Fic: Flight Risk (1/1), white cortina, dakfinv
Title: Flight Risk
Author: dak
Word Count: 2764
Rating: white cortina
Warnings: mild language
Summary: Sam has a phobia...
A/N: No angst! Really! This is meant to be somewhat more light-hearted and humorous. Honest! Sort of inspired by the mass amounts of traveling I've been dong over the past few weeks. Please enjoy!
“Why do I have to go?”
As Sam Tyler wasn’t one to shy away from anything, especially his duties as an officer of the Lancashire Constabulary, DCI Hunt was quite surprised to hear those words coming from his DI’s mouth. Of course, he didn’t let it show.
“Well, Tyler, I could ramble on ‘bout how it were your case to begin with, which makes Leeds your responsibility, and how you should be a good little copper an’ go run over there an’ fetch ‘im, but I won’t.”
“You won’t?” Sam sighed, the crossing of his arms somehow as sarcastic as his tone.
“Nope. ‘M not like you, Gladys, so I’ll stick to the simplest explanation possible.”
“Which is?” He asked with mock interest.
“I’m your Guv and I’m tellin’ you to.” Gene dropped the plane ticket on Tyler’s desk. “Now run along and get me my scum, Deputy Dog,” Gene smiled. Tyler swept the ticket into his pocket and left CID without another word. For the Guv, that was the end of that argument.
At least it was until Sam returned just before beer o’clock, pale faced and empty handed.
“Already put Leeds in cells, then?” Gene enquired as he shrugged on his coat.
“No,” Sam mumbled, sitting at his desk and fidgeting with his pen.
“Lost and Found?”
“...he’s still in Belfast...” Sam muttered quickly, blushing and hunching even further over his desk.
“Because...” Hunt’s fingers clenched into a fist as he waited for the impending, unacceptable excuse.
Sam refused to make eye contact but answered the question nonetheless. “I missed the flight. Traffic was awful and the gate had closed by the time I finally got there. I tried to book another one, but they were all full.”
The explanation was clear, believable, and spoken far too quickly, even by Tyler’s standards. Sam was lying.
“Right,” he barked. “So, you’re telling me it’ll be my job to explain to that Paddy bastard of a DCI, who’s been up my arse since last Tuesday to get Leeds off his grubby, little paws, how my very reliable Detective Inspector failed to show up, as promised, cos he weren’t quick enough to catch a plane!”
“Sorry, Guv,” Sam rubbed the back of his neck and stared blankly at the files on his desk.
“Save the apologies for DCI O’Brian when we get there tomorrow.”
“To Belfast?” Sam’s head shot up in surprise.
“Yes.”
“By plane?” He gulped.
“No. By ruddy steam engine. Course by plane. I’ll fetch you seven a.m. sharp. No worries ‘bout being late when the Gene Genie’s behind the wheel,” Hunt grinned.
“Right,” was Sam’s only reply. “Tomorrow then.” He grabbed a handful of folders and shuffled out of the office, nervous and silent, the same way he’d departed for the airport that morning. Tyler wasn’t one to be silent over nothing and tomorrow Gene would delight in prying out the truth from his tight-lipped DI. Tonight, however, there was a darts match which required his utmost attention.
*
“Okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Sam snapped as they left check-in and headed for security.
“Awfully quiet today. Hardly spoke two words on the ride over,” Gene commented casually.
“I have a headache,” he grumbled as he bent over to untie his shoes.
“What’re you doin’?” Gene watched in confusion as Sam took off his left shoe.
“Removing my shoes for the security check,” he stated as thought it were obvious.
“Why?”
“For...” Sam looked up to see other passengers being whisked through security after a quick search through their bags and a brief pat down. “Not very thorough, is it,” he noted with some distaste, standing there with a shoe in his hand.
“What else would you need?” Gene scoffed as he stood in the queue.
“No X-Ray machines, metal detectors. Passengers are getting through with barely a frisk! How easy would it be to conceal a switch blade or a gun. Even a bomb. I bet there isn’t even a security panel on the cockpit door. Any one of these people could storm the cockpit, take control from the pilot and fly us into a building!” Sam spewed out his paranoia in one long breath, earning Tyler his quota of confused glances for the day, as he was padded down by a nervous airport security employee.
“Nonsense, Tyler,” Gene dismissed his concerns, accepting his own brief body search with ease. “Not even the IRA’d do a bloody stupid thing like that.” Hunt adjusted his coat and headed immediately for the airport bar. Tyler followed behind, his eerie I-know-something-bad-that-you-don’t look plastered firmly to his face.
Once at the bar, it was Sam who shouted out a drink order first. Whisky, a double. This was quite a shock to Gene who, as the Guv, always ordered first and who, as the Guv, knew Tyler did not approve of drinking during work hours. Hunt uncharacteristically held his tongue as he watched his DI throw back the liquor with a slightly shaking hand.
Tyler was disturbed, more so than usual, and Gene quickly decided that a thorough bit of observation was needed to get to the truth. So, he carefully observed as Sam ordered a second drink, while he sipped his first, wondering what Sam was hiding.
*
“We are now ready to board flight number BA112, service to Belfast, at gate number six. Please have your boarding cards ready for inspection.”
“ ‘Bout ruddy time,” Gene grumbled, rising to his feet and heading for the queue, alone. Suddenly realizing his companion was not accompanying him to the gate, Hunt turned to see Sam, still and ashen, breathing heavily in his chair. “Flight time, Tyler. Sooner we grab that blaggard from the Paddy’s, sooner we can get home to the pub.”
Sam whispered something so softly, Gene had to double back to hear him.
“You say summit, Gladys?”
“I can’t,” he whispered again, barely louder than before.”I can’t get on the plane,” he stared at his hands.
“Why?” Gene glared and crossed his arms.
“It’s...I just...I...” Sam stammered and the Guv’s patience was worn out. He grabbed Tyler’s arm and heaved him towards the boarding gate.
“Fine. You won’t give me a decent answer, I won’t stand ‘round listening to your rubbish. Now give the nice lady your ticket and get your skinny arse on that plane.” Gene had to tear Sam’s ticket from his fingers and hand it to the stewardess himself, before shoving Tyler out to the plane.
*
Sam took the seat by the window and immediately buckled his seat belt tight. As Gene settled into his own aisle seat, Sam finally opened his mouth.
“I’m afraid of flying,” he admitted, looking away in embarrassment.
“Really?” Gene rolled his eyes, ignoring his seat belt and lighting a fag. “Even Chris could’ve figured that out.”
Sam didn’t answer, choosing instead to tightly grip the arm rests.
“Why?” Gene asked casually.
“Why what?” Sam asked with his eyes, his breaths steadily maintained.
“What’s so terrifying ‘bout an itty, bitty, little plane?”
“I...it just is,” he answered weakly.
“But why?” Gene pressed.
“I don’t bloody know!” Sam shouted, snapping out of his self-imposed trance and scrubbing a hand through his hair. “It just is. It always has been. And I might be a stupid, nancy, girly, Dorothy, gay-boy for admitting it, but I’m scared, okay? I am scared of sitting here in this tiny, metal tube of death, and you are certainly not helping, and do you really have to smoke that now?” He crossed his arms and pouted.
Gene looked from the burning cigarette to Sam’s reddened face. “Yes. Want one?” He offered.
“No,” Sam sneered. “But, uhm, I’d take another drink,” he added softly, and Gene held out a flask. “Thanks,” he mumbled as he took it.
“Thought you said you’ve been to Mexico?” Gene wondered aloud.
“It was on a cruise,” Sam replied.
“Flight’s goin’ to be fine, Tyler.”
“Least till we hit turbulence, crash, and die,” Sam tensed and took another swig, before handing back the flask.
Gene had never had a problem with flying but Tyler was doing a damn fine job of making him feel uneasy.
*
“Ladies and gentlemen, we are ready for take off. If you could please take your seats and fasten your seat belts.”
“I have to get off,” Sam blurted out after fifteen minutes of utter silence.
“You can’t,” Gene ordered.
“No. No I have to get off,” his fingers fumbled for the latch on the seat belt. He was also trying to stand at the same time, rendering the task of escape nearly impossible.
“Sam. Sit down,” Gene grabbed his arm and tried to force him back down.
Sam began to border on a meltdown as he fought frantically with his seat belt. “I can’t do this, Gene. I can’t! I have to leave. I have to get off. It isn’t safe. This just isn’t safe and I--”
Hunt punched him in the face. Sam collapsed back into his seat, dazed but conscious.
“Is there a problem, sirs?” A concerned stewardess approached them.
“Nope,” Gene smiled as Sam rubbed his jaw.
Tyler straightened up to see another stewardess securing the cabin door. “Oh God. They’ve locked us in.”
“I should hope so. Don’t want the door comin’ off during flight,” Gene shrugged nonchalantly.
“You bastard,” Sam moaned as he ducked his head between his legs.
“Which I’m sure won’t happen,” Hunt added.
“Too late now,” Sam groaned, voice muffled from his positioning. “Image is already there.” The plane began to taxi down the runway. Sam shot up, his back ramrod straight. “Shit. Shit. Oh shit. I can’t do this. I have to get off. Can’t we still get off?”
‘No. Now shut up ‘fore I need to shut you up. Again.”
Sam clamped his mouth shut, chewing on his lower lip, and for the first time, Gene noticed the beads of sweat dotting his brow.
“Missus gets scared of the cellar. Course, she has a reason. When she were little, her mam sent ‘er down to get some canned jam. Suddenly, this tramp pops up outta nowhere. Scarres the shite right out of her.”
“....gonnadiegonnadiegonnadie...”
“Sam.”
“Huh?”
“Were you listening?”
“Were you talking?” He asked, fear still tingeing his voice, terror evident in his eyes.
“ ‘M not repeating the whole story. Point is, when me missus gets scared, she sings to herself, an’ it always seems to help.”
“You want me to sing?” Sam asked in disbelief.
“Din’t say I want you to, but if it keeps you from cryin’...”
“I am not going to cry,” Sam snapped. “And I am certainly not going to ohhhhhh....” The plane quickly increased its speed, nearly ready to leave the ground. Sam squeezed his eyes tight and hung onto the arm rests for dear life. “Ohhhhhh....I can’t decided whether you should live or die,” he began to sing. “You’ll probably go to Heaven, so don’t hang your head and cry. No wonder why my heart feels dead inside. ‘S cold and hard and petrified. Lock the doors and close the blinds. We’re going for a ride.”
“What kind of bloody awful song is that?” Gene remarked, staring at his deputy.
“I like i--” The plane lifted off the ground, raising Sam’s voice an octave higher. “--t’s a bitch convincing people to like you--”
“Enough with the singing!” Gene griped.
“You told me to!”
“Well, least sing summit decent.”
“What, like Roger Whittaker?” Sam mocked through the fear.
“Oi! I told you that in confidence, Tyler. Leave Roger out of this.”
“Fine.”
The plane continued to increase its altitude and strain Sam’s nerves, though he was keeping silent. Gene watched him carefully, noticing how every muscle was tensed, how Sam kept swallowing, preventing himself from sicking up. At least one drop of sweat had escaped his forehead and was trailing down his cheek. To Gene, he resembled a little boy, waiting for the monsters under the bed to come and snatch him. Stu had always been afraid of the monsters.
“I’m so alone my love, without you,” Gene began quietly. “You’re part of everything I do. When you come back--”
Sam started mouthing the words along with him.
“--and you’re beside me, these are the words I’ll sing to you.”
Sam found his voice again and together they quietly sang the chorus. “Welcome home. Welcome. Come on in, and close the door. You’ve been gone, too long. Welcome, you’re home once more.” Realizing that they had been singing in harmony, both men quickly stopped and returned to a comfortable silence.
“Better?” Gene asked as the plane levelled out.
Sam’s head twitched in what could have been interpreted as a nod. “We’re still going to crash and burn and die,” he informed his Guv.
“Fair enough. Want another dri--”
Sam swiped the flask before Gene could even finish the question. He took a long drink, then lowered the flask slowly. “Let’s just leave this here, shall we?” Sam sighed, clasping the metal container close to his chest.
*
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ll be landing shortly. Please ensure your tray tables are locked and your seats are in the upright position.”
“Shit. This is it. This is when it happens.”
Throughout the course of their short flight, Tyler had managed to drain all four of his Guv’s flasks, and Gene had nothing left to offer to ease the trauma of landing.
“Nothing’s going to happen, Sam,” he sighed, sick of coddling the poor bastard.
“Nothing? Like the landing gear jamming or the pilot missing the runway or a bird getting caught in the engine or--”
“Want to sing again?” Gene muttered, hoping no one overheard.
“We agreed not to talk about that,” Sam hissed.
The plane began its sharp descent. Sam bent forward and clasped his hands behind his neck. “Tiny metal tube of death. Crash, burn, and die. Need dental records. They’ll need dental records. I don’t even have dental records. Tube of death. Gonna die. Don’t want to die.” His voice increased in pitch as the metal tube of death continued to descend.
Making sure no one was looking, Gene placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder and squeezed. He could feel the lad’s muscles twitching and tensing even through the leather jacket. “ ‘S almost over, Sammy. Nearly there,” he whispered.
Sam continued his litany of horrific crash possibilities, still fixed in the crash position, until the tires finally hit the tarmac. His body lurched at the impact, but he didn’t raise his head while the plane slowly rolled to a stop.
“It’s over Sam,” Gene informed him, unsure whether Tyler could hear him or not. “You made it.”
Sam kept his head low and his voice silent until he heard the cabin doors being opened. His body shot up at the sound, his face pale and eyes wide.
“Sam...”
“Let me out. Let me out. Let me out,” he chanted. When Gene still hadn’t moved, Sam scrambled over him, not caring on which parts of the Guv’s body his hands happened to land.
“Tyler!”
Sam was immune to Gene’s shouts, as he made it to the aisle and pushed past several angry and confused passengers in order to be the first out the door and off the plane. Gene sighed and followed behind, sending a forced smile to anyone who dared question his traveling partner’s peculiar behavior.
He found him in the arrival’s lobby, panting softly and wiping the sweat off his forehead, but otherwise alright and smiling.
“What’re you happy about?” He growled, strolling up to him. “Nearly pissed your pants back there, or aren’t you wearin’ ‘em today?”
“We made it,” he grinned.
“Told yeh we would,” Gene scoffed.
“I made it,” he kept grinning.
“Obviously,” Hunt rolled his eyes.
“I did better than last time,” he said cheerfully, eyes glistening.
“Christ,” Gene shook his head.
“I’m a bit pissed aren’t I?” Sam asked, wobbling slightly as he stood.
“Yeah,” Gene sighed, grabbing him by the collar and frog marching him out the door. “Hate to ruin your good mood, Inspector, but you do know we still have to fly back to Manchester.”
Sam’s body froze as his face dropped. “Shit,” he exclaimed calmly.
“Yeah,” Gene agreed.
“ ‘Scuse me,” Sam wriggled free of Hunt’s grasp and ran to a nearby shrubbery, where he proceeded to sick up everything which he had drank previously.
“Shoulda come by meself,” Gene shook his head and hailed a cab, wondering how much it would cost to ferry what was left of his Inspector back to England.