Sky of Longing Part Two
“Hey there, Chuck,” John said, as he strode into the pilot ready room. “Enjoying the rain?”
Chuck looked up from his computer and blinked at him.
“It’s pouring outside,” John clarified. “Has been all day.”
“It’s sunny in Toronto,” Chuck said, sounding dazed. “Bad winds up over the prairies.”
“Good to know,” John said. “What have you got for BC interior?”
“Clear skies,” Chuck said. “I think you could take your regular route.”
“But what’s the fun in that?”
“I bet you could shave at least ten minutes off your arrival time,” Chuck said, passing John a copy of the forecasted weather patterns. “But there’s going to be some turbulence over the Rockies, so you can’t beat your record today.”
“Thanks,” John said, walking around to his designated computer. He punched in his password and started charting out the route he would fly that afternoon. It was the same route he had used yesterday, and the day before that and the day before that.
John leaned back casually and took a stealthy look over to look at the screen of the guy next to him. Hong Kong. He grit his teeth against the inevitable pang of envy, especially since the guy’s route made absolutely no sense, and would probably wind up coming in late.
John stepped away from the computer area before he said something he would wind up regretting, and pulled the newly released schedule out of his mail file, with a silent prayer and that flash of hope he could never quite extinguish. He scanned it quickly, running his finger down the page of brightly colored boxes. All domestic. The oil run. Again. And not even the good one, where he at least got to fly over to the Maritimes, but the endless triangle of Edmonton, Calgary and Vancouver, with the odd run up to Fort McMurray for some excitement. It was what he had been expecting, but he couldn’t stop thinking that it just wasn’t enough.
“You have a picture of Johnny Cash in your hat?”
John whipped around. Rodney was standing by his workstation, hat in hand.
“Yah,” John said. “My first name’s Sue.”
“Oh really,” Rodney said. John wondered how he could simultaneously be looking down at the inside of his hat while having his pointy nose high in the air. “Aren’t you supposed to have pictures of loved ones in here? The stack of pictures of your many girlfriends too big to fit, hmm?”
“No girls,” John said easily, and then steeled himself. He took a deep breath. “I prefer Johnny Cash.”
Rodney stared at him. Hopefully Rodney wasn’t going to punch him or make the face of disgusted homophobia.
“But his music’s terrible.” Rodney looked down at the picture again. “No girl?”
“I used to have a picture of my helicopter in there,” John offered, smiling a little. Rodney was cool with it; he hadn’t freaked out over his obvious, obvious ‘I’m a gay homo and I’m in love with you’ hints. “Prettier than any girl I ever saw.”
“You are such a freak,” Rodney said, but it didn’t sound like Rodney really thought so. “What happened to the helicopter?”
John tasted ashes on his tongue.
“Got tired of it,” John said, as casually as he could manage. The helicopter picture had come out the first time he’d had a rough landing. Flying with the picture of a downed bird just seemed like a jinx. “I saw the new 787s.”
“Aren’t they huge?” Rodney grinned. “The engines are state of the art.”
“I don’t know much about them.”
“Cookies are good,” Rodney said, and then frowned. “I mean, they have good cookies in the cafeteria.”
John smiled at him, waiting. Maybe Rodney hadn’t picked up on the confession.
“We could get some,” Rodney said. “And I’ll tell you about the engine.”
Maybe he had.
“Sure,” John said, and he shivered when Rodney ran his hand up his arm as he passed him to lead the way, and wondered what in the hell Rodney was doing in the ready room. When he asked him, later on, Rodney just stammered a little bit, and didn’t touch John again for the rest of the day.
*
“What’re you doing, McKay?”
Rodney gasped and dropped his wrench as he jerked around to face John.
“Nothing,” he said guiltily, eyes not quite meeting John’s. “Standard repairs.”
John folded his arms.
“Maybe something,” Rodney said, picking his wrench back up. “But if it was something it would be completely sanctioned and absolutely by the book.”
“Really,” John said, biting back a smile. “By the book?”
“It’s in the chapter heading,” Rodney said stoutly, before he visibly wilted. “Well maybe it should be in the book, it’s certainly such an obvious modification that even a moron could see it.”
“Yeah?” John asked, leaning closer to the spoiler flap on the wing of the plane. McKay had it open and the wires were half pulled out.
Rodney smiled at him, and John was surprised at how good it felt to be the recipient of that smile. He wanted to make it happen again, sometime.
“You see,” Rodney said, “If you cross that here, instead of here-“
John jumped back as Rodney slapped his hand.
“Don’t touch that, you’ll be electrocuted and die and then I’ll have to stop what I’m doing to save your life.”
John smiled again, but tried to force it down as he leaned back in to follow what Rodney was doing.
“I better get going,” John said after a while, looking down at his watch regretfully. “I need to get my pre-flight checks done soon.”
“Oh,” said Rodney, not looking him in the eye. “I thought the First Officer was in charge of that.”
“I like to do it myself,” John said, feeling a little embarrassed. “Make sure everything’s okay.”
“Well, I-“ Rodney said hesitantly, and then gathered himself to say with bravado -“I took over the pre-flight on your route.”
“You?” John felt the edges of a smile coming on. “But isn’t the chief mechanic a little busy to be doing routine flights?”
“I like to get my hands dirty,” Rodney said loftily. “It lets the minions know that I am a man of the people. Besides, I’m only in charge of the one route.”
“Lucky me,” John said, knowing that his smile was wide enough to light up the room.
*
Two days later, John had considered calling Rodney a half dozen times to see if he wanted to grab a drink, but had resorted to lurking in the hanger until Zelenka had shooed him away.
Ronon kept bumping into him with his wheeled suitcase while they walked to the gate, and that was the only reason he felt restless and upset. Not seeing Rodney had nothing to do with it whatsoever.
But Rodney was sitting at the gate - his gate - restlessness betrayed by the tapping of his feet and the rapid flick through the pages of the En Route magazine. He was wearing a suit, hair combed down with water, and his shoes were shined.
“McKay.” John drawled, happy and surprised to see him. “You got all dressed up for me?”
“What?!” Rodney asked, jumping. “What? You know as well as I do that if I wore my normal clothes the sky princesses would never let me on a flight. It has absolutely nothing to do with you.”
“Did you hear that?” John reached out to tug at Teyla’s passing arm. “Rodney got all dressed up so that he could get onto our flight.”
“I believe that he is dressed appropriately,” Teyla said solemnly with a glint in her eye. “But it is your decision which passengers we let on the plane.”
“Christ,” Rodney said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t remind him. Pilots don’t need more of a god complex than they already have.”
“Hey,” John said, mock offended. “They don’t call us gods for nothing. I kinda think we might be full - the next flight leaves in half an hour.”
“Oh thank you very much,” Rodney said. “You know the only reason I’m flying is because I want to see how the engine modifications are working on the ascent.”
“Oh yeah?” John asked. “You know, Cadman’s flying one of the planes you worked on over to Toronto tonight. A red eye, plenty of J class seats open.”
“Well maybe I have things to do up in Fort McMurray,” Rodney said loftily, pink cresting high on his cheeks. “Northern Alberta is just lovely this time of winter.”
“Right,” John said, feeling a glow low in his chest. “Well, why don’t we talk to Teyla and we’ll see if we can get you an Unaccompanied Minor hat.”
“Does that mean I get to sit in the cockpit?” Rodney asked eagerly. “I mean, shut up, Sheppard.”
*
Rodney’s appointment in Fort Mac wound up getting cancelled for mysterious reasons, so he and John got dinner together. John hadn’t laughed so hard since he was in basic training.
*
“Come on,” John chanted to the plane. “Come on, sweetheart.”
“This is really bad,” Lorne said through gritted teeth. “I am not having a good time here.”
“We’re not doing too bad,” John gritted out. “It’s just a little rain storm.”
A bolt of lightning burst across the sky, blinding them momentarily. John felt his back molars grinding together, sending shooting pains up the back of his skull.
“Teyla,” John said, leaning forward to speak into the intercom. “Everybody strapped in back there?”
“Yes, Captain,” Teyla replied. “We have checked that everybody has their seatbelts fastened.”
“And our mom-to-be?”
“Ronon has her resting in the aisle of the first class cabin. We are telling her not to push.”
“Okay,” John said, “So she’s stabilized?”
“Captain,” Teyla paused for a long moment. “There is too much blood.”
“Okay,” John said again, taking a deep breath. “Okay. We’re landing soon.”
He turned to Lorne, whose face was turning white under his tan.
“We got an ambulance in Kelowna?”
“It’s waiting on the runway.”
John looked at his data screens. Visibility was shot, all he could see was rain and dark clouds and the occasional burst of lightening. If he squinted, he thought he could maybe see the red lights of the control towels.
“Kelowna Airport Control, this is Air Canada pilot John Sheppard, requesting final clearance for an emergency landing.”
“You got it, Captain Sheppard,” said the crackly voice at the other end of the line. “If you want it. It’s pretty rough out there.”
John could hear the screams of the woman in labor, even over the noise of the storm outside.
“Yeah,” John said, “I need it.”
“Well, good luck.”
John took a deep breath as he angled the nose of the plane down into descent. This was not going to be fun.
*
“Sheppard!” Rodney yelled, striding across the terminal in his work coveralls, passengers scurrying out of his way. “You idiot!”
“What?” John broke into a brisk walk towards Rodney. “There are people, Rodney. Can we put this off until -”
“You almost killed my plane!”
Several passengers stopped and looked at John warily.
“Are you a pilot?” An old man with too much carryon asked nervously, his wife looking dubiously down at her ticket.
“Barely,” Rodney snorted. “When he isn’t managing to fuck up monumentally and kill dozens of innocent babies and million dollar aircrafts.”
“Ah,” said the man, peering near-sightedly at John’s uniform cap. “What airline do you fly for?”
“Westjet,” John said smoothly, grabbing Rodney’s arm and steering them away. “Our guests are our priority.”
“Yeah,” Rodney said. “Captain Sheppard is the exact kind of stupid hippie they would hire.”
The man glanced over at his wife anxiously. “Who are we flying?”
“Lufthansa,” she said, clutching at her ticket, “Germans are very efficient.”
“Right,” John said consolingly, leading Rodney away. “Land of efficiency. Happy skies.”
Rodney managed to keep quiet as they stepped down onto the escalator, but his mouth was tight, and slanted down in the corners.
“There was an emergency, Rodney,” John said as they walked towards the main doors. “She was in labor, she could have died. I had to land the plane.”
“You could have died. You could have crashed.” Rodney said, looking unhappy. “There’s a good reason they closed the airport.”
They just managed to catch the crew bus as it was pulling away from the main doors. As John swung his flight bag up onto the luggage rack, Rodney went to sit at the back of the bus with a huff.
“Rodney,” John said hissed, walking over to him. “Come up and sit with me.”
“No, no, Captain,” Rodney said, his back entirely too straight. “I know where I’m supposed to sit. Go up to the front of the bus.”
John looked awkwardly around. A half dozen faces whipped around to stare frontwards. Air Canada was huge, but this would be around YVR in minutes, and the other Canadian airports in hours.
“Rodney,” John said pleadingly. “What’s going on?”
A heavy hand was pressed too hard onto John’s shoulder.
“Sir,” the bus driver said. “I know no one will say anything, because we all want to keep our flight privileges, but I have to keep schedule and,” the bus driver motioned at the door, “civilians keep trying to get on board.”
It was true; there was a line up weary looking people outside of the bus, suitcases in hand.
“Go, go,” the bus driver said, shooing the people away like crows. “The bus stop is half a kilometer west, you can’t come on here.”
“Rodney…”
Rodney just stared straight ahead, mouth twisted down. The guy beside Rodney kept looking ostentatiously at his watch, and pilot privileges or no, John thought he’d better sit down before he got killed.
It was a short ride, and John stared resolutely ahead for the entire trip, even if he could feel Rodney’s eyes boring into the back of his head.
When the bus pulled up at the operation centre, Rodney burst off the bus and John practically had to run to catch up. He left his luggage to be carried off of the bus and left at the curb. There was nothing important in there, anyways.
“Rodney!” John said, grabbing onto his shoulder as he caught up. “I had to land the plane, okay? I didn’t have a choice.”
Rodney’s eyes were huge in his face, rimmed red with tiredness, and his lashes brushed against cheek as he blinked slowly.
“It wasn’t like I wanted to land. The lady and her baby would have died and I couldn’t - I couldn’t -” John choked up a bit, and he cleared his throat, looking away.
“I know,” Rodney said helplessly. “I just, they asked me whether the plane could take the descent - I said no! - and then that was all I heard for hours.”
“I’m okay,” John said, daring to put his hands on Rodney’s tense shoulders. “The crew’s okay. The plane’s okay.”
“Well,” said Rodney. “I know.”
Rodney smiled at him tentatively. John smiled back slowly, tightening his grip on Rodney’s shoulder.
A flock of trainee flight attendants came down the hallway and Rodney jumped back as if stung.
“Your bags!” Rodney said. “You don’t have them!”
“Oh,” John said, turning around slowly. “Come with me to get them?”
“Sure,” Rodney said, with that smile on his face.
Rodney bumped into his shoulder more than once on the short walk back to get his luggage.
*
The hanger was deserted as John walked in to collect Rodney for lunch. Tools were littered over the floor, in blatant disregard for pilot safety, John thought, as he tripped for the second time over a discarded socket wrench.
“Hello?” John shouted in to the empty space. Nobody answered except for the echoes.
John kept walking, passing empty planes that were obviously in the middle of repairs, half-filled coffee mugs on desks, and safety goggles still swinging on their hooks.
John kinda wished he still carried his gun. Damn Canadians.
He heard a rumbling outside of the doorway. John considered the crowbar that was lying at his feet - on the one hand, if he picked it up and wielded it like a weapon he might look certifiably insane; but on the other hand, it could be protection against an incoming zombie horde.
John decided on the side of caution - zombies were no joke - and edged toward the doorway that opened onto the crash field behind the runways.
It was only a union rally - consisting of the hundred or so mechanics that were on shift, a couple of the call centre girls and other crew who were clearly only here to watch the spectacle during their lunch break and execs skulking around the perimeter taking notes.
Rodney was at the back of the crowd, twisting a rag between his two hands. John headed towards him, edging past a couple of real diehards clutching their blue and red union manuals.
“Christ,” Rodney said as John got close. “Have they sent the pilots in to break us up?”
“Huh?” John looked down at the crowbar he was still brandishing against potential zombie threat. “No, I was looking for you.”
Rodney nodded, as if dashing pilots searching for him with weaponry was his due.
“Ready for lunch?” John asked as the crowd roared at something the speaker was saying.
“I can’t leave,” Rodney said, motioning towards the crowd with an annoyed look. “It was hard enough to convince my crew that it wasn’t necessary for me to stand on the stage - what that would say to the faculty at UBC, I don’t know, that I’m participating in this moronic union shut down -”
“Ugh,” John said, taking in the posters and lapel pins. “I hate these things.”
“Not only do we have much too much work to do today, even if we weren’t resorting to power struggles with management; the mechanics are really on thin ice right now with the company.” Rodney’s voice was rising and people were starting to look at them. John got more than a few nasty glares. He took off his hat.
“Union shut downs don’t mean anything.”
Union shut downs were happening in some department or another almost weekly. Everybody threw down their tools, or pens, or handsets and refused to work. The point being to show management that union was king ‘round these parts, while giving everyone something to talk about during break times besides weather conditions.
“No!” Rodney was going red in the face as he listened to the speaker rail about solidarity and the brotherhood. “Mechanics department - we’re hearing rumors that we might be contracted out to independent firms. We can’t afford to be acting like idiots who want a raise! Our contracts are either going to be gutted - no pensions, no holiday pay, no anything, or we’re going to be fired.”
“Come on,” John said, really, really wanting to sling an arm around Rodney’s shoulders and pull him close. He settled for punching Rodney’s shoulder lightly. “AC needs the mechanics - who else will clean up the pilots’ messes?”
“Non-unionized slave labor,” Rodney said grimly. “Wait and see - I’ll be called into the office in a week to discuss severance packages.”
“Well then,” John said uneasily, punching Rodney in the shoulder again, just for the thrill of contact. Rodney flinched and looked at him, betrayed. “You need lunch.”
“I can’t,” Rodney said, rolling his eyes. “Although I am starving. I can’t abandon the proletariat. Lorne is right over there, take him to lunch.”
“Lorne?”
“Yes,” Rodney said sourly. “Your co-pilot and bff forever. Go. I’ll find you if I can get away.”
“Okay, buddy,” John said, waving at Lorne, who didn’t notice him. The girl beside Lorne did notice and he could see her giggling at him from across the field. “Catch up with you before I leave if I don’t see you at lunch?”
“Yes, yes,” Rodney said, shooing John away with his hands. “I’ll even braid your hair for you, captain.”
John tried very hard to be offended at Rodney’s comment as he walked over to Lorne, who was leaning against the side of the building
“Thank God we don’t have to put up with this kind of thing,” Lorne said as John drew closer. “Whenever we have a shutdown, management jumps.”
“Well it usually costs them more to have a plane delayed than it does to pay us out,” John said casually, putting his hat back on, wishing he had brought his sunglasses. “It only got really bad a few years back, or so I hear.”
“I was here for the pilot’s strike,” Lorne said, glancing over to the runways where a plane was being badly landed. “It was kinda fun.”
“For you,” John snorted. “Must’ve been fun for management who had to ground every single flight for nine days.”
“Hey,” Lorne said with a smirk. “We closed down the airports. No flights on any airline, no one came to work - we gave everybody a much deserved holiday.”
“Much deserved,” John said. “No chance of another strike in the next little while.”
“Shep,” Lorne said, “Are you kidding me?”
Lorne was giving him the ‘are you an idiot look’ that he usually got from Rodney. It was a little disconcerting.
“Everything’s going down this year.” Lorne continued. “The Olympics are coming to Vancouver. Company’s looking to outsource everything because they know the unions have them by the balls if they declare a strike during the Olympics. We’ll all be on the picket line in six months.”
“Outsourcing?” John said. Rodney couldn’t actually be right, could he?
“Lufthansa outsources everyone except the pilots - no unions, no fuss. They make loads of money. AC keeps saying it wants to do the same thing, but they couldn’t afford to lose our engineers - we’re a national company, they can’t do anything that looks bad to Joe Public.”
“Yeah,” said John uneasily, thinking of what Rodney had said. “Guess so.”
They started walking back towards the cafeteria. Lorne kept darting little looks at John as they walked in silence.
“Shift bid’s in a couple of days,” Lorne said suddenly. “Know what you’re bidding for?”
“Oil run,” John said gloomily. “Nowhere else in the world to go except Calgary.”
“A new line’s opening up.” Lorne said faux-casually. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s come up on the boards.”
“Yeah?” John inquired, more interested in why Lorne’s fists had clenched up in excitement.
“You could get it, you know,” Lorne said, excitement practically bursting out of his voice. “The new route.”
“How do you-“
“I counted down on the seniority list,” Lorne said, reverting to faux casual again, even if he and John both knew that it would have taken hours to count down the seniority list. “If everyone stays in their own departments, you could have it.”
John raised his eyebrow at Lorne, who flushed red.
“And who’s after me in the seniority list?” John asked, knowing the answer.
“Well not me,” Lorne said. “But I’ve talked to everyone else and they’re family men who want to stay where they are.”
“So you…”
“Could bump up to full Captain with my very own line.”
“You want the oil run?” John said doubtfully. “Really?”
“Captain, I will take anything that’ll let me fly”
“You know,” John said sincerely, “I completely understand.”
*
“It’s probably nothing, and there’s nothing to worry about,” John said soothingly, hand rubbing the back of his neck where the collar was starting to feel tight.
“If it was something we’d all be dead by now,” Rodney said tightly, mouth pressing together between every word.
The girl they were speaking to didn’t really look comforted, but she faked a smile anyways before hustling back to her group of friends.
The whole of YVR ops were huddled together in the hanger, the planes had been cleared out and folding chairs and airplane blankets were being handed out.
“I don’t think the pilot will be able to land it,” Rodney said quietly to John, leaning in so close that John could feel puffs of breath against his ear.
A Cathay Pacific plane was circling over the airport, had been for hours, there were mechanical problems that would make the plane unable to land, but the engines were apparently about to go out.
“He will,” John said, trying to give comfort he didn’t feel. “We’re trained for this kind of thing, you know.”
Rodney gave him a scathing look. “You’re trained with video games, Captain Sheppard, not with thousands of pounds of malfunctioning metal.” Rodney’s voice rose a little and the call centre girls were looking at them like they were going to burst into tears again.
“Hey,” John said, rubbing his hand in circles on Rodney’s arm. “Calm down. They’d have evacuated us if they thought anything would really happen.”
Rodney squawked something, but before he could get an answer out, some guy leaned over to point his finger in John’s face and burst into tears.
“We don’t have anywhere to go!”
“They closed off the bridges in and out of the airport,” somebody else said. “You can’t get in or out of Richmond, unless you’re an emergency vehicle.”
A crowd was forming around them.
“They helicoptered the executives to safety,” said a crusty-looking old man. “But they’re leaving us here because there wasn’t enough time to get everyone out.”
“The hanger is the safest place to be if the plane crashes into our building,” an older woman said sadly, “and if you need a phone to call your loved one, they’re available.”
“Uh,” John said. “I’m okay.”
He grabbed Rodney and tugged him away from the group that was talking with morbid interest about their impending fiery deaths.
“There has to be something we can do,” John said, trying to think. “Can we send somebody up to check out the plane in a ‘copter?”
“No,” Rodney said, looking at him like he was being stupider than normal. “Because the person who went up to check would be avoiding a possible imminent death and flying into a much more likely imminent death.”
“I used to -“John swallowed. “I used to fly fighters, in the air force. I know how to do fly it, Rodney.”
Rodney reached out and grabbed on to his lapels as he turned to go find someone to fuel him up.
“Don’t you dare, John Sheppard, don’t you -“
“But I -“
John was cut off by loud cheering.
“What?” John suddenly noticed how very close he and Rodney were standing to each other. Rodney’s eyes were very blue.
“I guess the plane landed.” Rodney said, letting go of John’s lapels and smoothing them down. “We’re okay.”
“Yeah,” John said, still feeling the fight or flight. “I guess so.”
“John,” Rodney said urgently. “I’m glad you didn’t die in a plane crash.”
John laughed feeling a little shaky. “Back ‘atcha, buddy.”
“No,” Rodney said, gripping John’s forearms. “I’m really glad a plane didn’t crash into us a minute ago.”
“Me too,” John said, hoping Rodney wasn’t about to start rocking on the floor crying for his mother.
“Really?” And Rodney’s eyes just lit up and oh, oh. Cool.
They didn’t speak again about anything that mattered as they turned by unspoken agreement and walked through the night towards John’s house, bumping shoulders all the way. John could barely muster a response when Elizabeth - the only executive not to be evacuated - made an announcement that nothing had been wrong with the plane, that it was just a malfunctioning warning light. He didn’t even care, because Rodney’s fingers were brushing warm, so warm, against his side.
He felt lightheaded and would barely get his key into the lock in his front door, and he probably would have fallen apart all together if he hadn’t known that Rodney standing beside him was breathing a little quickly himself.
“So,” John said, as they stood facing each other in his front hall. He never really did see this coming.
Rodney leaned forward a little bit, hands that were still fluttering a little brushing John’s chest.
“Yeah?” John broke into a smile so wide that it hurt his jaw a little.
“Yeah,” Rodney said, smile matching John’s.
He has a nice smile, John thought manically, as he put his hands on Rodney’s shoulders and took a breath, trying to force the corners of his mouth back down into a more serious expression.
Rodney shut his eyes.
John did, too, before leaning forward to bump his mouth into Rodney’s.
Their teeth clacked together, and Rodney stilled, resting his smile against John’s mouth, breathing in his air. John’s smile only grew wider.
“You know,” Rodney said, mouth moving against John’s lips. “This isn’t going to work if we can’t calm down a bit.”
“Yeah,” John agreed, running his hands down Rodney’s back. “I should have less reason to smile when I’m around you, rather than this stupid expression on my face.”
Rodney pulled back a little, smile turning a little less manic into something fonder. His eyes were soft as he traced John’s smile with his fingertip.
“Not stupid.”
And then Rodney kissed John’s smile away, until there was nothing more than gasps and whimpers and moans.
*
Link to Part Three