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smokingmirrorSeries: 100 Original Fics
Character: Fox Maharassa
Author: Avarice
Prompt: 054 - Air
Rating: PG
Pairing: Fox/Collin
Spoilers: Post FH
Summary: The first of 7 articles written by Fox about his birthday trip to Hawaii.
Word Count: 1197
Date First Posted: 07-08-2011
Date Revised: -
Beta: Ladielazarus
Awards: -
Notes: Set after Jenny's fic Springtime, and my fic Makana, this is the first of the 7 articles Collin negotiated with Fox's boss for him to write while he's on vacation. Thank you for the beta, Ladielazarus! These two plane fics were incredibly entertaining to write. I do so love to make Collin a little crazy :D But it was fun writing the boys finding their way back together. Stay tuned for part 2!
Feedback: always welcome, as is constructive criticism.
Also Archived At: LJ
Adventures in Airborne Travel, Pt 1.
By Fox Maharassa
The human mind and spirit are amazing things. They are what keep man striving for the best, looking to overcome the odds, and they stop us from giving up when all hope seems woefully lost.
But sometimes, an event comes along that so tests the indomitable spirit that it shakes our belief in a supreme being to its very foundations.
Flying across this beautiful land of ours is one such event.
Perhaps I should start at the beginning.
My wonderful companion Collin, and my parents gifted me with a trip to Hawaii for my birthday. A trip I only found out about approximately fifteen hours ago. An incredibly exciting prospect, but slightly daunting as we find ourselves on an extremely tight budget at the moment.
With a house just bought that gives the term ‘fixer upper’ a whole new level of meaning, I never would have planned something like this for myself. But, Collin is not without connections, and is determined to give me a brilliant birthday come the 6th of this month.
And for that, I appreciate the level of garbage he’s already dealt with, and love him all the more for it.
The flight to LA was fairly standard. The fun times didn’t really start until we got to LAX. My folks bought us the plane tickets as their part of the gift, and they bought coach on their budget.
As we check our bags, Collin asks if there is any room to be upgraded to First Class, willing to pay the extra out of his own pocket if it means privacy, solitude and more leg room.
“There’s one seat left in First Class,” the clerk kindly informs us.
“You take it, Boss,” I tell him, knowing part of the success of this trip is going to hinge on the travel part going smoothly. I can take one for the team; lay myself across his body as it’s peppered with bullets, as it were.
There’s a long pause as he considers this, before a little twitch attacks his left eye.
“No, it’s fine. I’m not going to let you fly coach on your own.” And just like that, he has my back. One in, both in. He turns back to the ticketing counter. “Is it possible to at least get a row to ourselves?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but the flight is otherwise fully-booked.”
“Does that mean there’s someone sitting between us?” Collin frowns, knowing that the tickets were booked with his preferences in mind; I’m a window-guy, he’s an aisle-man.
Click-clack, on the computer.
“Yes, sir. I can adjust that slightly if you like.”
“I can move into the middle,” I offer.
There goes that twitch again.
“No, this is your birthday present. You like the window, I’ll change.” Once again, he willingly takes another hit for me, getting her to change him out of his aisle seat, rather than me out of my window, so I can enjoy the view. Only time will tell as to whether this is a wise move.
Security at airports is another thing all together. There are so many measures in place it’s like going through an army obstacle course just to get to your plane, though I do think the TSA would object to me doing army combat rolls through the terminal.
As it is, we always have to leave more time whenever I travel via air, because oddly enough, I always seem to get picked for the completely random bag searches.
The time for being upset at this has long since passed, and I’m rather amiable about the whole experience. Collin, however, still retains his righteous anger at the injustice, and gets more than cranky enough for the both of us.
But, there are a few tips and tricks I’ve learned over time-- usually the hard way-- to make my airport encounters as expedient as possible, being a born American citizen with dark skin and a foreign surname, such as I am.
I remember to shave (the probing that occurred after my beard-growing attempt a few years back does not bear thinking about), and wear t-shirts that have English-language slogans on them. (Never again shall I wear my dad’s gag gift of a Hindi shirt saying ‘kiss me, I’m Indian’).
I smile a lot, say ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am’, and refrain from using the word ‘infidel’ in conversation -- even as a joke -- and it’s a fairly pain-free procedure.
But in a twist of fate, Collin -- dear, sweet, amazing Collin -- happens to be overheard saying just the wrong thing.
“I don’t know how anyone could think you’re a terrorist,” he says in a low voice as I’m re-packing my hand luggage, “you’re wearing a shirt with the Apple logo on it that says ‘Mac Daddy’.”
And this, ladies and gentleman is why you never say the ‘T’ word in an airport.
The TSA official, who’d been supervising the woman looking through my bag, pulls Collin aside.
“Sir, would you mind opening your bag, as well?”
Collin’s caught off-guard, and with good reason. He’s known for his wholesome, All-American looks (read: non-threatening white guy), and has never been remotely close to setting off alarm bells in anyone’s head.
With a scathing glare at the official, Collin hoists his hand luggage up onto the inspection table.
“Your friend looks pissed,” the lady who’d inspected my bags says in a whisper.
I watch the man question Collin about the shampoo and conditioner he’d accidentally put in his hand luggage as opposed to his suitcase and shake my head.
“He’s about to get pissier,” I inform her sadly.
“Sir, you can’t take this amount of liquid in your carry-on. You’ll have to put it in your other luggage.”
“But that’s already been checked!”
“Then you’ll have to leave it behind. Sorry, sir,” he adds, not looking the least bit apologetic at all.
I’d like to say that Collin fought the TSA over his moderately expensive bathroom products and won, but it’s not true.
I’d like to write what Collin said about the official after we’d finally cleared security, after being made to walk through the detectors three times each, and have a pat-down search, as it was both colorful and inventive. Also physically impossible (or in the very least, unlikely).
I’d like to announce we made it to Hawaii in one piece, but that hasn’t happened yet.
I’m sitting here at the terminal in LAX waiting to board the flight. Collin’s next to me, muttering to himself like one slightly deranged. And we have 6 hours of flying to look forward to.
Mom, Dad, in case we don’t make it: I love you. Remember me as a good man, a kind man, an incredibly handsome man.
I’m about to email this to my editor. This article is meant to be part one of seven. If for some reason I don’t survive the ensuing six hours, this could be my testament to the ages, an obituary, as it were. You’ll know about it if you read about tragedy striking a plane on the way to Maui.
~finis
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Yay!
Date: 2011-08-08 04:15 pm (UTC)Last time I flew it was too Georgia for my sister's wedding, 4 years ago. We got to the airport at like 5 am, and I was so sleepy I didn't walk through the metal detectors right the first time or second time, and the TSA guy was so touchy that he threatened to have my "strip searched" if I didn't do it right the next time. I felt so stupid, but still peeved, because I was clearly just tired and trying to get out of the way. He didn't need to be a dick about it.
Re: Yay!
Date: 2011-08-09 10:47 am (UTC)the TSA guys scare me a little. It's very full-on. I think they need to be a lot more shrewd with regards to things like timing, etc. I mean, who wouldn't be tired and perhaps not thinking straight at 5am? That's what I was kind of getting at, too. The TSA dude was just being a bit of a dick to Collin because he could. Poor Collin.