rugbytackle | Fic: Transatlanticism VM/SB (1/?)

Title: Transatlanticism
Author:

clocks
Pairing: Viggo/Sean
Rating: PG for this chapter
Warning: AU
Disclaimer: Don't know them, this is all fiction.
Summary: Viggo still is not used to flying.
Archiving: Rugbytackling, others please ask, thanks!
Notes: So this is shamelessly inspired by the thought of Sean in a very delicious pilot's uniform in 'Flightplan'. This is unbeta-ed, so any mistakes are my fault! Also, I apologise to all working in the airline industry if I got any terms wrong. I tried my best to research with a friend of mine who is a steward, so if anything's inaccurate, I apologise again. The title is from a Death Cab song.
This is for

liars_dance as a thank you for all the hard work she and

moldava have done for the comm!

TRANSATLANTICISM

Viggo is seldom nervous about flying. Work requires him to board a plane at least once every other month, but this is the first time he's flying first class. The recent promotion to Art Director means that he's moved up from coach to first class, but it's all a bit too opulent and luxurious for his taste. He's also uncharacteristically worried about how the new clients in Shanghai would react to his presentation. Politely refusing a hot towel from a passing stewardess, Viggo tears the crumpled Kleenex in his hand into jagged little strips, teeth worrying his bottom lip, his eyes everywhere but on the screen in front of him. 'Akeelah And The Bee' is the in-flight movie he had picked earlier, but he barely pays any attention to it at all.

A passing figure in dark blue stops, then hovers near his seat. "You alright, mate?"

"Hmmmn?" Viggo looks up, rather nonplussed to hear a deep baritone instead of a clear female voice. He finds himself looking up into sturdy green eyes tinged with concern as the man in uniform leans over Viggo's seat. A quick glance at his name tag – Capt. Sean Bean – and his eyes dart back to the pilot's, who is more or less the same age as him. "Oh. No, I'm just, not used to, um. This is my first time in First Class."

"Well, enjoy it, mate. Not that I'd fancy tooting my own horn or anything, but," Captain Bean leans in and adds conspiratorially, "We're rated one of the top airlines in the world not for nothing, you know?"

"Gotcha." For some reason, Viggo is finally starting to feel a bit more at ease as he grins back at the pilot. "I guess it's just the whole plane thing, you know? The extra-small airline china – although I have to say it's definitely better than the plastic stuff in economy – it's just all too impersonal for me. That's probably why I've never been used to planes."

Captain Bean nods. "I'm with you. You saw the movie Fight Club? Single-serving food, friends and all that?"

"Yeah, I must have seen that a million times."

A grin blossoms on the pilot's face. "Me too. Anyway, that's why I bring my own stuff on board whenever I'm flying. Me favourite mug, plates, a spork or two-"

The laugh is out before Viggo can stop it. "You bring sporks on the plane?"

Not at all offended, Captain Bean chuckles good-naturedly. "It's a lot easier to eat, let me tell you."

"Right, sporks." Viggo snickers again, feeling completely at ease now. "I'll remember that the next time I fly. But if they detain me at customs and demand to know what I'm up to with a spork, I'll say it was your idea."

"Sure mate, namedropping does the trick." Still smiling, Captain Bean seems reluctant to leave, but he gestures vaguely towards the restrooms. "I'll be back in a bit."

"Oh, sure, yeah."

Viggo turns and watches those powerful thighs stride down the aisle, before leaning back in his seat. Phew.

So that is what he was missing in economy class all along.

~

He learns from Zara, one of the friendlier flight attendants, that pilots seldom come out of the cockpit to chat with passengers, but it does happen occasionally. His mood feels oddly uplifted after learning that, and he's unable to stop grinning, his eyes periodically flicking towards the closed cockpit door. He spends the next hour flipping through the dog-eared in-flight magazine for the millionth time and noting the ads done by rival companies, when he looks up to see Zara bearing a huge clay mug that has 'World's Best Dad' printed on the side, setting it down beside him.

"What's this?"

"Special order, courtesy of our Captain." Zara is almost unable to hold back the wide grin as she places the napkin on his lap. "He says chamomile tea is just the thing to help him relax whenever he has long flights. And he thought you might like to use his favourite mug. Personal touch and all, he says."

"Oh." Viggo blinks at the mug, then sniffs the soothing scent of chamomile wafting towards him. Captain Bean – Sean – remembered. "Wow, please thank him for me."

"I definitely will, sir. I must say I'm quite amazed, I've never seen him do this before." A sly, knowing smile, then Zara is heading back to the galley.

Viggo grins from ear to ear as he sips his chamomile tea.

~

Earlier, Viggo had felt like the hours were crawling by, intent on drawing out his suffering. But now, after the run-in with the captain, Viggo almost feels like there isn't enough time to try and think of a wily scheme to get another chance to talk to the man again. The movie is almost over, and he has gone through his presentation notes for the hundredth time. All he needs are a few key Mandarin phrases, which Bernard at the Shanghai head office will teach him and he's set. Strangely enough the chamomile tea is helping, and he's humming along to the Sergio Mendes CD that Henry had given him at the airport earlier as a good-luck present.

The captain's voice comes on over the PA, announcing that they will be reaching Shanghai soon and have started descending. Viggo finds himself smiling at the low, rumbling voice that he had heard in person hours earlier, and inexplicably he wants to hear it again. Maybe over a drink in the airport lounge, just to loosen him up before reporting to the Head Office. For some reason, Captain Bean really relaxes him, makes him feel at ease, a feeling that's been absent ever since Viggo got promoted.

"Hi, Mr. Mortensen." To Viggo's disappointment, it isn't the pilot but Zara instead, leaning over his seat and smiling. "Glad to know we'll be landing soon?"

"Yeah, I must admit." Viggo fishes in his breast pocket for his name card, and pretends he doesn't notice the flash of hope in Zara's eyes. "Could you do me a favour, Zara? Could you pass this to the Captain? Just tell him I'd like to buy him a drink afterwards. To thank him for the cup."

"Oh." The disappointment on Zara's face lasts only a microsecond before it is replaced with calm professionalism. "I definitely will. He's a nice man, isn't he?"

"Very much so." As Viggo watches Zara sashay down the aisle, he's wondering what on earth possessed him. Asking a man out? A pilot, nonetheless, most probably with kids? The 'Best Dad' mug is definitely an indicator.

All Viggo can do now is wait, and pray that Captain Bean wouldn't pass his card around his colleagues and have a great laugh.

~

Viggo is one of the first passengers out of the plane, a rarity that never happened in coach. Still, he deliberately walks slowly, turning every now and then to see if the crew have alighted yet. He glumly waits in Baggage claim for his suitcase when he remembers his cell phone is still switched off. Cursing to himself, he digs out the phone and tries to get a signal on the local network, whatever it is. He lets out a sigh of relief when he receives a text message in Chinese before the signal appears. As if by magic, the phone rings immediately, an odd number displayed on the caller-ID.

"Hello?"

"Hi." The low, rumbling voice sounds as unsure as Viggo himself feels. "Is this...Viggo?"

"Yeah, Sean! Hey, glad you got my card."

"I think I'll take you up on that offer for a drink, mate."

"Really? That's great. Where shall we go, exactly?"

"I'll take you to this great lounge the crew go to. It's at section C2, the Arrival Hall. See you in about 10?"

"Great. I'll see you there."

"Ta."

Viggo snaps his phone closed with the hugest grin on his face. So it isn't such a bad idea after all. Looking up at the various bilingual signs, his eyes widen when he realises section C2 is at the other end of the airport. Grabbing his suitcase, he flies past a disgruntled group of Korean tourists and two German businessmen, yelling "Excuse me!" and "Sorry!" and grinning like a madman all the way.

Part 2