(no subject)
Friendly Skies
For superswank who requested Will in a pilot uniform, no mention of Vaughn or Francie, an airsick bag, and angsty Swill.
Will had learned not to ask questions when it came to his government. Filling out his tax forms? Gobbledygook to confuse the good citizens of America that was most likely absolutely necessary. Allowing people who had no right being behind the wheel of a car licenses? Sure, why not. Allowing Arnold Schwarzenegger to be the governor of California?
Well, that part actually… rocked. The Terminator was totally the governor of a state. There was nothing uncool about that. Sure, it was California, the state that kind of lived in the same alternate reality as New York and Florida, but still. If there was a fight between the governors of the fifty states, the Governator could totally take them all out. Jeb Bush (R, Fl)? Ruth Ann Minner (D, De)? Frank Murkowski (R, Ak)? No one stood a chance.
And he even knew that his government occasionally allowed extremely attractive women to wear extremely provocative outfits to extract information all in the name of the good old US of A. Which, in his opinion, had to be the hallmark of a great nation. He had seen Sydney Bristow in a bikini, and frankly, any government that encouraged that should be rewarded.
(Not that he liked the idea of (A) Syd being out on dangerous missions or (B) Sydney’s milkshake bringing all the boys to the yard. Neither was really good. Or safe.)
But when his government asked him to step forward and take the torch from Sydney and carry it on his own… well. He was stymied.
“So… out of all of you guys… I’m the one that has to go.”
Syd tapped her fingers on the table. “Like you aren’t totally into the spy stuff. ‘Has to go,’ shut up.”
“No, no, seriously. Where’s everyone else?”
“Out doing important things. For our country. You know.”
“So why are you here?”
“I’m supposed to have the week off.”
“But everyone you know is gone.”
“Do you have a point?”
“I just think it’s sad that they give you a vacation and you’re totally lonely. Really sad.”
Sydney’s jaw dropped. “I am so not lonely.”
“Reaaaaally sad.”
“Not. Lonely.”
“No, you totally are.”
“I am no- dude. Will.”
“What?”
“Do you want to go or not? We just thought that since it was so close to home…”
“Seriously? When did the CIA start relying on…”
“Former CIA agents who’ve done field work before? Um, since their own field officers were all occupied on higher ranking cases and this field officer said, hey, guys, I have just the man for you-” Syd stopped and shook her head. “Actually? Stop asking- dude. Why are you smiling?”
“Because you are so seriously explaining these things to me like I’m going to refuse.”
Sydney graced him with the same smile she’d used since he met her in freshman biology when he helped her pick up her books, the kind that smacked him straight in the gut. He was used to not wincing upon impact. “I knew you’d come through.”
“Yeah, yeah. So, what’s the deal?”
“Well… there’s this woman.”
Will perked up. “A woman? Excellent way to start.”
“Yeah, I thought you'd like that. A very rich, very young, supermodel woman. Baaaarely legal.”
“Seriously?”
“No. Shut up.”
Will slouched down. “No fair.”
“You get to be a pilot.”
He sat back up again.
Syd nodded. “Yep. A pilot. With the outfit and the cap and the shiny pins…”
“You’re teasing again.”
“Cross my heart.”
“A real pilot.”
“With a badge and everything.”
Oh. Oh, she was good. “Dammit, Syd.”
She grinned, showing all her teeth. “The mark is Sela Thomas.” She passed him a picture of a very young, very pretty woman.
“Hey, she is pretty.”
“I never said she wasn’t.”
“You implied.”
“You assumed.”
“You’re annoying.”
“I am in charge here, Tippin.”
(Inappropriate thoughts that have crease marks from being smashed down quickly are shoved down again.)
“Right, boss. Proceed.”
“You just need to look pretty in your uniform. You’ll be deadheading on a flight from LA to Rio.”
“I’m going to Rio.”
“We’re going to Rio. I’m going as a flight attendant.”
“So… is this woman going to try to take us out or something? She’s… really tiny. Like, Dana Scully tiny. I’m pretty sure you could take her out.”
She ignored the X-Files reference. “She’s sitting in first class- which we bought out -”
“- no wonder there are government deficits - ”
“- she’ll be alone. If you can chat her up, great, but either way, I’ll be drugging her drink. When you’re alone, you’ll locate this.”
Syd held up a picture of what looked like a jeweled lighter.
“What is it?”
“It’s a key. Really.”
“But there are no-”
“Just… don’t ask. Marshall spent, like, an hour explaining how the facets of the jewels reflected the light just so that it worked, but it involved a lot of math and strange logistics and all I know is that my life will be a lot easier if I can get it.”
“So… you’re on vacation, and you get to dress up as a stewardess?”
“Flight attendant.”
“Stewardess. What if naughty passengers pinch you?”
Sydney looked pained. “Then you can protect my virtue. Sound good?”
“I’ll be there.”
She smiled. “Anyway, you find the key, and you take it, and then you give it to me.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all.”
“But-”
Her face expressed the emotion that clearly read I love you dearly, but your questions are starting to irk me. “But what?”
“What if I get airsick?”
“Airsick?”
“Yeah. You know. The motion sickness that occurs onboard aircraft?”
“You do not seriously get airsick.”
“Not usually.”
“Not usually?”
“Well, not since we moved to California when I was ten and I threw up all the way from Philly to LA.”
“That was twenty years ago.”
“What if it comes back?”
“Take some Dramamine. And they also provide air sickness bags. Well, for passengers, anyway.”
Will frowned ruefully. “I bet they don’t expect pilots to get sick. It would ruin the fine figure they cut in their dashing uniforms.”
“… Do you ever fly? Ever?”
“Are you impugning the daring captains of the friendly skies?”
Her voice was full of disbelief. “Dashing uniforms.”
“They have dapper caps, Sydney.”
“You need help.”
“I think I would cut a fine figure in my dashing pilot uniform.”
“You think you cut a fine figure in cargo pants.”
“And you just try to tell me that I don’t.”
Syd rolled her eyes. “We have to be at LAX tomorrow at eight.” She handed him a thick file. “That’s all the identification and credentials you’ll need.”
He checked the name. “Aw, Syd.”
She knew she’d done a good job. “What?”
“Dane Mulder. You spoil me.”
She shrugged. “Had to give you something you’d answer to. You watch too much X-Files not to react to ‘Mulder!’”
“And who are you? Allison Wonderland?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Something infinitely classier.”
“Candy.”
“Classier, not sluttier.”
“My mind doesn’t work in upward increments.”
“His Girl Friday.”
“You named yourself Hildy?”
“Close. I chose Rosalind. Something easy for you to remember.”
“Can I call you Hildy anyway?”
“Can I call you Foxy Mulder?”
“Only if you mean it.”
“Of course I mean it. You cut a fine, fine figure in those cargo pants. And that coffee stain on your shirt-”
“Will that never die?”
“Never. You got a job out of a coffee stain.”
“So I’ll have an invisible one for the rest of my life?”
“It’s possible.”
Will was quiet for a minute. “A fine, fine figure?”
“Mm. Dashing, I believe the term is.”
He nodded seriously. “Then sign me up, captain.”
She nodded back. “Welcome aboard.”
For superswank who requested Will in a pilot uniform, no mention of Vaughn or Francie, an airsick bag, and angsty Swill.
Will had learned not to ask questions when it came to his government. Filling out his tax forms? Gobbledygook to confuse the good citizens of America that was most likely absolutely necessary. Allowing people who had no right being behind the wheel of a car licenses? Sure, why not. Allowing Arnold Schwarzenegger to be the governor of California?
Well, that part actually… rocked. The Terminator was totally the governor of a state. There was nothing uncool about that. Sure, it was California, the state that kind of lived in the same alternate reality as New York and Florida, but still. If there was a fight between the governors of the fifty states, the Governator could totally take them all out. Jeb Bush (R, Fl)? Ruth Ann Minner (D, De)? Frank Murkowski (R, Ak)? No one stood a chance.
And he even knew that his government occasionally allowed extremely attractive women to wear extremely provocative outfits to extract information all in the name of the good old US of A. Which, in his opinion, had to be the hallmark of a great nation. He had seen Sydney Bristow in a bikini, and frankly, any government that encouraged that should be rewarded.
(Not that he liked the idea of (A) Syd being out on dangerous missions or (B) Sydney’s milkshake bringing all the boys to the yard. Neither was really good. Or safe.)
But when his government asked him to step forward and take the torch from Sydney and carry it on his own… well. He was stymied.
“So… out of all of you guys… I’m the one that has to go.”
Syd tapped her fingers on the table. “Like you aren’t totally into the spy stuff. ‘Has to go,’ shut up.”
“No, no, seriously. Where’s everyone else?”
“Out doing important things. For our country. You know.”
“So why are you here?”
“I’m supposed to have the week off.”
“But everyone you know is gone.”
“Do you have a point?”
“I just think it’s sad that they give you a vacation and you’re totally lonely. Really sad.”
Sydney’s jaw dropped. “I am so not lonely.”
“Reaaaaally sad.”
“Not. Lonely.”
“No, you totally are.”
“I am no- dude. Will.”
“What?”
“Do you want to go or not? We just thought that since it was so close to home…”
“Seriously? When did the CIA start relying on…”
“Former CIA agents who’ve done field work before? Um, since their own field officers were all occupied on higher ranking cases and this field officer said, hey, guys, I have just the man for you-” Syd stopped and shook her head. “Actually? Stop asking- dude. Why are you smiling?”
“Because you are so seriously explaining these things to me like I’m going to refuse.”
Sydney graced him with the same smile she’d used since he met her in freshman biology when he helped her pick up her books, the kind that smacked him straight in the gut. He was used to not wincing upon impact. “I knew you’d come through.”
“Yeah, yeah. So, what’s the deal?”
“Well… there’s this woman.”
Will perked up. “A woman? Excellent way to start.”
“Yeah, I thought you'd like that. A very rich, very young, supermodel woman. Baaaarely legal.”
“Seriously?”
“No. Shut up.”
Will slouched down. “No fair.”
“You get to be a pilot.”
He sat back up again.
Syd nodded. “Yep. A pilot. With the outfit and the cap and the shiny pins…”
“You’re teasing again.”
“Cross my heart.”
“A real pilot.”
“With a badge and everything.”
Oh. Oh, she was good. “Dammit, Syd.”
She grinned, showing all her teeth. “The mark is Sela Thomas.” She passed him a picture of a very young, very pretty woman.
“Hey, she is pretty.”
“I never said she wasn’t.”
“You implied.”
“You assumed.”
“You’re annoying.”
“I am in charge here, Tippin.”
(Inappropriate thoughts that have crease marks from being smashed down quickly are shoved down again.)
“Right, boss. Proceed.”
“You just need to look pretty in your uniform. You’ll be deadheading on a flight from LA to Rio.”
“I’m going to Rio.”
“We’re going to Rio. I’m going as a flight attendant.”
“So… is this woman going to try to take us out or something? She’s… really tiny. Like, Dana Scully tiny. I’m pretty sure you could take her out.”
She ignored the X-Files reference. “She’s sitting in first class- which we bought out -”
“- no wonder there are government deficits - ”
“- she’ll be alone. If you can chat her up, great, but either way, I’ll be drugging her drink. When you’re alone, you’ll locate this.”
Syd held up a picture of what looked like a jeweled lighter.
“What is it?”
“It’s a key. Really.”
“But there are no-”
“Just… don’t ask. Marshall spent, like, an hour explaining how the facets of the jewels reflected the light just so that it worked, but it involved a lot of math and strange logistics and all I know is that my life will be a lot easier if I can get it.”
“So… you’re on vacation, and you get to dress up as a stewardess?”
“Flight attendant.”
“Stewardess. What if naughty passengers pinch you?”
Sydney looked pained. “Then you can protect my virtue. Sound good?”
“I’ll be there.”
She smiled. “Anyway, you find the key, and you take it, and then you give it to me.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all.”
“But-”
Her face expressed the emotion that clearly read I love you dearly, but your questions are starting to irk me. “But what?”
“What if I get airsick?”
“Airsick?”
“Yeah. You know. The motion sickness that occurs onboard aircraft?”
“You do not seriously get airsick.”
“Not usually.”
“Not usually?”
“Well, not since we moved to California when I was ten and I threw up all the way from Philly to LA.”
“That was twenty years ago.”
“What if it comes back?”
“Take some Dramamine. And they also provide air sickness bags. Well, for passengers, anyway.”
Will frowned ruefully. “I bet they don’t expect pilots to get sick. It would ruin the fine figure they cut in their dashing uniforms.”
“… Do you ever fly? Ever?”
“Are you impugning the daring captains of the friendly skies?”
Her voice was full of disbelief. “Dashing uniforms.”
“They have dapper caps, Sydney.”
“You need help.”
“I think I would cut a fine figure in my dashing pilot uniform.”
“You think you cut a fine figure in cargo pants.”
“And you just try to tell me that I don’t.”
Syd rolled her eyes. “We have to be at LAX tomorrow at eight.” She handed him a thick file. “That’s all the identification and credentials you’ll need.”
He checked the name. “Aw, Syd.”
She knew she’d done a good job. “What?”
“Dane Mulder. You spoil me.”
She shrugged. “Had to give you something you’d answer to. You watch too much X-Files not to react to ‘Mulder!’”
“And who are you? Allison Wonderland?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Something infinitely classier.”
“Candy.”
“Classier, not sluttier.”
“My mind doesn’t work in upward increments.”
“His Girl Friday.”
“You named yourself Hildy?”
“Close. I chose Rosalind. Something easy for you to remember.”
“Can I call you Hildy anyway?”
“Can I call you Foxy Mulder?”
“Only if you mean it.”
“Of course I mean it. You cut a fine, fine figure in those cargo pants. And that coffee stain on your shirt-”
“Will that never die?”
“Never. You got a job out of a coffee stain.”
“So I’ll have an invisible one for the rest of my life?”
“It’s possible.”
Will was quiet for a minute. “A fine, fine figure?”
“Mm. Dashing, I believe the term is.”
He nodded seriously. “Then sign me up, captain.”
She nodded back. “Welcome aboard.”