How Do You Like Them Apples?
Characters: Miles, Frank, Charlotte, Dan, Richard, Isabella
Rating: PG13
Words: 3400
Summary: On the morning after the concert, Miles goes to pick his partner up for work, but James is nowhere to be found.
A/N: For gottalovev , whose Lost Luau request was Sawyer+Miles+Frank+Richard as BFFs.
Miles had been picking Jim up for work at 7:45am every day for the past five years, and yet, he still got a giddy, expectant feeling every single time he rounded the corner of Jim’s block and spotted his best friend sitting on his stoop. It was like the day only started when Jim got into the car and opened the playing field of snark for the day.
However, this morning, the stoop was empty, which was weird, because, despite an attitude fashioned to give the world an impression to the contrary, Jim was a pretty punctual guy.
“Fucking lazybones must have overslept,” Miles sighed. If anyone should have been late this morning, it was him, not his partner. Miles had been out really late, having the most depressing night ever. He’d held out until the very last minute, hoping Jim would finally relent and come as his plus one, but in the end, it didn’t pan out. By ‘girlfriend’, Miles had meant Charlotte, who had always been his last minute plus-one, since she was almost never dating anyone either.
As soon as the concert was over, Miles said goodbye to his dad and asked Charlotte if she wanted to grab some drinks before they called it a night.
“I’d love to, but is it okay if someone joins us later?” she’d asked.
“Who?”
Charlotte smiled shyly. “This guy Dan. He said he wanted to hang out when he was done packing up.”
“Sure, whatever.” It was callous of him, but Miles didn’t bother to feel jealous. There was most likely nothing to fear here; he wouldn’t lose her to some guy. Charlotte’s crushes never worked out.
They got stuck in traffic, so it was almost midnight by the time they got to the bar. Charlotte had launched into him as soon as they’d got gotten their drinks.
“I assume you’re going to prod me for information about what happened with your precious James, aren’t you?”
Miles had grimaced. Charlotte had a way of being direct only at times when Miles was feeling like beating around the bush. And something about her accent always managed to make it sound like she was angry even when she wasn’t. Sheepishly, he admitted, “Well, yeah, I was going to ask…”
“All I’m going to say is that you should do yourself and the world a favor: don’t set that guy up with anyone else.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because I don’t think you really want him to find someone.”
“What do you mean?” Miles had asked, but he never got an answer, because at that moment, Charlotte had stood up and started waving at some skinny dude in an even skinnier tie who was very possibly sporting a mullet underneath his hat. Miles was shocked. Charlotte’s tastes usually ran to the big and brawny---guys like Jim.
“’Dan’ is Dan Widmore?”
Charlotte had nudged him in the ribs. “Yeah, we met before the concert tonight. Be nice, Miles. Please?” she’d whispered as Dan made his way over to them.
“I’m always nice.”
“Lies.” Then more brightly, she’d said, “Hey, glad you could make it. Dan, this is my friend Miles. Miles, this is Dan.”
Dan did this strange thing that was half a bow and half a lean too close into Miles’s personal space. “Nice to meet you, Miles.”
“Yeah, you, too,” had been Miles’s lackluster reply.
Dan and Charlotte had only just met, but they acted like… Miles couldn’t explain it. Whatever was going on, he’d gotten the hint pretty quickly that his presence was superfluous. After half an hour or so of chatting followed by a ten-minute period during which Dan and Charlotte had started speaking Klingon (fucking nerds) and then had started spontaneously making out (what?), he’d excused himself so he could head home to watch late night tv and feel sorry for himself. Bizarrely, both Charlotte and Dan had taken his hand and bid him an overly emotional farewell. He was just going home; he wasn’t dying, for Christ’s sake. Plus, Dan didn’t even know him. What the hell was he getting all choked up about?
By the time Miles had gone to bed, it was almost 2am, so this morning he was fucking exhausted and in a bad mood. Jim not being ready was the last thing he needed.
Miles honked the car horn. When a minute passed and nothing happened, he dialed both of Jim’s numbers. Nothing.
Now he was worried. He got out of the car and went to the front door. He knocked, but no one answered.
“Yoohoo! You there!” he heard. Mrs. Plotzinsky, Jim’s next-door neighbor, poked her head out of her front door and was waving him down. “Are you Miles?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Mr. Ford stopped by last night and asked me to give you a message when you came by this morning.”
Miles trudged across the lawn to her house. This was getting weirder and weirder. A message? Why hadn’t he just called?
"What did he say?"
“It’s a little complicated. First he gave me this note,” Mrs. Plotzinsky said, and handed Miles a piece of paper. He turned it over and over in his hands, but there was only one line written on it.
If Miles calls about that job, just tell him “Sorry, I had to go see about a girl.”
The fuck? “What is this?”
“He told me you would understand the reference but not what was going on.”
“Well, that’s for sure.” It was a Good Will Hunting reference, but… Miles felt a cold chill run through him. Had Jim skipped town without saying goodbye?
“Did he say anything else?” he asked, trying to mask his panic.
“Hold on a minute. It was quite detailed. I had to write it down.” She went into the house for a minute, and returned with a notepad, from which she started reading, “Let’s see… He said he was really sorry he couldn’t explain or say goodbye in person, but that’s not how it works. Something about the rules? He said he was bending them just by leaving you this message... And he said that although you don’t understand now, one day you will. And that the day you figure it out will be the day you see him again, so not to worry. He also said to tell Frank and Richard ‘hey’.”
This had officially ceased to make sense. “Who the hell is Richard?”
“I had assumed you would know,” she replied.
“I don’t know any Richard's. Well, was that it?”
“Yes, that was all. Does this mean anything to you, because I must confess, I was hoping you would be able to explain to me what he meant.”
“Damned if I know,” Miles replied. “Well, thanks anyway.”
He slipped the note into his pocket and said goodbye to Mrs. Plotzinsky. The drive to the station went by as if a dream. Miles didn’t know what to do. Jim was gone. His best friend had just left him, with nothing but a movie reference and a cryptic message. And who was the girl? He couldn’t think of a single woman Jim had ever cared about enough to run away with like this.
He made excuses to their boss, saying that he’d gone by Jim’s house and found him too sick to come to work. It was the only thing he could think of, but even as he was saying it, Miles wondered what he would do in the long-term. If Jim was really gone, then covering for him for a couple of sick days wasn’t going to cut it. Surprisingly, though, their normally hard-ass chief didn’t seem to care. He simply grunted and went about his business, leaving Miles even more confused than before.
It turned out to be a crappy day on all fronts. Miles tried following up with County about the missing van of suspects, but oddly, he couldn’t find anyone who knew what he was talking about, even though he was sure he’d faxed the paperwork over the day before. It was as though County had forgotten they ever existed. When he called the hospital, it turned out that the Paik woman had been released and hadn’t left a forwarding address. Miles asked to speak with her doctor, but none of the nurses had any idea (nor did they seem to care) where Dr. Carlson was.
Way too many people were disappearing today.
After a few more frustrating calls, Miles finally gave up. He wasn’t about to be the only person in the entire LAPD working on this case, especially when he had Jim’s disappearance weighing on him. An hour before quitting time, Miles called the only person who might be able to help. He just hoped he was in town.
“Hey, Frank, where are you?”
“Just got back from Guam. What’s up?”
“Something’s happened. Can I come over?”
“Sure. Let yourself in. I’ll probably be out back.”
They’d met on some shitty cruise Miles and Charlotte had gone on years back. Frank and Miles had taken to one another immediately, and Miles had introduced him to Jim when they got back to LA. Together, they’d formed a pretty awesome threesome.
There were no worries with Frank. The guy had stuff figured out, always had. If anyone would know what to do about all this, it was Frank. Miles counted down the minutes until quitting time, and then turned on the siren on his car in order to get there faster; he wasn’t in the mood for traffic. Frank’s pad was out in Malibu, right on the beach.
“Out here!” he heard Frank call when he let himself in. Miles made his way to the balcony, where Frank was waiting for him with a twelve-pack and a plate of nachos.
Miles whistled. “Wow, I definitely need a drink right now, but that’s more than even I can handle. And anyway, I thought you were trying to cut back.” Frank had had his problems with booze in the past, and the hangovers had lost him a couple of jobs, but he’d always landed on his feet. He was doing a lot better these days. In fact, three days ago, Frank had texted Jim and Miles to let them know that he was over in Guam being given Oceanic’s Pilot of the Year award.
Frank looked behind Miles. “Where’s your partner in crime-fighting? Most of this was for him. I assumed he’d be coming, too. You guys are usually joined at the hip.”
Miles sat down and opened a can of beer. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Frank munched and listened quietly as Miles spilled out everything that had happened. He didn’t even ask any questions---just got this weirdly calm, almost smug look on his face. The last time Miles had seen a look like that was on that Hume guy’s face when he and Jim had thrown him into the cell with Jarrah and Austen. Fucking loon. This was not what he’d come to Frank for today.
“What are you looking so pleased about?” he finally asked, when his story was finished and Frank still hadn’t said anything. “Jim’s gone. And I don’t know how to find him.”
“What makes you think he needs to be found?”
“What…?” Miles sputtered. “Because… because he does. Aren’t you worried? He’s your friend, too. What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing. And it sounds to me like we don’t need to worry about Jim, either. He said he’d see us again. He’s never let us down before. No reason why you shouldn’t believe him now. Weren’t you even listening to his message? Jim’s gone, but he didn’t leave you. There’s a difference. You need to accept that and let it go. The only way you’re going to find him is by not looking for him. Trust me on this.”
Frank had always been a laid-back guy, and it was one of the reasons they all got along so well, but right now he was being so insanely nonchalant about the whole thing that Miles couldn’t help but feel suspicious. “Wait a second... Do you know something? Did he leave you a message, too?”
“Nah. He didn’t need to. You see, I don’t have abandonment issues.”
What was that supposed to mean? “Neither do I,” Miles retorted.
Frank winked at him and ate another nacho. “Sure you don’t.”
Miles stood up. If Frank wasn’t going to be helpful, he might as well leave. “Thanks for nothing.”
“Sit down, Miles.” It wasn’t often that Frank gave him orders, but Miles for some reason had always listened. It was something about the uniform. Frank almost never took the goddamn thing off.
Miles sat back down.
“Do you know what you need?” Frank asked.
“For everything to go back to normal?”
“A vacation,” Frank said, eyeing him mischievously.
It was a total non-fucking-sequitor. “You’re crazy.”
Frank grinned. “Like a fox. Look, I’m doing a big European and North African tour in a couple of weeks. If you can get out of work, I’ll pull some strings and get you on all my flights. Come on, it’ll be fun. And free. Doesn’t get better than that.”
Miles gave up. Like the nurses at the hospital and the chief back at the station and the people at the county prison, Frank had joined the legions of people who didn’t seem to give a shit about anything anymore. They all seemed to be happy, though, so Miles figured maybe he should give not caring a shot, too. And there was something in what Frank had said: Jim’s message hadn’t made any sense, but it had been weirdly hopeful. Everyone was leaving him---Jim, Charlotte... And if Jim could meet a girl and just up and move on with his life like that, then, well, fuck him. Miles could move on, too, make other friends, meet other people...
Alright. Maybe he did have abandonment issues.
“I’ll think about it,” he replied.
***
The European tour was even better than Frank had led him to believe. Part of Frank’s award from the airline was a paid sabbatical, but Frank was using it to make extra cash by flying diplomats around in private jets. Miles got to sit in the cockpit, something he’d always wanted to do. They spent a couple of days in Nice, in Milan, in Tunisia, in the Canary Islands, in Morocco. Just as he’d been on the cruise years ago, Frank made for an awesome traveling companion, and after a couple of weeks, Miles almost felt okay again. There’d been no word from Jim, and even Charlotte had fallen off the grid, with just a note telling him how much she and Dan (Dan?!?!) loved him. At this point, Miles was getting used to the Dear John letters.
At least he still had Frank.
When they had finished their business, the diplomats (who were really nice guys) told Frank that to thank him for being such a great pilot, they were lending him their jet to fly wherever in the area he wanted for a few of days.
That night, over some mint tea in Marrakech, Frank and Miles discussed what to do with the unexpected present.
“I kind of liked Tenerife,” Frank suggested.
“But we just came from there.”
Frank looked at him strangely and said, “Sometimes you have to go backwards in order to go forwards.”
Miles rolled his eyes. “Frank, the last thing I need in my life is more cryptic bullshit.”
“Sorry about that. But yeah, I really want to spend some more time there, if that’s okay with you.”
Miles would have preferred to go somewhere they hadn’t already been, like Barcelona or Corsica, but it was Frank’s plane and Frank’s piloting skills, not his. And hey, there were worse places in the world than Tenerife. The beaches were pretty sweet, and there was something about the island that made Miles feel strangely at home. He couldn’t put his finger on why, though.
The next morning, they packed up, said thanks to the diplomats, and took off. It was a pretty short flight from Morocco, and soon, Miles spotted the familiar volcano at Tenerife’s center. However, as Frank lowered their altitude in preparation for landing, something seemed off. For one thing, they weren’t getting the air traffic control announcements he’d become accustomed to. And…
“I could have sworn there was a high-rise hotel on this side of the island,” Miles remarked.
“Yeah, well, there also used to be a, you know, airport.”
Miles peered over the window ledge, and sure enough, in the place where he remembered having landed a few days before, there was nothing but pristine beach. In fact, there was nothing but beach and forest for as far as the eye could see. The only infrastructure were some ramshackle little houses along the coast.
“Are you sure this is the right island?” The topography of the island was right (Miles remembered the unique shape of the bay that had been near the airport), but this didn't make any sense. Buildings don't just disappear in a couple of days.
“Yeah, this is it.” For some reason, Frank was not freaking out the way Miles thought he should be. “Hold on tight. This is going to be a bumpy one.”
“You’re not actually going to land here?” Miles shouted.
“Sure I am. We’ve got a couple of passengers we need to pick up.”
Miles sat back down and strapped himself in. He’d been with Frank the whole night, and the guy hadn’t had a single drink, so this wasn’t the booze talking. And he sure as hell hadn’t mentioned any passengers. The only explanation was that in the night, Frank’s brain had seeped out of his ears, and so, basically, Miles was now trapped in a plane piloted by a lunatic who was going to attempt to land on sand. Perfect, just perfect.
His stomach clenched as they got close enough to make out individual palm trees, and he almost lost his lunch when he felt the wheels connect with the sand. Just when he thought things couldn’t possibly get worse, Miles spotted two figures emerging from the bushes.
“Watch out!”
But it was too late. The wind from the engines and the rush of the plane as it careened by them threw them back into the forest and out of sight. It wasn’t a pretty landing, nor a comfortable one, but they somehow survived. The plane slowed to a halt a few feet away from the water's edge. Miles let out the breath he’d been holding for what felt like an hour.
“What the fucking hell, Frank? You just killed two people!” he started screaming. He had a lot more to say, along the same vein, but Frank simply smiled and interrupted him.
“There they are,” he pointed. “They’re the people we have to pick up.”
Miles looked through the cockpit window to see two figures splayed out in the grass a few yards away from where the plane had landed. They weren’t moving.
“Not much good when they’re dead, are they?”
But Frank had already run into the cabin and opened the door. Jumping out he said, “They’re no more dead than you or I. Come on.”
There was nothing for it but to follow. Miles hopped out of the aircraft and walked with Frank to where the two people lay, still wondering what had happened to the airport and what the hell was going on. As he approached them, he was able to see what they looked like. There was a smoking hot lady with dark brown curls, and an even more attractive guy who looked like he was wearing mascara. Both were wearing old-fashioned clothes, as though they’d stepped out of a period movie. Their chests rose and fell gently as they breathed. They looked peaceful, and thankfully, not dead.
“You’re really fucking lucky, do you know that?” he yelled. Frank simply put his hands in his pockets and whistled.
Given that Frank had literally lost his mind, Miles turned his attention to the victims. He leaned over the man. “Hey, dude, are you alright?” he asked, and reached out to shake him awake.
And that’s when Miles got it.
Richard opened his eyes and smiled. He sat up and there were hugs all around. “Great, you made it. Miles, Frank, I’d like you to meet Isabella.”
Miles held out his hand. “It's nice to finally meet you. We’ve heard a lot about you.”
Isabella bypassed his hand and went straight for the kiss on the cheek. She gave Frank one as well. “It's nice to meet you, too.”
Frank turned to Richard and said, “Do you know what a pain in the ass it was to get this guy here?”
“Why am I not surprised?” Richard winked at Frank and took Miles's hand.
“Shut up, Frank. By the way, Richard,” Miles added, “Jim says hey.”
“Let’s go catch up with him.”
Rating: PG13
Words: 3400
Summary: On the morning after the concert, Miles goes to pick his partner up for work, but James is nowhere to be found.
A/N: For gottalovev , whose Lost Luau request was Sawyer+Miles+Frank+Richard as BFFs.
Miles had been picking Jim up for work at 7:45am every day for the past five years, and yet, he still got a giddy, expectant feeling every single time he rounded the corner of Jim’s block and spotted his best friend sitting on his stoop. It was like the day only started when Jim got into the car and opened the playing field of snark for the day.
However, this morning, the stoop was empty, which was weird, because, despite an attitude fashioned to give the world an impression to the contrary, Jim was a pretty punctual guy.
“Fucking lazybones must have overslept,” Miles sighed. If anyone should have been late this morning, it was him, not his partner. Miles had been out really late, having the most depressing night ever. He’d held out until the very last minute, hoping Jim would finally relent and come as his plus one, but in the end, it didn’t pan out. By ‘girlfriend’, Miles had meant Charlotte, who had always been his last minute plus-one, since she was almost never dating anyone either.
As soon as the concert was over, Miles said goodbye to his dad and asked Charlotte if she wanted to grab some drinks before they called it a night.
“I’d love to, but is it okay if someone joins us later?” she’d asked.
“Who?”
Charlotte smiled shyly. “This guy Dan. He said he wanted to hang out when he was done packing up.”
“Sure, whatever.” It was callous of him, but Miles didn’t bother to feel jealous. There was most likely nothing to fear here; he wouldn’t lose her to some guy. Charlotte’s crushes never worked out.
They got stuck in traffic, so it was almost midnight by the time they got to the bar. Charlotte had launched into him as soon as they’d got gotten their drinks.
“I assume you’re going to prod me for information about what happened with your precious James, aren’t you?”
Miles had grimaced. Charlotte had a way of being direct only at times when Miles was feeling like beating around the bush. And something about her accent always managed to make it sound like she was angry even when she wasn’t. Sheepishly, he admitted, “Well, yeah, I was going to ask…”
“All I’m going to say is that you should do yourself and the world a favor: don’t set that guy up with anyone else.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because I don’t think you really want him to find someone.”
“What do you mean?” Miles had asked, but he never got an answer, because at that moment, Charlotte had stood up and started waving at some skinny dude in an even skinnier tie who was very possibly sporting a mullet underneath his hat. Miles was shocked. Charlotte’s tastes usually ran to the big and brawny---guys like Jim.
“’Dan’ is Dan Widmore?”
Charlotte had nudged him in the ribs. “Yeah, we met before the concert tonight. Be nice, Miles. Please?” she’d whispered as Dan made his way over to them.
“I’m always nice.”
“Lies.” Then more brightly, she’d said, “Hey, glad you could make it. Dan, this is my friend Miles. Miles, this is Dan.”
Dan did this strange thing that was half a bow and half a lean too close into Miles’s personal space. “Nice to meet you, Miles.”
“Yeah, you, too,” had been Miles’s lackluster reply.
Dan and Charlotte had only just met, but they acted like… Miles couldn’t explain it. Whatever was going on, he’d gotten the hint pretty quickly that his presence was superfluous. After half an hour or so of chatting followed by a ten-minute period during which Dan and Charlotte had started speaking Klingon (fucking nerds) and then had started spontaneously making out (what?), he’d excused himself so he could head home to watch late night tv and feel sorry for himself. Bizarrely, both Charlotte and Dan had taken his hand and bid him an overly emotional farewell. He was just going home; he wasn’t dying, for Christ’s sake. Plus, Dan didn’t even know him. What the hell was he getting all choked up about?
By the time Miles had gone to bed, it was almost 2am, so this morning he was fucking exhausted and in a bad mood. Jim not being ready was the last thing he needed.
Miles honked the car horn. When a minute passed and nothing happened, he dialed both of Jim’s numbers. Nothing.
Now he was worried. He got out of the car and went to the front door. He knocked, but no one answered.
“Yoohoo! You there!” he heard. Mrs. Plotzinsky, Jim’s next-door neighbor, poked her head out of her front door and was waving him down. “Are you Miles?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Mr. Ford stopped by last night and asked me to give you a message when you came by this morning.”
Miles trudged across the lawn to her house. This was getting weirder and weirder. A message? Why hadn’t he just called?
"What did he say?"
“It’s a little complicated. First he gave me this note,” Mrs. Plotzinsky said, and handed Miles a piece of paper. He turned it over and over in his hands, but there was only one line written on it.
If Miles calls about that job, just tell him “Sorry, I had to go see about a girl.”
The fuck? “What is this?”
“He told me you would understand the reference but not what was going on.”
“Well, that’s for sure.” It was a Good Will Hunting reference, but… Miles felt a cold chill run through him. Had Jim skipped town without saying goodbye?
“Did he say anything else?” he asked, trying to mask his panic.
“Hold on a minute. It was quite detailed. I had to write it down.” She went into the house for a minute, and returned with a notepad, from which she started reading, “Let’s see… He said he was really sorry he couldn’t explain or say goodbye in person, but that’s not how it works. Something about the rules? He said he was bending them just by leaving you this message... And he said that although you don’t understand now, one day you will. And that the day you figure it out will be the day you see him again, so not to worry. He also said to tell Frank and Richard ‘hey’.”
This had officially ceased to make sense. “Who the hell is Richard?”
“I had assumed you would know,” she replied.
“I don’t know any Richard's. Well, was that it?”
“Yes, that was all. Does this mean anything to you, because I must confess, I was hoping you would be able to explain to me what he meant.”
“Damned if I know,” Miles replied. “Well, thanks anyway.”
He slipped the note into his pocket and said goodbye to Mrs. Plotzinsky. The drive to the station went by as if a dream. Miles didn’t know what to do. Jim was gone. His best friend had just left him, with nothing but a movie reference and a cryptic message. And who was the girl? He couldn’t think of a single woman Jim had ever cared about enough to run away with like this.
He made excuses to their boss, saying that he’d gone by Jim’s house and found him too sick to come to work. It was the only thing he could think of, but even as he was saying it, Miles wondered what he would do in the long-term. If Jim was really gone, then covering for him for a couple of sick days wasn’t going to cut it. Surprisingly, though, their normally hard-ass chief didn’t seem to care. He simply grunted and went about his business, leaving Miles even more confused than before.
It turned out to be a crappy day on all fronts. Miles tried following up with County about the missing van of suspects, but oddly, he couldn’t find anyone who knew what he was talking about, even though he was sure he’d faxed the paperwork over the day before. It was as though County had forgotten they ever existed. When he called the hospital, it turned out that the Paik woman had been released and hadn’t left a forwarding address. Miles asked to speak with her doctor, but none of the nurses had any idea (nor did they seem to care) where Dr. Carlson was.
Way too many people were disappearing today.
After a few more frustrating calls, Miles finally gave up. He wasn’t about to be the only person in the entire LAPD working on this case, especially when he had Jim’s disappearance weighing on him. An hour before quitting time, Miles called the only person who might be able to help. He just hoped he was in town.
“Hey, Frank, where are you?”
“Just got back from Guam. What’s up?”
“Something’s happened. Can I come over?”
“Sure. Let yourself in. I’ll probably be out back.”
They’d met on some shitty cruise Miles and Charlotte had gone on years back. Frank and Miles had taken to one another immediately, and Miles had introduced him to Jim when they got back to LA. Together, they’d formed a pretty awesome threesome.
There were no worries with Frank. The guy had stuff figured out, always had. If anyone would know what to do about all this, it was Frank. Miles counted down the minutes until quitting time, and then turned on the siren on his car in order to get there faster; he wasn’t in the mood for traffic. Frank’s pad was out in Malibu, right on the beach.
“Out here!” he heard Frank call when he let himself in. Miles made his way to the balcony, where Frank was waiting for him with a twelve-pack and a plate of nachos.
Miles whistled. “Wow, I definitely need a drink right now, but that’s more than even I can handle. And anyway, I thought you were trying to cut back.” Frank had had his problems with booze in the past, and the hangovers had lost him a couple of jobs, but he’d always landed on his feet. He was doing a lot better these days. In fact, three days ago, Frank had texted Jim and Miles to let them know that he was over in Guam being given Oceanic’s Pilot of the Year award.
Frank looked behind Miles. “Where’s your partner in crime-fighting? Most of this was for him. I assumed he’d be coming, too. You guys are usually joined at the hip.”
Miles sat down and opened a can of beer. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Frank munched and listened quietly as Miles spilled out everything that had happened. He didn’t even ask any questions---just got this weirdly calm, almost smug look on his face. The last time Miles had seen a look like that was on that Hume guy’s face when he and Jim had thrown him into the cell with Jarrah and Austen. Fucking loon. This was not what he’d come to Frank for today.
“What are you looking so pleased about?” he finally asked, when his story was finished and Frank still hadn’t said anything. “Jim’s gone. And I don’t know how to find him.”
“What makes you think he needs to be found?”
“What…?” Miles sputtered. “Because… because he does. Aren’t you worried? He’s your friend, too. What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing. And it sounds to me like we don’t need to worry about Jim, either. He said he’d see us again. He’s never let us down before. No reason why you shouldn’t believe him now. Weren’t you even listening to his message? Jim’s gone, but he didn’t leave you. There’s a difference. You need to accept that and let it go. The only way you’re going to find him is by not looking for him. Trust me on this.”
Frank had always been a laid-back guy, and it was one of the reasons they all got along so well, but right now he was being so insanely nonchalant about the whole thing that Miles couldn’t help but feel suspicious. “Wait a second... Do you know something? Did he leave you a message, too?”
“Nah. He didn’t need to. You see, I don’t have abandonment issues.”
What was that supposed to mean? “Neither do I,” Miles retorted.
Frank winked at him and ate another nacho. “Sure you don’t.”
Miles stood up. If Frank wasn’t going to be helpful, he might as well leave. “Thanks for nothing.”
“Sit down, Miles.” It wasn’t often that Frank gave him orders, but Miles for some reason had always listened. It was something about the uniform. Frank almost never took the goddamn thing off.
Miles sat back down.
“Do you know what you need?” Frank asked.
“For everything to go back to normal?”
“A vacation,” Frank said, eyeing him mischievously.
It was a total non-fucking-sequitor. “You’re crazy.”
Frank grinned. “Like a fox. Look, I’m doing a big European and North African tour in a couple of weeks. If you can get out of work, I’ll pull some strings and get you on all my flights. Come on, it’ll be fun. And free. Doesn’t get better than that.”
Miles gave up. Like the nurses at the hospital and the chief back at the station and the people at the county prison, Frank had joined the legions of people who didn’t seem to give a shit about anything anymore. They all seemed to be happy, though, so Miles figured maybe he should give not caring a shot, too. And there was something in what Frank had said: Jim’s message hadn’t made any sense, but it had been weirdly hopeful. Everyone was leaving him---Jim, Charlotte... And if Jim could meet a girl and just up and move on with his life like that, then, well, fuck him. Miles could move on, too, make other friends, meet other people...
Alright. Maybe he did have abandonment issues.
“I’ll think about it,” he replied.
***
The European tour was even better than Frank had led him to believe. Part of Frank’s award from the airline was a paid sabbatical, but Frank was using it to make extra cash by flying diplomats around in private jets. Miles got to sit in the cockpit, something he’d always wanted to do. They spent a couple of days in Nice, in Milan, in Tunisia, in the Canary Islands, in Morocco. Just as he’d been on the cruise years ago, Frank made for an awesome traveling companion, and after a couple of weeks, Miles almost felt okay again. There’d been no word from Jim, and even Charlotte had fallen off the grid, with just a note telling him how much she and Dan (Dan?!?!) loved him. At this point, Miles was getting used to the Dear John letters.
At least he still had Frank.
When they had finished their business, the diplomats (who were really nice guys) told Frank that to thank him for being such a great pilot, they were lending him their jet to fly wherever in the area he wanted for a few of days.
That night, over some mint tea in Marrakech, Frank and Miles discussed what to do with the unexpected present.
“I kind of liked Tenerife,” Frank suggested.
“But we just came from there.”
Frank looked at him strangely and said, “Sometimes you have to go backwards in order to go forwards.”
Miles rolled his eyes. “Frank, the last thing I need in my life is more cryptic bullshit.”
“Sorry about that. But yeah, I really want to spend some more time there, if that’s okay with you.”
Miles would have preferred to go somewhere they hadn’t already been, like Barcelona or Corsica, but it was Frank’s plane and Frank’s piloting skills, not his. And hey, there were worse places in the world than Tenerife. The beaches were pretty sweet, and there was something about the island that made Miles feel strangely at home. He couldn’t put his finger on why, though.
The next morning, they packed up, said thanks to the diplomats, and took off. It was a pretty short flight from Morocco, and soon, Miles spotted the familiar volcano at Tenerife’s center. However, as Frank lowered their altitude in preparation for landing, something seemed off. For one thing, they weren’t getting the air traffic control announcements he’d become accustomed to. And…
“I could have sworn there was a high-rise hotel on this side of the island,” Miles remarked.
“Yeah, well, there also used to be a, you know, airport.”
Miles peered over the window ledge, and sure enough, in the place where he remembered having landed a few days before, there was nothing but pristine beach. In fact, there was nothing but beach and forest for as far as the eye could see. The only infrastructure were some ramshackle little houses along the coast.
“Are you sure this is the right island?” The topography of the island was right (Miles remembered the unique shape of the bay that had been near the airport), but this didn't make any sense. Buildings don't just disappear in a couple of days.
“Yeah, this is it.” For some reason, Frank was not freaking out the way Miles thought he should be. “Hold on tight. This is going to be a bumpy one.”
“You’re not actually going to land here?” Miles shouted.
“Sure I am. We’ve got a couple of passengers we need to pick up.”
Miles sat back down and strapped himself in. He’d been with Frank the whole night, and the guy hadn’t had a single drink, so this wasn’t the booze talking. And he sure as hell hadn’t mentioned any passengers. The only explanation was that in the night, Frank’s brain had seeped out of his ears, and so, basically, Miles was now trapped in a plane piloted by a lunatic who was going to attempt to land on sand. Perfect, just perfect.
His stomach clenched as they got close enough to make out individual palm trees, and he almost lost his lunch when he felt the wheels connect with the sand. Just when he thought things couldn’t possibly get worse, Miles spotted two figures emerging from the bushes.
“Watch out!”
But it was too late. The wind from the engines and the rush of the plane as it careened by them threw them back into the forest and out of sight. It wasn’t a pretty landing, nor a comfortable one, but they somehow survived. The plane slowed to a halt a few feet away from the water's edge. Miles let out the breath he’d been holding for what felt like an hour.
“What the fucking hell, Frank? You just killed two people!” he started screaming. He had a lot more to say, along the same vein, but Frank simply smiled and interrupted him.
“There they are,” he pointed. “They’re the people we have to pick up.”
Miles looked through the cockpit window to see two figures splayed out in the grass a few yards away from where the plane had landed. They weren’t moving.
“Not much good when they’re dead, are they?”
But Frank had already run into the cabin and opened the door. Jumping out he said, “They’re no more dead than you or I. Come on.”
There was nothing for it but to follow. Miles hopped out of the aircraft and walked with Frank to where the two people lay, still wondering what had happened to the airport and what the hell was going on. As he approached them, he was able to see what they looked like. There was a smoking hot lady with dark brown curls, and an even more attractive guy who looked like he was wearing mascara. Both were wearing old-fashioned clothes, as though they’d stepped out of a period movie. Their chests rose and fell gently as they breathed. They looked peaceful, and thankfully, not dead.
“You’re really fucking lucky, do you know that?” he yelled. Frank simply put his hands in his pockets and whistled.
Given that Frank had literally lost his mind, Miles turned his attention to the victims. He leaned over the man. “Hey, dude, are you alright?” he asked, and reached out to shake him awake.
And that’s when Miles got it.
Richard opened his eyes and smiled. He sat up and there were hugs all around. “Great, you made it. Miles, Frank, I’d like you to meet Isabella.”
Miles held out his hand. “It's nice to finally meet you. We’ve heard a lot about you.”
Isabella bypassed his hand and went straight for the kiss on the cheek. She gave Frank one as well. “It's nice to meet you, too.”
Frank turned to Richard and said, “Do you know what a pain in the ass it was to get this guy here?”
“Why am I not surprised?” Richard winked at Frank and took Miles's hand.
“Shut up, Frank. By the way, Richard,” Miles added, “Jim says hey.”
“Let’s go catch up with him.”