Airport related AU concept vignette …
Tumblr promp:
Rated: G(with Hannigram added)
sirenja-and-the-stag
After a grueling work week at the FBI which culminates in a last-minute flight to Washington on Christmas Eve, Will “not fond of eye contact” Graham meets a businessman at the airport bar as he waits for his delayed flight to depart. The man is drinking the same whiskey as Will, and they strike up a conversation. The stranger is very charming and very chatty, speaking mainly of his love of art, music, and his many culinary endeavors. He’s headed to Washington as well, claiming to have a “business” meeting in Seattle.
The pair openly share their many interests with one another. Will plays the guitar; the stranger plays the harpsichord. Will reads books about fishing and psychology, and the stranger shares his love of homebrewing and medieval poetry. They laugh and surprisingly flirt as Will loosens up a bit.
Over the loudspeaker, they hear that their flight has been canceled until the next morning, and Will groans to himself. It’s Christmas Eve; the hotels will be flooded with travelers, and he’s too drunk to drive back to Wolf Trap. He resigns himself to hunkering down in the terminal, when his new friend refuses to allow it, offering instead the other bed in his own hotel room, which he booked as soon as their flight had been delayed.
Will, still a bit tipsy from the bottle of Glenfiddich they finished off, agrees to take the warm bed over a cold floor, and the pair head to the hotel.
Hungry, they order room service, but it’s a very strange dinner. Will can’t quite put his finger on what it is or why it’s strange, but it’s free and he’s enjoying the company so he doesn’t complain. They eat casually at a small table by the balcony, and the stranger seems to become more and more spirited as the night moves on. He suddenly speaks of God, and man, and the many cruel avenues of the human consciousness. They compare childhood stories, and Will finds himself drawn to this unusual man and his bizarre philosophy about life and death.
Flirting and philosophy lead to more mouthfuls of wine, then slow kisses, and the two finally punctuate their dinner with an unrestrained whirlwind of semi-drunken love-making. It culminates in the pair nibbling, biting, and consuming one another like feral animals.
Between moans and whimpers, secrets are shared – an abundance of profound empathy – anxiety – visions of the dead. The other is consumed with blood and a hunger for human flesh. He has gruesome plans – great ones that sore to the heavens and beyond – and needs a partner in crime. His uninhibited secrets are barely heard by the FBI man writhing under him in boundless pleasure.
Will snaps awake the next morning, alone and hungover in a twisted nest of bloody sheets. Memories flood his aching head – sharp teeth, desires to slaughter, confessions of love, and … long pig? He throws on his clothes, rushing to the airport. He has to call Jack! There is a murderer on the loose and he knows who he is! At least he thinks he does …
He bounds to his terminal and boards his flight. The businessman should be here. He was on that flight. But would he dare to show his face after the night before?
The plane breathes with tired travelers – grumbling piles of coats and scarves – but Will’s adjacent seat remains empty. More people board, more overhead bins fill, more chatty attendants help children, but the seat goes unoccupied.
He’s gone. The businessman must have grown scared and run off after realizing he’d admitted his horrific plans to an FBI agent.
Will debates with himself, then calls Jack, stopping the witchhunt that had spread throughout the airport, tipping garbage bins and sweeping through men’s rooms.
Maybe Will’s crazy.
Maybe he didn’t spend all evening talking philosophy with a murderer.
Maybe he didn’t have a passionate night of sex and bloodletting with a madman.
Even if it had happened the way he remembers, who knows if the confessions were real? Perhaps it was simply a role-playing game to up the sexual ante. Being bad can feel rather good sometimes, and Will had spent his entire life imagining just how good “bad” could feel.
Their dinner had been delicious, whether made from ghastly ingredients or not, and the stranger had seemed well-educated, making many worthwhile points about the degradation of society. But in the end, it was probably a bunch of hogwash regardless, so Will leans back and relaxes.
The flight takes off, and he stares out the window at the patchwork of white and brown below them, knowing Washington is just around the corner. It was all a dream; it had to have been. He’s stressed – Jack knows that – and getting called to Seattle on a holiday, his mind reeling with grisly crime scene photos was not the easiest pill to swallow.
Then, while flying over western Maryland, Will hears a chilling voice over the intercom, “This is your captain speaking. I apologize, travelers, for the inconvenient delay last evening. A pilot certainly needs his rest. We would be arriving in Seattle at 10:03 Pacific time, if that were our destination. I’m sorry to inform you, there has been a slight change of plans. Please buckle-up and remain in your seats. If Will Graham is on this flight, I’d like to welcome you aboard. I hope you packed your appetite.”