin
Words: 2,150
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Warnings/Spoilers/Rating: none || none pre-series || PG
Parings: Dean/Bridget, Colette/OMC,
Summary: When Dean met Colette for the first time. Pre-series.
First Encounter
They did not usually stay at Bridget's apartment. In the three short months they had been together, if they did not spend the evening in a hotel room in some foreign city, they almost always ended up staying at Dean's apartment. Dean's bachelor pad, had been the venue for many of their late night escapades of which his neighbours were unfortunate spectators. Dean had enquired about staying at Bridget's apartment especially as it was closer to Pan Am, but Bridget had come up with various excuses over their courtship for why his place was the preferred venue. She had nosy neighbours, thin walls, or her mother was always calling from England and had no concept of time differences. Dean had never pushed the issue, not wanting something so silly to break them up, and preferring to stay at his familiar apartment anyway.
But his apartment building was being fumigated and they were in New York so they had to stay at her apartment. Bridget had seemed rather upset at this. Dean understood her desire for privacy, for a safe place but they were going steady, surely it was about time he saw more than just her front door. Her apartment was rather large and much less personal than he imagined. The walls were a bland beige colour and covered in little framed postcards of the faraway places she had been. She had a few trinkets, books and record on a bookshelf which had sheen of dust on it, indicating that she spent very little time in the apartment. Dean scanned the darkened apartment for photographs while she was in the bathroom, he found just two pinned on the fridge. One of the photographs seemed to be many years old and featured a younger stiff-looking Bridget standing between two equally stiff-looking adults he presumed to be her parents. While the other photograph showed a completely different version of Bridget, a happy smiley one. It featured Bridget and another woman with exotic features both in Pan Am uniform and both smiling from ear to ear. Dean stared at the picture wondering who the other woman was. He had met many stewardesses as the plane he was the first officer on seemed to have a new crew every week but not the dark haired on in the picture, who appeared to be Bridget's friend. Bridget never seemed to talk about her friends.
There was a knocking at the door. Dean stood still as it continued, he was not sure if he should answer it. Bridget seemed like such a private person and he did not want to make her look bad by opening the door. She had told him that her neighbours thought she was a lady of the night.
"Bridget," he called, shouting in the direction she had gone in. "Someone is at your door."
"I know," she replied sounding frustrated, "Answer the damn door Dean."
"Bridget," an accented voice called through to door, "Bridget,"
Dean rushed to the door, opening it to reveal the girl with the exotic features from Bridget's photograph. Unlike the photograph this time the girl was not smiling. Her eyes were raw and red, and make up was running down her cheek. Dean stood and stared at the creature that stood before him confused at what he was supposed to do, his dealings with crying girls had been few and far between.
"You are not Bridget," she whispered as she rubbed her eyes, trying to pretend she had not cried during the whole subway ride to Bridget's apartment.
"No, he is Dean. And Dean, she is Colette." Bridget declared as she walked out of the bathroom dressed only a silk robe which was too beautiful to be from anywhere but the orient. Dean smiled but Bridget was focused on her friend, and noticed the signs of distress in her. "Colette, what happened?"
"I will go," Colette insisted, realising she had intruded on a private party. She turned to leave, her voice was shaky "You, you have company,"
"I can't let you leave in this state," Bridget responded as she pulled her friend in close. Dean had never seen so much affection from her and stood amazed at the scene of female bonding, "Now, tell me what happened."
"Michel," Colette whispered as a fresh bout of tears ran down her face. Dean watched as Bridget sighed. "Michel, he, he,"
"He did what?" Bridget asked as they glided to the couch in the centre of the room without talking about it.
Colette began to talk to in French, and Dean got lost in translation. Bridget responded in French. Dean sat down at Bridget's breakfast bar and hoped Colette would leave soon, so he could have Bridget all to himself.
"Dean," Bridget called snapping him out of his boredom, he turned around to find Colette sobbing, and Bridget offering condolences.
"Yes," he replied, hoping Bridget would tell him that Colette would be leaving soon.
"Pass the wine and a couple of glasses," she whispered before turning to Colette and speaking French again. Dean sighed, as it seemed Colette would be staying longer.
Dean played the role of dutiful boyfriend and handed her what she wanted. He sat at the breakfast bar flicking through a life magazine from months before hand that Bridget probably took from a plane. He watched the clock on Bridget's oven, seconds dripped into minutes and minutes dripped into hours. The night was passing them by, and he was spending it listening to a Frenchwoman he had never met before lament about a man named Michel.
Colette did not leave, instead she and Bridget polished off the bottle of wine between them. Dean did not even get a glass or a word in edgewise. Eventually, once the night had bled into the next day, it was decided the Colette would sleep on Bridget's couch. Of course Dean was not alerted to the new sleeping arrangements until he saw Bridget pull out blankets from a storage box under the window.
"I hope those aren't for me," he asked as Bridget placed them on the couch.
"Non," Colette replied before rushing to cover her mouth to hide the burp that was about to erupt from her. Sadness had apparently turned into the drunken giggles.
"She is far too drunk to try and navigate the subway," Bridget told Dean, speaking about her friend as if she were not present. She gave him an apologetic look and asked him to go warm up her bed.
XXX
Dean was banished to Bridget's bedroom while Bridget settled Colette in. He had refrained from passing judgement about her French friend but was beginning to think to dislike her, mostly for monopolising his girlfriend.
"I am sorry about that," Bridget uttered as she let herself into the bedroom. "She just had her heart broken, again."
"Again?" Dean asked, he had heard all sorts of stories about stewardesses from the other pilots. Many of the Captains and so called sky gods were unashamed of their affairs with stewardesses, but still warned Dean about the predatory ones who were using Pan Am as a way to marry up.
"Yes, again," Bridget responded with a sigh.
"Why did she come to you?" he asked his jealously showing as the night had banished the filter between his mind and his mouth.
"Because I am the only one who can help her put it back together again," Bridget declared sounding like some nursery rhyme his mother used to whisper to him to send him off to sleep.
"What?" he asked not understanding the riddle that she had spoken.
"Colette," Bridget paused as she tried to find the words to describe her friend, without blabbing her life story in the process, "She is looking for something and every time she thinks she will find this something, this happy ending in these men. Every time they break her heart. She needs to learn to stop falling so hard. I think maybe she likes the idea of being in love,"
"So falling in love is a bad thing," Dean asked confused about what his girlfriend had said, and briefly wondering if they were on the same page romantically.
"No," Bridget responded digging herself out of the hole she had unintentionally fallen into, "She just gives her heart too freely. She does not look before she leaps. She also does not check for wedding rings."
"Oh," Dean replied. He felt a tiny bit of pity for the French woman who obviously liked being in love, but was just so unlucky in it.
Bridget climbed into bed, dressed only in a silk slip which served to distract him from any thoughts apart for her. She gave him a kiss on the lips, which gave him his only taste of the evenings wine. She promised him more in the morning, when her friend was not sleeping on her couch.
XXX
He was up again as the sun rose, unable to sleep in Bridget's apartment and still very jetlagged. In his few months as a commercial pilot he had learnt that jetlag was almost permanent and an acceptable side effect to all the adventures he was having. Momentarily forgetting that there was a third occupant in the apartment he walked toward Bridget's kitchen looking for a glass of water, dressed only in the stripped boxers he had gone to bed in.
The couch did not contain a sleeping French woman. Instead the blankets were folded neatly like they were on the plane, and Colette's purse lay open on the coffee table. The tap was running in the bathroom.
"Bonjour," Colette whispered as she walked out of the bathroom dressed in the very clothes she had fallen asleep in. "I hope I did not wake you,"
"Hi," he replied as he searched for a glass in Bridget's apartment. "No, I used to be in airforce, so I'm used to waking with the sun."
"Cupboard on the right," Colette muttered as she tried to fix her hair. Dean looked at her with a confused look on his face. "The glasses for water, they are in the cupboard on the right. Do not use a mug, Bridget insists that mugs are only for warm drinks."
"Noted," he answered as he retrieved a glass and filled it with water. He showed it to Colette silently offering her one.
"Please," she replied, as she rubbed her head. "I am never drinking again. Did we really drink the whole bottle?"
"I have a hangover cure," he uttered as he handed her the glass of water. "You did drink the whole bottle, but don't worry it was courtesy of Pan Am."
"I will go home and sleep it off," Colette answered as she took a small sip of water and giggled at the thought of pilot and stewardess borrowing the bottle, "And next time I turn up in such a state, you must send me back where I came from."
"Maybe next time it will be Bridget who turns up at your door," Dean answered, while had no intention of breaking Bridget's heart, Bridget and Colette seemed close enough to sit together and mend each other's broken hearts. He wondered briefly if Bridget had debriefed Colette about him.
"I do not think so, Bridget seems to like you very much," Colette replied with a smile, "Besides Bridget seems to be the heart breaker,"
"I'm sorry," he muttered as he opened Bridget's fridge in search of breakfast only to find it barren. He started to wonder if Bridget was ever actually at her apartment.
"She does not eat here often," Colette responded as she looked at her friend's empty fridge. With their job they seldom spent any time at home and Bridget was among the worst. "And what are you sorry for?"
"You're heart getting broken," Dean answered as he looked in the cupboard for something tinned to eat for breakfast, with no such luck.
"Do not be sorry," Colette answered with a bittersweet smile, "It is simply like a turbulent in the sky, soon it will be over and I will forget it even happened."
"That's a good way to think about it," he told her, as she leaned across him to pour the undrunk water into the sink.
"That is the only way to think about it," she answered as she backed out of the kitchen, "I must get home. It was nice to meet you, Dan,"
"It's Dean," Dean responded. He was hurt that she had not even bothered to learn his name,
"Tell Bridget to call me, and apologize on my behalf," Colette uttered as she opened the door to let herself out, "nice boxers Dean."
Dean watched as she closed the door. He stood in the middle of Bridget's kitchen and reflected on the past twenty-four hours, he was sure Colette was going to become a favorite of Bridget's friends.
This entry was originally posted at http://alidiabin.dreamwidth.org/238009.html. Please comment there using OpenID.