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[almostgenerallyalways]

to absent friends and those at sea

Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x fem reader Category: angst / fluff Word count: 6,2K CW: language, don't know how the navy works, maybe workplace bullying, this is a 'there's only one bed' fic that got out of control

Summary: Through seven years and almost as many deployments he’s carried this torch, the flame low but always burning somewhere in a condemned antechamber of his heart, one he tried hard to forget the route to.

2023

“Your flight is about to get canceled.”

You start, thrown by the appearance of Hangman at your side, interrupting your intense scrutiny of the departures board where another forty minutes have just been added to the already considerable delay of your outbound flight to Seattle.

“What are you still doing here?” You eye him suspiciously, adjusting your duffel bag over your shoulder.

“Nice to see you too, Mir.” He smiles, completely unperturbed as always. “I stayed back to hang out with Coyote. Haven’t seen him much since he was transferred. He left this morning.” He pauses for a moment, indifferently examining his fingernails. “You?”

You sigh. “I thought I’d take advantage of being in the Rockies to hike.”

The man next to you smirks. “In other words, you got drenched.”

“More or less.”

Two days ago, Saturday, had been a beautiful, sunny day for a wedding: Every circumstance had been perfect to reunite most of your Top Gun class, gathered with assorted family, friends and colleagues of the happy couple, to watch Halo say yes to her wife.

You’d enjoyed yourself immensely; the majestic scenery of Halo’s remote hometown in the Colorado mountains, the beautiful venue and decorations, and best of all: being with one of your best friends on the happiest day of her life.

Then the next day, as you’d rolled out of bed bright and early, only slightly hungover, you’d opened the curtains of your hotel room to unannounced streaks of rain.

Not put off by a little change in weather, you’d checked if there were any safety warnings for the trail you’d chosen, and set out in spite of the adverse conditions. The experience had been less enjoyable than anticipated: the beautiful views over the Rockies obscured by a thick layer of fog, you’d returned to your room early last night, chilled to the bone, every stitch of clothing you’d been wearing soaked through.

Another announcement pings over the speakers, interrupting your reflections. The status next to your flight number and destination now blinks in bold, red typeface: CANCELED.

“Told you.” Your unwanted companion grins helpfully.

Around you, people are starting to move, expressing their panicked complaints. You groan as you realise you are going to be stuck here overnight: it is almost 8 PM, and with the rain and mist not letting up, there’s no way another flight is leaving this small airport tonight.

“Listen, Mir,” Hangman says, expression more sober now, “My flight to San Diego was canceled, and I just stood in line for two hours to get a room for tonight. You’ll be here for hours if you have to get one.”

He considers you, any trace of mockery gone from his face for once. “You wanna crash with me?”

Pressure starts to build behind your temples, as you quickly consider your options. On the one hand, you are tired and cranky and in desperate need of sleep: having been one of the last guests shutting down the wedding in the late hours of Saturday night, and having spent most of your Sunday hiking up a non-rewarding mountain in the pouring rain, you’d love to avoid spending hours in the line that you see the crowd of weary and pissed-off people scramble to form, leading up to the United desk.

On the other hand: Hangman.

He smiles tentatively, as if he can read your thoughts on your face. He probably can. “It’s a double.”

You close your eyes, feeling like you might live to regret this decision: “Okay. Fine. Thanks.” --------------------------------------------------------------------------

2016

Top Gun is a dream and an outright nightmare.

Brought in two weeks after the start of the program to replace someone who was summarily discharged, you’re determined to prove your worth.

When you are first introduced to the men and women (woman, singular, you correct yourself) who are to be your classmates and competition, it’s clear the group dynamics have already been cemented. Some eye you suspiciously, leaning back in their chairs, trying to get a read on the late addition. Some don’t even bother to look.

A blonde pilot in the second row scoffs when the instructor reads a short overview of your scant accomplishments, and another man sitting next to him laughs in response, poorly covering it up with a cough.

It takes everything you have to tough it out. They’re throwing you in the deep end, barely allowing any time or grace to make up for the hours and hours of valuable technical and practical training you’ve missed.

On day eight, though, you execute your first successful stealth manoeuvre, getting the upper hand over one of the instructors. As the details in the move are analysed in front of the class, for the first time, you feel a begrudging respect from some of them.

Not everyone, though. Two seats to your left, Seresin makes a show of studying his cuticles.

* * *

Halo is your lifeline. As the only two women in the class, you gravitate towards each other, finding some respite from the hyper-masculine bullshit of the rest of the group.

Or maybe she’s an angel, as her recently coined callsign suggests.

You’re lounging on the rec room couch with Halo’s feet in your lap, debriefing the day’s hop, when Seresin and two of his usual hangers-on walk in. (Their names are Miller and Wozniak. Halo and you have taken to referring to them as Crabbe and Goyle.)

“Ladies.” He grins, flashing you a smile with no warmth behind it.

A feeling of dread gathers in your stomach.

He casually picks an apple out of the fruit bowl and pretends to inspect it as he comments: “Poor showing out there today. You’re gonna have to do better than that if you wanna play in the big leagues with the boys.”

Halo, laid back on the couch, rolls her eyes. “Fuck off, Jake.”

He grins at her and takes a bite, crunching loudly. “You know, Halo, it’s not so much you I’m worried about. But this one-” He gestures at you with the piece of fruit. He has never referred to you by your name. “Is on thin ice, I hear. Heard they’re regretting calling her up.”

At this, Halo sits up, looking like she wants to give him a piece of her mind, but you stop her with a touch to her arm. “Forget it, Callie.”

* * *

You’re breathing heavy, blood rushing in your ears as your body is pushed to its physical limits, your F-18 protesting as you accelerate into a sharp turn curving around a particularly treacherous stretch of the San Jacinto mountains.

Your gamble has paid off, though, as you come out right on top of your prey. You can taste bile in the back of your throat as you lock tone on Fanboy’s jet.

It tastes like victory.

Back on the tarmac, peeling off the top half of your sweat-drenched flight suit, Halo throws her arms around your neck as Fanboy shakes your hand, a bemused smile on his face. “Nice work out there. Never even saw you coming.”

Later, at the Hard Deck, one pilot after another buys you drinks as you finally earn your callsign: Mirage.

* * *

It gets easier from there on out, and it doesn’t.

On the one hand, you don’t feel like you constantly have to defend your place anymore. After you score big in the mountains, Hangman finally has the decency to shut his mouth around you. You’ve found a natural understanding with most of the other pilots – the competition is fierce, but nights at the bar bring everyone back on equal footing.

Yet as the program ramps up to its conclusion, so does the pressure. Some mornings you can’t choke down breakfast, your stomach seized up into a knot of nerves and anticipation.

In week ten, you’re having so much trouble with a simulation that you, your wingman and his backseater get shot down six times in a row. Your arms burn with the hundreds of push-ups you’re grinding into the blistering tarmac, your CO never running out of the torrent of abuse he’s heaping onto your back.

You can’t sleep that night, keep seeing the disappointed look on your wingman’s face as you’d fucked up again and again. Around three in the morning, you give up on sleep and head to the on-base gym.

You crank a treadmill up to high and you run, run, run until your lungs are burning and your mouth tastes like metal. Rivulets of sweat drip down your back, down your face, mingling with tears you didn’t realise you’d been holding back, until finally your legs are screaming at you to stop, and you sit down at the end of another treadmill, your shoulders shaking, cradling your face in your knees.

You don’t know how long you sit there, but you know it’s not fully morning yet when a pair of white sneakers appears in your line of vision.

“Mir?”

Of course it had to be him, of all people, seeing you at your worst and most vulnerable.

“Go away.” You manage to grunt.

He doesn’t. Instead, he sits down next to you, hovering at a distance – still too close.

“Are you alright?” He asks, and if you weren’t burning with embarrassment and rage, his hesitant tone might give you pause.

You lift your face from your knees, steeling yourself. You must look ridiculous, you think, a sweaty heap of a girl having a mental breakdown at the bottom of some exercise equipment. You refuse to look at him. “I’m fine.”

He reaches out tentatively, trying to brush away a strand of hair that’s plastered to the side of your face, and you all but jump back: “Goddamn it, Seresin, don’t touch me.”

Finding the strength to push yourself up, you turn to him: “Don’t touch me, don’t talk to me, don’t come anywhere near me.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

2016

When Koehler is discharged, Jake Seresin feels like the rug’s been pulled out from under him.

They came up together through the Academy, and while Jake isn’t sure he would’ve called him a friend in any other circumstances, at least… At least he was an ally. Familiar. Someone who saw through his cocky bullshit and gave as good as he got.

The chances of both of them getting into Top Gun were astronomically small – and then Koehler immediately went and fucked it up. Jake cannot comprehend it.

He feels off-kilter, his only confidant having made a spectacularly embarrassing exit from the program. He can feel the rest of the class watching him, like sharks who’ve smelled blood in the water, waiting for him to make a deadly mistake too.

But Jake didn’t come here to screw up. He came here to win. So he does the only thing he knows how to do – he ramps it up, builds his walls higher, needles people harder – gets under their skin before they can get under his.

He knows it’s not making him many friends – but it works. People don’t question him. He takes no prisoners, flies like he’s the only one out there, puts himself first always – and is ranked near the top of the class for doing so.

When you’re introduced as Koehler’s replacement, he can’t believe it. It feels like adding salt to the wound, bringing in someone who didn’t even make the cut-off on their own merit. So if you get it a little worse than the others – well.

He sees you struggling, those first weeks, and it only confirms his thinking.

One scorching afternoon, after a long series of dogfights ends in embarrassment for half the class, he’s in the rec room pressing a cold compress to his face, discussing the day’s events with Wozniak: “I mean, did you see her out there? That’s what happens when you pull the B-team off the bench. She’s got no business being here. She’s dragging everyone down.”

Wozniak doesn’t immediately respond, and Jake looks up to find you standing in the doorway, looking caught off guard. You recover after a second, straightening your back, and grab a water from the cooler, studiously not looking at him.

You never look at him, after that.

But he looks at you.

* * *

You have bags under your eyes. The line of your jaw has gotten a little sharper. You get a little quieter, even more so than before.

He notices these things just like he notices the redoubled resolve stiffening your spine.

You start creeping up in the rankings, slowly, point by point, and while he doesn’t like that, he respects it.

After the mountains, where you pull a trick out of the bag that takes him completely by surprise, he lines up to congratulate you. Fanboy takes it on the chin, he’s a good guy, and Jake claps him on the back before turning to you, Halo still at your side. But you won’t look at him, and ignore his outstretched hand.

He supposes he deserves that.

* * *

A few weeks later, he wakes up earlier than usual after a night of fitful sleep, his body still processing the adrenaline from an open-sea simulation the day before. Jake came out on top, though he ditched his wingman to do so. Several others didn’t manage to complete the exercise, a crucial barrier for the last stretch of the thirteen-week program.

After tossing and turning for twenty minutes, the light outside his cracked window starting to shift incrementally from pitch black to indigo blue, he decides to head to the gym.

When he steps into the cavernous, air-conditioned room, he immediately senses someone else’s presence, though he can’t see anyone using any of the rows and rows of equipment. It’s not until he rounds into a stretch of treadmills that he spots you, hunched over into your bare knees.

“Mir?” He approaches hesitantly, noting the flushed skin of your back, your hair matted with sweat.

“Go away.” He gets in response, but he can’t, not when you’re sitting there trembling.

“Are you alright?” He asks, even though he can clearly see that you’re not.

You lift your face, surreptitiously swiping at your eyes with your palm. “I’m fine.”

Still not looking at him. Never looking at him.

He reaches out a hand, tentatively; he wants to make this better –

He has to make this better, make you feel–

- but you recoil from him, and he sits there for a long time after you’ve banged the door shut behind you like you couldn’t get away from him fast enough.

Sits there for a good long while, with the ghost of your presence.

* * *

Jake wins the trophy.

It’s a raucous night at the Hard Deck and he feels like a weight’s been lifted off his shoulders. Sure, he doesn’t know where they’re shipping him off next week – but for now, he has won and no one can take that away from him, not the pilots giving him sideways glances at the bar, not his father, no one.

Fanboy bumps his shoulder and hands him what must be his fifth or sixth beer of the night. Over on the jukebox, Son of a Preacher Man starts playing and he glances over to see you throw your arms around Halo’s shoulders, laughing, dancing her around the crowded room a little unsteadily. You look lighter, happier than he’s ever seen you.

He watches for long moment, transfixed, until he realises Mickey is talking to him.

Mickey turns around, trying to follow Jake’s line of sight, and finds you. “Oh, dude.” He turns back, clinks Jake’s beer with his own. “I’m sorry to tell you, I think that ship has sailed, man.”

Right, Jake thinks, taking a long pull of his beer. And why should he care? He’s got what he came to North Island for.

No one can take that away.

* * *

2018

He doesn’t see you again for two years. Two years of him being shipped from base to base, coast to coast and back again, the Navy’s prize pony, getting new orders every few months.

He shows up in Oceana, papers in hand; greets familiar faces at The Admiral’s and trades stories over the sound of classic rock and the clicking of pool cues.

Then he turns around and bumps into – you.

It puts him on the back foot, coming face to face with you unexpectedly. You look like you’re caught off guard, too, but you recover quickly. “Hangman.”

“Mirage.” He smirks, defences slotting into place. “Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

You look a little bit older, sharper in ways, your watchful eyes clearly on guard as he leans against the bartop, giving you a once-over. It’s a tactical mistake, on his part – it only serves to ignite something warm deep inside of him.

“Gonna be here for a while. Think we can kiss and make up?”

You shoot him a withering glance, like you expected better out of him. “In your dreams, Bagman.”

The bartender brings you your drink, and you smile sweetly at him. “Terry, put one of whatever he’s having on my card, will you? Fucking new guy’s gonna need it.”

* * *

And it’s fine, it’s perfectly fine. You work perfectly well together. 

It’s just that –

No matter how much he needles and cajoles, flirts or tries to rile you up, you only ever treat him as –

A colleague. Which is what he is, sure, but –

He doesn’t ever get that part of you, the part that laughs easy with Fanboy or does shots with Bambi, the part of you that bodily holds up Halo after she gets the call that her childhood dog has died, the part of you that sits next to the radio, fists clenched with anticipation when someone is flying a tough hop, the part of you that envelops them into a full body hug after.

The part of you that has your eyes light up when you look at someone, instead of straight through him.

And no matter how many times he tells himself to move on, he never quite stops wanting it.

* * *

2021

Deployed in the South China Sea, he flies one of the more difficult, harebrained missions of his life with you.

He finds you, after, where you’re slumped against a steel wall on deck, your flight suit half off, trying to catch your breath; and hands you a Sprite.

You consider him for a moment before taking the soda. It feels a little like you’re really looking at him for the first time.

“This is my favourite.”

He sits down, not close, exactly, but close enough to feel the heat radiating from your skin. “Yeah.”

A beat passes. You open the can with a hiss, and he exhales: “Nice work back there.”

“You too, Bagman.”

The wind whips across the deck, but you’re sheltered from it by the structure, leaving only the noise.

“Do you know where you’re headed after this?” he asks.

“Back to Bahrain, still got another fourteen months there. You?”

“San Diego.”

You give a little quirk of your mouth. “Lucky.”

“I thought you’d be stateside. I thought you might have…” He holds up his right hand, indicates his ring finger. “That guy in Fallon. Search & Rescue with the dark eyes.”

You take a sip of your drink. “You noticed his eyes?”

Jake shrugs.

You look at the wide expanse of ocean churning beyond the flanks of the carrier. “No. He was… He wanted to settle in Nevada, have kids.” You give him a wry smile that doesn’t quite make it to your eyes. “Wasn’t ready to give all this up.”

“Ah.” Jake says, his throat a little dry. It feels like the realest conversation he’s ever had with you, and yet, he can’t think what to say.

You sit there for a while, in what feels like something close to companiable silence, until it’s time to debrief.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

2023

The receptionist looks up apologetically from her sleek desk. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant Seresin. Because of all the delayed passengers, we’re getting a lot of demand for double rooms for families. Is there any way you would take a single? We can offer you complimentary breakfast.”

Jake looks at you hesitantly, shifting the strap of his backpack over his shoulder.

You rub your temples, doing nothing to alleviate the increasing pounding in your skull. Of course this was going to happen. “It’s fine. Let’s go.”

* * *

“I can, uh,” You see him looking around for a sofa, but there isn’t one.

You sigh, letting your bag drop onto the plush grey-green carpet. “Don’t worry about it. We’ve shared worse sleeping arrangements.”

These have usually involved a barracks or an aircraft carrier, and between twenty to two hundred of your coworkers, but who’s counting.

“I suppose that’s true.” He replies, staring at the bed.

At least it’s big, you think, and you can’t wait to plop your head down on one of its crisp white pillows. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

* * *

After your shower, you’re in bed, waiting with no small amount of apprehension for Hangman to emerge from his turn in the bathroom.

When he does, in boxers and a t-shirt, his normally slicked-back hair slightly peaky and darkened by the water, he looks younger than he is. He looks a little like he did when you first knew him.

He pulls back the covers and settles against the pillows on his side, the mattress dipping with the weight of him. He’s heavier than he looks – you’re always a little surprised by the lean, solid mass of him. It’s a byproduct, you suppose, of years of studiously not looking at him when you can avoid it.

“I guess that’s goodnight, Mir.”

You look up at him, facing you. The proximity of him is unfamiliar, and a little unnerving.

You have to close your eyes against it.

“Night, Hangman.”

When you open your eyes again, he considers you for a moment with an expression you can’t place.

“I wanted to talk to you, you know, at the wedding, but you kept disappearing on me.”

You don’t really know what to say in response. “I didn’t realise we had much to say to each other.”

His face shutters, and you feel a little pang of guilt. “Yeah. I guess that’s true.”

He shifts onto his back. “You looked beautiful. Just wanted to say that.”

You can’t help but be a little taken aback, and it takes you a second to reply, guardedly: “Thanks. You didn’t look too bad yourself.”

But then he never does, does he? Jake Seresin, golden boy, never a hair out of place.

He doesn’t respond, and you burrow into your pillow, determined to let sleep take you over as soon as possible.

* * *

You wake from a fitful sleep to movement beside you. It takes you a second or two to remember where you are, and with whom, before you realise that the man next to you is breathing in wheezy stops and starts, a low, panicked murmur emanating from his throat.

You hesitate for an instant before propping yourself up on your arm, using your free hand to lightly shake his shoulder. “Bagman. Hey. Seresin, wake up.” He’s breathing hard, radiating heat. “Hey. Jake.”

He comes to, slowly, gasping for air, as if emerging from deep below the surface of a rough sea. His skin, where you are holding onto him, is overly hot, the fabric of his t-shirt damp. He scrambles to prop himself up, causing you to pull back your hand, but he grabs your wrist hard before you can fully pull away.

“What,” He manages, the look in his eyes still wild and unfocused, roaming over you. It takes a second, two, three, before realization dawns, and he starts to calm down. His tight grip on your wrist eases slightly.

Despite the low light of the dark room, you see a flush start to creep up the skin of his throat. “Mir. I’m sorry. I was…”

For the first time, you feel something akin to tenderness for him. You try to sweep some of the sweaty strands of hair off his forehead, hindered by his continued grasp on your arm. “It’s okay. You’re fine.” You pause, feeling a little awkward. “Could’ve just as well been me.”

At that, he lets go of your wrist, letting himself drop back onto the pillow. He stares at the ceiling, and you let yourself settle back onto your side, watching the steadily slowing rise and fall of his chest.

Just as you wonder whether you should just go back to sleep, let the both of you pretend this never happened, he says, “They’re always the same. Me, trying to save one of you, and failing. It’s getting better, they used to be much more frequent, I’m talking to someone, but…”

“I stop sleeping.” The words are out of your mouth before you realize you’re saying them. “When it gets really bad.” 

You have never shared this broken, faulty part of yourself with anyone, but somehow, looking at the shadowy form of Hangman’s shoulder two inches from your face, it tumbles out.

“I can’t sleep, I can’t function, I fly like a zombie. Sometimes I genuinely worry they’re going to ground me.”

You see his little smirk appear, even in the dark. “I genuinely don’t think I’ve ever seen you fly badly.”

“Oh, fuck off, Bagman.” You say it without venom, thumping his stomach lightly. “That’s certainly not what you used to say.” On the rebound, he catches your hand, cradling it just below his ribs.

You don’t pull it back.

A few minutes go by in silence, and you just when you start thinking he may have fallen asleep, he says: “Mir.”

“Yeah?”

“Will you ever…?” He exhales a puff of breath. “Will you ever forgive me?”

You fold your arm under your pillow, wary, and consider your answer for a moment. “I forgave you a long time ago.” You pause, scared to say too much. “I just… don’t know how to be around you without feeling like I’m twenty-three again, always having to prove myself because I’m not good enough.”

You watch his chest rise as he inhales, fall again with a deep sigh. “I’m sorry I ever made you feel like that. I can’t excuse it. From the beginning I blamed you for replacing Koehler when it had nothing to do with you.”

His voice drops a little bit. “To be honest, I was scared I wouldn’t make it without him.”

Now it’s your turn to smirk. “The great Hangman Seresin, scared?”

He turns onto his side to face you, his expression solemn. “Seriously, Mir. I was insecure and I covered it up by being a dick. Maybe I still do, to some extent.”

His eyes turn downwards, to the space between your bodies. “But I feel like I’ve been trying to make things right with you for a while.”

You can’t deny this. You’ve always rebuffed any attempt on his part to approach you beyond what was strictly necessary.

“I guess I’m a champion grudge holder.”

He looks back up to meet your eyes, a crooked smile appearing on his face. “Seven years and two entire deployments together, though?”

You scoff, realising how ridiculous this sounds, but you can’t help it – it felt very personal to you. “You don’t know what it was like. I didn’t make the initial cut. By the time I got to San Diego I was two weeks behind everyone, one of only two women, and on top of that you, the class golden boy, hated me being there.”

You pause, inhaling to steady yourself. “I felt like I was under so much pressure, it fucked me up.”

When you meet Hangman’s eyes again, something in his face has softened.

“I’m sorry.”

He squeezes your hand, the skin of his palm rough.

You take in the sharp lines and smooth planes of his face, hair in disarray from a sweaty, restless sleep. He’s very close, and you don’t know if it’s the weird, suspended-in-time quality of this darkened room, or the weight that’s been lifted off your shoulders through this little exchange, weight you hadn’t even realised was there; but for the first time you feel like you might like Hangman.

Not Hangman, Jake, brass and bravado stripped away, looking at you like you’re something precious, something he’s a little bit afraid of.

It's a lot of things to feel, in the middle of the night, after seven years of cold war.

You clear your throat, but your voice still comes out a little raspier than you intend to: “Alright then, Bagman. Détente?”

Out comes that crooked little quirk of his lips again: “Alright, Mirage. Détente.”

He’s still holding on to your hand, and he pulls it a little closer into his body.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jake wakes up to the frantic buzzing of his phone and reaches for it on the nightstand, the endeavour complicated by your head weighing down his other arm. The crisp first light of day is seeping through a gap in the curtains, framing a picture of you sleeping curled into his chest so pointedly he almost has to assume he’s still asleep.

After a second or two, this assumption is dispelled by a very chipper United rep talking away at him, informing him that he’s booked onto a flight to San Diego at 10:45.

“Okay, uh, that works,” He manages, trying to keep his voice down so that you don’t wake up, but it’s too late: already you’re looking up at him, blinking sleep out of your eyes.

He ends the call, puts the phone down, and after a second’s hesitation, returns his arm to its place around your waist.

He looks down at you, not even sure what he’s asking: Is this okay? Do you still hate me?

Do you realize I’ve wanted this for years?

Through seven years and almost as many deployments he’s carried this torch, the flame low but always burning somewhere in a condemned antechamber of his heart, one he tried hard to forget the route to.

You shift slightly, and he reflexively tightens his fingers into the fabric of your shirt. He sees your pupils go wide, and it’s stupid, the jolt he feels at that – it goes straight to his gut.

Then your phone rings, too, and the moment bursts like a soap bubble. You prop yourself up, pulling away from him to answer it.

When you’re done arranging your flight, he can feel the atmosphere has shifted. You don’t look at him when you say: “We should probably start packing up, huh?”

“Mir, wait,” He says, and he knows he sounds a little desperate, but there’s so many things he wants to say, finally, if this is the best chance he’ll get.

“Jake,” you interrupt, and the pleading tone of your voice shuts him up.

Later, on his flight, he’ll think about falling asleep with your hand in his, and his heart will break a little.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Halo calls you, ten days into the honeymoon, to exalt Jess, marriage, and Hawaii, in that order.

You’re at home, cooking dinner, a Motown playlist on in the background while she details all the kayaking, wine tasting and gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes they’ve been doing. Your heart swells at her happiness. “I’m so glad you guys are having a great time.”

She asks how your hike went, and you end up telling her what happened – the canceled flight, Hangman, all of it.

Halo snorts. “Oh, poor guy. I’m not sure his outsize ego will recover from this.” She pauses to say something to Jess. “Though I’d feel more sorry for him if he hadn’t literally waited for an adverse weather event to try to tell you how he feels.”

You plop down on the couch with your plate of pasta. “Wait, what do you mean?”

“Come on, dude. He’s been in love with you for years.”

“Huh.” You say, eloquently.

* * *

You book a ticket to San Diego. You take four days’ leave, and you’re not even sure Jake is there. If he isn’t, you think, clicking to skip the seat selection, you’ll take it as a sign.

Which is stupid. You don’t believe in that kind of thing. Maybe this entire idea is stupid, you consider, as you board your flight at SeaTac.

When you walk into the Hard Deck on Friday night, it feels a little like the first time: You’re nervous, your hands clammy as you run them down your shorts. Penny waves you over and pours you a tequila soda, which you accept gratefully. People you know start noticing your presence, coming up to catch up at the bar.

You’re talking to Fritz, who’s already a little worse for wear, when Jake comes in. He catches sight of you and stops short. You forget what you were saying mid-sentence.

Fritz turns around and clocks him, shooting you a wide grin. “Ah. Guess that’s my cue to leave.”

He comes up next to you at the bar, taking the place Fritz vacates. “Hey. No one told me you were gonna be in town.”

He looks good, if a little tired: sun kissed skin and slightly deeper lines in the corners of his eyes when he gives you a smile that feels perfunctory. He’s wearing his khakis, in pristine condition, though he looks like he hasn’t been sleeping well. Penny has already put a beer in front of him, and he takes a long pull on it before really looking at you.

The look in his eyes feels like the confirmation you needed.

“Last minute decision.” You say, inclining your head in the direction of the back exit. “Would you mind if we talked somewhere quieter?”

If he’s surprised, he doesn’t question it, and he follows you out to the back porch.

It’s a warm night, late summer – the kind you love.

You set your drink down on the railing, suddenly nervous, and turn around, leaning back against the salt-weathered wood to face Jake. The music filters out from the bar, muted by the windows – a moody Tom Waits song.

“I’m sorry.” You start, “For leaving the way I did in Colorado. I think I was overwhelmed, by you, by what I was feeling- I got scared.”

“By what you were feeling,” He says, like he needs to repeat it to be sure.

You nod, willing yourself to be brave this time. “Yeah. I spent seven years keeping up my defences around you and then I wake up once with your arms around me and I’m like oh, fuck and-” You stop yourself, looking out at the calm ocean waves in the distance, the sun just beginning to dip into the horizon. “Fuck, I’m not explaining this very well.”

Jake’s face shows the beginning of a smile. “I think I understand what you’re trying to say.”

He steps in closer to you, and your hands go to his waist. You feel a little lightheaded with him so close, but you’re determined to continue. “And I didn’t know what to make of it. You looking at me like that. I told myself it wasn’t real so I could go back to where I was comfortable – not thinking about you.”

He closes the gap between you, an arm around your shoulder, tucking his face into your hair. “I assure you, Mir, that the way I feel about you is very real.”

His voice in your ear feels like a balm, and you tighten your fingers into his shirt, bringing your body flush with his. It’s still overwhelming – how he’s familiar and new at once, the scent of his warm skin and pressed uniform, the feeling of his lips against your temple. “Yeah, well. Not thinking about you wasn’t going very well.”

He lifts you up to sit on the railing, bringing your face level with his, and steadies you with his hands on your waist. “Mir. Did you come out here for me?”

You place your hands on his shoulders, running your thumbs up the sloped curve to his neck, and smile at the visible reaction this has on him. “Yes, Bagman.”

He kisses you then, and it feels like the solution to a problem you hadn’t even realised had been weighing on you – tangling your fingers into his hair, drawing him in closer between your knees. He keeps repeating your name, like he can’t quite believe you, and you keep answering him with more kisses, needing him to know – what?

That you’ve caught up with him. That you’re here now.

You both slow down when you simultaneously become aware that there’s a small crowd on the other side of the windows, gawking at you. You think you see an open-mouthed Mickey, pool cue still in hand. At the moment, you don’t have it in you to care.

“How long are you staying?” Jake murmurs into your neck, his arms around you.

“Monday.” You breathe, resting your chin on the top of his head. “But I’ll be back soon.”

*******

end notes: omg sorry i didn't write anything for so long - life's just been A LOT. i hope you enjoyed it. check out my masterlist <3 title from the royal navy toasts

[syn4k]

internet echo chamber doomerism is literally insane and starts to fall apart the second that you actually like, talk to people in real life. like im in philly pa for the first time for an event this weekend and today i was on the train outbound n i sat next to an older woman ive never met in my life and complimented her hat n we started chatting about stuff. different ages backgrounds everything we come from different parts of the country but she recommended some food places downtown (the hotel i'm staying at is right next to there, turns out i'd already been! she was right, it was awesome) and we talked about the differences between my city n hers and it was really nice! oma from philadelphia i hope i see you again one day. if i ever end up in this city again i will ride the blue line in the hopes of meeting you there

[chitsangenthusiast]

for awhile now i've been craving to do a fic/scene to this song but no earthly clue how to write it where it adequately matches the energy of the song and isn't a song fic

so imagine with me: marine biologist sokka, famous rocker zuko, and a night of karaoke

——

naturally, their entire thing starts with a concert.

zuko's playing in his home city, and all sokka needs to do is take an hour train in to see one of his favorite bands. easy enough, he's made the same commute countless times, and absolutely worth it, even if it means he's going alone when no one else's schedules line up to be able to tag along.

except the forecasted snow hits harder than it was supposed to during the concert, putting any outbound trains out of commission as well as any hopes for an uber willing to drive him the hour back to home. it's bad enough that he wouldn't risk asking his friends to come out to him, especially not katara, who was already on call tonight and whose probability of going into work just sky rocketed.

which means: a hotel. which means: he's pissed, and if he's going to be unexpectedly forced to spend the money to stay a night in the city then he's at least going to go waste more money and get blasted at a local dive bar he knows.

the older couple sitting next to him who he'd been commiserating with get up to brave the weather at the exact moment zuko walks in.

(the next morning, sokka wakes up to the distant sounds of zuko saying he got late check-out for him, then again to an empty room and a phone number scrawled onto the hotel note pad laying next to his dead phone.)

//fast forward, where zuko is trying to enjoy lunch with his friends in the city, except the paparazzi are relentless. but fate had granted it to be a beautiful day, with the bay sparkling invitingly, and one of the best seafood places happens to be on the route to sokka's favorite lunch spot.

they make eye contact across the street, and zuko pursues.

//fast forward, through several more nights spent together, several more paparazzi issues, a classic airport scene, the kiss that finally seals the deal.

//linger on the moment when zuko sneaks into a conference sokka is attending. the one with an importance that had been alluded to for the past month, where sokka even refused to schedule anything together in the two weeks leading up to it, the one where he laughed at the idea of zuko attending it as a show of support, but also hadn't explicitly stated he didn't want him to find a way to get in.

so zuko does, and he finds out that what sokka had vaguely described as a podium presentation was actually the keynote speech, given to a packed auditorium.

zuko knew sokka was smart, but he didn't know he was 'on the fast track to being renowned in his field' smart.

(it's hot, all that easy intelligence and confidence as he watches sokka just totally in his element. he jokes to mai later that he can't believe he fell in love to a total nerd.)

//linger on how, once he's said it out loud, the thought never leaves his mind.

//fast forward to (finally) karaoke night. sokka can sing, but zuko's never succeeded in getting him to sing along to one of his songs, despite sokka's unabashed proclamations of how big of a fan he is. until tonight (thank you katara and ty lee), and—oh.

oh.

zuko had encouraged him by saying he'd provide back up vocals (it's fun to watch sokka squirm at the idea of singing along with the lead singer of the song he's about to perform), and sokka declared he's going to face the tv the entire time to avoid seeing ty lee's phone bc of course she's recording to some social media live—

he forgets about the camera halfway through, forgets their friends are even in the room despite their cheering, because he loves this song, loves the theatrics, and he'll be damned if he doesn't do it full justice like he does every time he sings it. especially when he whips around, caught up in the vocals and the dramatic sway of his performance, and catches sight of zuko on the couch, microphone fully forgotten in his lap as he stares wide-eyed and open-mouthed at him.

sokka is hitting every note, every emotion that the song demands. he's doing perfect, he is perfect, and when he sidles close enough zuko can't help but cling to his legs, desperate and breathless as he stares up at him, utterly enraptured. he yanks on sokka's belt loops, tries to pull him down, an unconscious action fueled more by his pounding heart than any desire to end the performance—the last thing he wants is to end this—but sokka doesn't indulge him until the very end, during the small space of a breath right before the last few lines.

"together bound in madness," he sings, shakier then zuko performs it, sweeter then he could ever make it, then bends down to kiss zuko soundly, putting as much of his everything into this kiss as he is singing zuko's song, and only sokka is able to hear the rattled gasp zuko releases when he slips his hand into his hair to cradle the back of his head.

when he pops back up to do the big finish, his hand remains nestled in zuko's hair, grounding him. he savors both the iron grip on his hips and how zuko's head lays boneless against his palm.

the last ringing note, the end of the song, and sokka barely gets in a steadying breath before zuko is frantically tugging him back down to his mouth.

in the background, simultaneously hazy and so, so clear, he hears mai: "i can't believe we just watched zuko fall in love."

and yeah. yes.

he absolutely just did.

[theworldoffostering]

We made it! Our first trip away from our kids (second one in the entirety of our marriage) was mostly successful.

The outbound flight was stressful as two ladies in the row behind us got into a fight. The flight was full and we flew Spirit, so the seats were tight—everyone is just packed together. The two women were apparently fighting about one elbowing the other for more arm room. They did end up moving one woman after the other started screaming F bombs at her. But that was within the first hour of our four hour flight, and I just kept waiting for something else to happen. There was also a lot of turbulence. I will be glad to be back home and traveling by car again. I’m already dreading the return flight which we are about to board.

We arrived at our hotel just before midnight. I really liked Park MGM. The employees were all helpful and kind, our room was comfortable, and the food options at the hotel were decent (but so expensive).

It was incredibly hot—120 degrees the day we arrived. We decided to walk about a mile down the strip to see some other things. I really didn’t think at all about it being 117. I’m pretty sure I almost died on the walk back to our hotel, and would definitely not do it again given the option.

We spent our mornings at the pool which was very nice. We rode the roller coaster at New York New York. We lost $20 in the slot machine, but that was the only money we gambled. We went to the Pinball Hall of Fame, which seems a bit off brand from Vegas, but ended up being super fun! My dad loved pinball, and being there made me happy, but it is also one of the first times I’ve acutely missed him since he died last summer. He would have enjoyed that place so much.

I’m glad we went, but I don’t know that I would choose to go back. After being in that heat for one afternoon, I basically didn’t want to leave the hotel again.

Tomorrow we pick three kids up from camp, and DH has class. Grandma is dropped NB and DS off tonight so they will be waiting for us when we get home. DS is also picking up Pumpkin from the boarding place right now. I’m hoping re-entry won’t be awful. I have to hit the ground running with work and appointments tomorrow and Monday.

[amuseoffyre]

I don’t think I did a summary of the weird run of bad luck I had on my trip:

every outbound flight was delayed, some by short increments, some by hours, and of course didn’t get confirmation of the next flight also being delayed which led to much panicking when I was landing just before my next flight was due to leave

my luggage only got part of the way to NZ because of some staff/system error that said my journey ended in Australia. It took 4.5 days to get to me

one of my outbound flight tickets was invalid

a massive storm front crossed the whole country when I was in the mountains, trapping me in my hotel for 3 days

said hotel was also struck by lightning which took out all communications for nearly 24 hours. while I was stuck there. with nothing to do and nowhere to go.

one of my buses was cancelled with no notification leading to having the pay an extra night’s accommodation in the town I was in, while my accommodation in the next location was also being paid for

when I finally got to that town there was a 5.6 earthquake under the lake 500m from where I was staying with aftershocks continuing for the next few days

my bad knee got wonked by one of the bush walks and is still twitchy

on my way home, I was denied boarding to my second flight (because of something wrong with my third flight? IDEK) and was chucked in a hotel overnight, then abandoned in Australia by the airline who wouldn’t admit culpability

had to buy an entire new ticket (so forking expensive😱) and ended up circumnavigating the globe entirely. I’d never been to San Francisco before. Seems such a waste I only got to pass through for 5 hours.

Needless to say that while I enjoyed the majority of the trip, either end and random moments in the middle were very Not Fun. Homecoming especially was a nightmare and a half and I’m dealing with BS bureaucracy now to try and get refunds for the mess.

[daydreamgoddess14]

Home Time

MASTERLIST

11 hours on a bus back from Amsterdam is a long time.

~~~~~~~~~

They'd cycled through a number of crowd favourites - Three Little Birds, followed by Sweet Caroline, Livin on a Prayer and a stellar duet of Starman by Rebecca and Piggy Stardust... Once they'd left the city, Ted stood to address the bus.

"First rule on my bus, same as the outbound journey - only number ones on the bus. No number twos, no negotiation. If anyone toots on the bus, they find their own way home." Nods and murmurs sounded throughout. "We have a journey time of about 11 hours ahead of us, first stop is Ghent after lunch, then we plow on to Calais for the boat at 4.30 this afternoon. We should be back in Richmond by 8pm. Where I expect you all to go straight to bed. We have lunch on board, kindly picked up by Will and Higgyboy. What's my snack rule fellas?"

"Share snacks, Coach"

"That's right, you will share those fizzy sour haribos I like so much - especially with me. You wanna sleep? Fine by me, I'll stick a DNR on you-"

"DND" Beard interrupted 

"Oh right, yeah, course. No need for DNRs, I'd happily resuscitate any one of you guys, no fear there! You don't wanna sleep, we've got card decks, Uno, and some other games. Also - book swap! I finished a very exciting cozy murder mystery involving a baking club this morning, if anyone wants to give it a whirl. Lookin' at you Royster. Other than that, relax, rest and I'll catch up with y'all in a bit."

"Thanks Coach" various voices spoke up. Once Ted was seated again, Higgins made his way down the coach aisle with a takeaway cup which he popped down in front of Rebecca. 

"Leslie you wonderful man. How did you know?"

"Didn’t see you at the hotel breakfast, and I was picking up lunch for everyone anyway. It is coffee though, I'm afraid."

"I'll survive, thank you. So much." Rebecca smiled warmly. "How was your evening of jazz?"

"Oh it was excellent, young Will enjoyed it too. Isn't it a lovely city?"

"I saw less of it than I expected to be honest." Rebecca gave a small shrug. Try as he might, Ted was struggling to avoid eavesdropping, fortunately Rebecca didn't offer any further information. "Could you order me a new phone please? Do you think we could have one at the club for tomorrow morning?" Higgins pulled his phone out of his pocket and started an online basket,

"Of course, shouldn't be a problem. Did you want the new model, and in pink?"

"Yes please, that would be perfect. I'm afraid mine is in the bottom of the canal. Can we access my account remotely to forward any calls?"

"Yes, yes, calls only though - messages don't get retrieved until you get your new phone?"

Rebecca caught Ted's eye and smirked. 

"That's not a problem, I'm sure I can get caught up on those tomorrow. Ted, would you mind putting a message on the group chat to let everyone know I'm incommunicado please?"

"Sure thing boss, betcha those little fishes wish they had thumbs for textin!"

After a couple of hours on some team admin, Ted checking ferry tickets, Rebecca checking passports and passing the takeout coffee across the table for him to share until the dregs were too cold to drink. Ted moved towards the front of the bus where he leaned down to speak with Will. Between them, they reached into the overhead lockers and started pulling out boxes and bags of sandwiches with cured deli meats, cheese and salad. Bags of salty crisps came next, and then a selection of bottled soft drinks. Far from the heavily curated super healthy menus they were used to, their comfort lunch was well received. Ted stayed down the front of the bus, taking Will's seat so he could talk with Trent.

"Good night, Trent?"

"Most enjoyable thanks Ted. A very welcoming city."

"That's great to hear, good to have you with us."

"I've said it before, the team is on a remarkable journey. It's a privilege to be alongside." Ted gripped Trent's shoulder in gratitude before taking an open rubbish bag up the aisle to collect the lunch wrappers. 

He paused between Isaac and Dani,

"You boys doing OK? It was a pleasant surprise to see you all at breakfast this morning."

"We stayed in, Coach. Did something you'd be proud of, I think." Isaac's smile grew.

"Coach, we had a pillow fight. It was the most glorious and wholesome experience for me, I felt like I was in a sorority girls movie" Dani beamed.

"Well that sounds pretty dang great! I am proud of you! And it was probably a darn sight less seedy than those sorority movies, Dani."

"For sure Coach, we all kept our clothes on!"

"Hey, that's fantastic! But y'all get naked with whoever you want to, as long as you're in agreement then who the heck cares! I would not stand in the way of true love or male bonding rituals. And I've heard how English folks love a bit of bonding." Ted patted both players on the shoulder before leaning closer to Isaac's ear. "Great job, Captain. Really great job." Isaac nodded solemnly at the praise and sniffed a little at the suddenly dusty bus. 

Further on making his way to the back of the bus, Ted stopped again between Roy and Jamie.

"Coach! I taught Roy howta ride a bike! We saw the whole city!"

"Alright Jamie, put it there!" Ted put a hand up for a high five. "Glad you fellas got some time together." Roy growled,

"We're together every fucking day." He looked at Ted, who discreetly nodded towards Jamie, who's eyes had dropped to the floor. "But..." He added, "it's not every day you learn to ride a bike. Or see a windmill. Or see a city like this." Jamie's head snapped up. "Cheers Tartt, you fucking tart. It was a pretty great fucking night in the end" Jamie's smirked, Ted nodded happily at Roy and moved on. 

He dropped the rubbish bag into the stairwell of the coach loo and sat in Rebecca's previous seat at the table. She'd moved round to talk to Beard, who was busy showing her Ted's epiphanious notebook. 

"Coach Beard has been explaining your method to me."

"Not his method" Beard interrupted, Rebecca slapped his hand.

"I don't care when it was invented and who by, I care that Ted believes in it." Beard rolled his eyes.

"Happy to tell you about it boss. Time for our first stop though so let's get us a coffee and some sugar first. Need to get you some caffeine so my explaining doesn't send you to sleep." Ted smiled at Rebecca as the bus pulled to a halt at a service station. They were about to start getting off the bus when the sound of Dani weeping travelled through the bus. 

The field next to the service station was awash with pale pink tulips.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Rebecca marveled at the calibre and quantity of sweet treats being passed up and down the bus, the team never missed her out of the distribution loop - randomly shouting recommendations. She contributed a tray of caramel cookies which had been so well received, they'd earned her a huge cheer. 

"Ms W, try these bad boys from Moe - they're so good!" Jamie put a bag of fizzy jelly sweets in front of her and she took a couple. Jamie's face contorted as he took a bite, "Uuugggh they're so sour!" The grimace turned to a grin, "Sooo good!"

"I love the sour ones!" Rebecca took a bit and felt the sour notes hit her tastebuds "Oooh, that's amazing!" Across the table, Ted watched as the team embraced having the boss on the bus with them, Beard was napping across the very back seats so he and Rebecca had a card game in front of them - he was trying to teach her poker. "Ted likes the sour ones too," she passed the bag along to him, "try these."

"That's cos they start out sour and prickly but they suddenly go sweet without you noticing." He grinned at Rebecca, Jamie had turned back to his teammates who were playing some sort of 20 questions game in teams of 3 or 4. "So it's time boss, I'm mentally, spiritually and cosmically prepared for the story of how you lost your phone." Rebecca smiled, the last 5 bus hours with her team had been just as soothing to her soul as the previous night had been. 

"I was on the phone to Sassy who was trying to persuade me to take drugs and visit prostitutes-"

"Standard Sassy"

"Standard Sassy. I was stood in a bike lane, stupidly. I just got pushed and prodded right over the barrier on the bridge, straight into the water." Ted's eyes widened, 

"Holy smokes boss, why the heck didn't you say sooner? Are you hurt?" she brushed his concern away with a hand wave, 

"Just my pride. Anyway, a gentleman on a houseboat rescued me, I was drenched-" She stopped suddenly and shivered. Ted was quick to remove his sweater and pass it over the table. 

"and?" He prompted.

"He plied me with wine and food, I slept on his sofa and with no phone and no one I could contact, I just... relaxed. I learned to just... be, I think. Nothing at all against you, or Keeley or Sass, but you've all seen the very worst of me. This stranger hadn't, it felt like a total reset of my brain. I don't need to worry about what Rupert thinks anymore, or how he'd control my every mouthful and movement," she gestured to the sweets, chocolate and coffee cups next to them, "I don't need to care about what my mother thinks. I can just be myself. I just need to relearn who that is." She shrugged. Ted had fallen completely still and silent,

"I'm proud of you, boss. You're finally on the same page as the rest of us. These boys adore you, they'd go to war for you. We all would. Believe me, if you could see you the way we see you, you'd know how loved you are around here." He looked down the aisle at the team laughing and joking together, Rebecca's eyes filled with tears, she let them fall for the first time in a long time - no longer needing to hold the facade of total control, elegance and fortitude. She nodded, unable to speak for a few moments. Something was creeping around the edges of her mind, she looked at Ted with a small smile. His t-shirt was dark for a change, he usually wore white. There was some sort of band name, slogan, album cover. She couldn't see with the way his arms were crossed and leaning on the table. 

"Could I borrow a page of your notebook please?" she asked, he passed her the whole thing and a pen. Quietly, she flipped to a blank page and tapped the pen against her lips, thinking with a frown.

"Something on your mind?"

"Just trying to work something out." 

"I'm gonna do a check on the boys, I'll leave you to it for a bit." 

"Green matchbook," she mumbled before writing it down, followed by the initials S.O. "Shite," she wrote, with J.W alongside, her mind beginning to flow more freely, "drenched," she didn't have initials to add, but wrote 'boat guy'. "What was next?" she muttered. "Thunder and lightning..." Beard snorted in his sleep, she looked across and took in the full Piggy Stardust experience with a grin. There was a lightning bolt on his outfit. She froze immediately and looked down at the book and then around the bus frantically. Ted was coming back from his tour, she could see the t-shirt clearly now. It was an old Springsteen tour shirt with Thunder Road scrawled across the front. Rebecca’s jaw dropped,

"Don't know about you boss, but I was not built to spend eleven hours on a bus." He stretched his arms up to touch the roof of the coach. The t-shirt lifted slightly, exposing a neat line of his stomach. Rebecca’s brain was going into overload, the jumbled, rambling thoughts making no sense and in no particular order. 

"Fuck me." She muttered, Ted looked down at her with a raised eyebrow. 

"Well, ordinarily I'd offer to buy dinner first. I don't like to be too presumptuous." Rebecca saw the glint in his eye and felt the heat pool in her stomach. "Our very own Van Damme would like to know if we'll join the guys for a game of poker? I said you were still in training so he suggested we team up." He dropped to her ear level and whispered, "They're playing for M 'n' Ms, the peanut ones." 

"I don't like peanuts."

"That's a shame, I'll have to keep yours and I'll trade you for something else." He winked and offered his hand. As she took it, she felt something bolt in her heart. Thunder and lightning. That crazy old bint might have been onto something after all.

~~~~~~~~~

Ted had often wondered about couples or friends who could hold entire conversations with their eyes. He and Beard could do it. He and Michelle could not. He was starting to regret his over tired flirtatious behaviour a little while ago because he was now sitting in very close proximity to Rebecca and having a full conversation via eye contact. His eyes which had spent all morning quietly looking at Rebecca. Her legs in those jeans, wearing his sweater, sharing his coffee and snacks, her tired but content smile... He might have been slightly bitten by the love bug, but he thinks they might be better at this than he and Beard. And that's saying something. She sought his approval on her hand of cards, sure, but she was also regarding him with some weird combination of awe, lust, love... and trepidation. And shock. Not shock horror, fortunately. More like revelatory shock. Also a bit of relief. He nearly laughed aloud, that sure was a lot of feelings for one person to be feeling. In reply, she saw humour, confusion and something else she couldn't quite understand.

They were in the coach queue at the ferry port, once boarded, they'd be let off to get food and wander around the boat for an hour. They were all dying to stretch their legs and get some fresh air, the bus was starting to get stuffy and with over a dozen grown men in the bus, there was a distinctly locker room smell going on. They were all starting to flag, curling in on themselves and each other for somewhere to rest their heads. The poker game was over, Rebecca had played well for a novice, but Van Damme dominated the game. He wouldn't take her last 'all in' effort though, and told her to keep her handful of M 'n' Ms which she immediately handed over to Ted. Once the coach was settled in the belly of the ferry, Higgins hopped off to provide tickets and passports. He returned after a while with a weary "We're OK to get off for a bit. We need to be back on the coach twenty minutes before we dock at Dover so let's call it 5.30pm. An hour or freedom before our final furlong."

"I suggest you guys eat? Saves you the job later when we get home, we don't all have a Julie Higgins at home with a hot dinner." Beard offered. 

"Buy you a bourbon, Ted?" Rebecca offered. She wasn't sure the bank card that had been in her pocket would still work, but she had others in her unscathed bag. 

"As tired as I am, I cannot refuse that offer." He'd made it to the coach door before her and held out a hand to help her on the steep steps, which she gratefully took. She didn't let it go once she was on solid ground. They ordered chips to share, and coffees spiked with bourbon and took them onto the upper deck of the ferry where the sea breeze was fierce but welcomed. Most of the team had had the same idea and were enjoying the cool air of the English Channel. Even when they had the opportunity to be apart, they all wanted to be together, Rebecca marvelled. She nudged Ted and nodded her head towards the group a few rows down from them.

"Looks like Isaac has had his John Keating moment." She smiled, knowing with certainty that he'd get the Dead Poet's Society reference. He put a hand over his heart,

"Oh Captain! My Captain! Are you kiddin' me boss?!" She rolled her eyes,

"Ted! I'm not completely pop culturally illiterate you know." He laughed, handing her the last of the chips. "But something has definitely clicked with them."

"They had a pillowfight last night."

"In a sex club?"

"Nope."

"In a pot bar?"

"Nope. At the hotel. They had a couple of drinks, had a pillowfight, and went to bed. Sam was telling me. They spent so long trying to decide what to do - because they only wanted to do something together - that they ran out of time to actually go out and do something."

"It's sweet that they wanted to be together."

"It is, it bodes well for what Beard and I have planned for next week. Freedom, to move around the pitch fully supporting each other. True and meaningful teamwork."

"Oi fuckers! Back to the bus!" Roy bellowed from the front of the deck.

"Looks like the boss has spoken." Rebecca said with a wry smile.

"Oh you just wait til I tell you what he got up to last night, boss. It's such a doozy, I'm saving it for biscuits with the boss." Ted wiggled his eyebrows and took the empty tray and coffee cup from Rebecca, taking them to the nearest bin and then waiting for her to join him.

Back on the bus, silence had descended. Most were listening to music, waiting TV on their phones, or sleeping. Beard had moved to the front to sit with Trent, leaving plenty of space for Rebecca and Ted to lay across the seats. They lay either side of the table, their heads meeting at the top. They'd been unconsciously connected since she'd gotten on the bus that morning, hardly leaving each others side and sharing everything. 

"I'm sorry if I worried you last night." She whispered, turning to lay on her stomach so she could see him better, he did the same making them practically nose to nose.

"Freedom to move around boss. Sounded like you needed it. I'm sorry about the overload of messages. When you actually do see them, I'd just like to remind you that Beard gave me drugged tea. I was probably 'too much Ted'." Rebecca searched his face, she felt like she was truly seeing him.

"I think there might be no such thing as 'too much Ted'." 

"Well, Michelle certainly thinks there is."

"She's wrong. Very wrong." Rebecca said firmly. "Rupert thinks women should be seen and not heard, shouldn't run football clubs and shouldn't speak their mind."

"He's wrong. Very wrong." Ted repeated her words softly.

Y'know someone left a bottle of bourbon in my kitchen after my summer barbecue. When I get home, I'm taking a glass to my bath."

"That sounds like the best idea I've heard all day. Save me a spot."

"Of the bourbon or in the bath?" Rebecca asked boldly, quietly.

"Both." He replied with a slight shrug and a knowing smile. 

"Do you ever feel like things happen that are purely happening so they can lead you, draw you to something else more important?" Rebecca leaned up on her elbows, angling her body closer toward Ted.

"I sure do boss. We have to go through the mess so we can make progress"

"A work in prog-mess."

"Exactly." He blushed and looked down to where their hands were nearly joined, "Becca... I would really like to kiss you?"

"I would love nothing more, but I do think we probably shouldn't do it on this bus?" Ted lifted his head right up above the table to look down the bus.

"They're all asleep or distracted. No one's gonna know but you and me." He whispered.

"Well in that case, it would be rude not to." She smiled and reached towards him. The terrible angle allowed for the briefest chaste kiss, but it was enough. "Struck by fucking lightning." Rebecca said in awe as the bus pulled into the AFC Richmond carpark, the sun lowering over the training pitch and covering her home in a golden light.

[prettymunchkin]

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Effective Moving Inbound Calls Strategy For Flight Booking

Flight booking call lead generation is a critical aspect of the travel industry as it provides a direct line of communication between the customer and the travel agency or airline. This approach allows potential customers to ask questions, clarify doubts, and receive personalised recommendations that help them make informed decisions. By offering such services, travel agencies can establish a good rapport with their customers and build trust, which can eventually lead to loyal and long-term relationships. Furthermore, Moving Inbound Calls prove to be an effective way of generating leads that are highly valuable and have a higher chance of converting into actual bookings. This stands true with the statistics where moving inbound leads have proven to be 10 times more likely to convert than outbound leads. 

Strategies for Flight Booking Calls Inbound Lead Generation

To generate high-quality leads, travel agencies or airlines need to employ effective strategies that encourage potential customers to call and inquire about Flight Booking Call. 

Some of the strategies employed by lead generation companies include:

24/7 Availability: Customers should be able to call at any time of the day, including holidays and weekends. This ensures that they have access to the information they need when they need it, increasing the chances of converting leads into bookings.

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Handling Flight Booking Calls

Handling flight booking calls requires attentiveness, professionalism, and excellent customer service. By providing accurate information and recommendations, addressing customer queries and concerns, and following up with essential details, travel agencies and airlines can establish a good rapport with their customers and build trust, which can eventually lead to loyal and long-term relationships.

Handling moving inbound calls is a critical part of lead generation as it directly impacts the customer's experience. Here are some tips for effectively handling inbound calls:

Greet the customer with a warm and friendly tone. Introduce yourself and ask how you can assist them.

Listen attentively to the customer's query and ask follow-up questions to clarify any doubts.

Provide accurate information and recommendations that meet the customer's needs.

If necessary, provide alternative flight options, such as different dates or routes.

Offer additional services such as hotel bookings, car rentals, or travel insurance.

End the call by thanking the customer for choosing your service and providing them with a confirmation number and other relevant details.

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Wrapping Up!

Flight Booking Call lead generation is an essential aspect of the travel industry that can help generate high-quality leads and increase bookings. By employing effective strategies and handling inbound calls with care and professionalism, travel agencies and airlines can provide personalised service that meets the customer's needs and builds trust.

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[akocomyk]

November Weekend

2022's 2nd Most Memorable Moment

Nothing beats a day well-spent with the people you love—except maybe a memory that’s made so much impact in your life, nothing else that happened after that could be more memorable. Hence, this three-day event is only the runner-up of the year.

The following song was originally meant as an allusion to drugs. In a certain point of view, love is like a drug. It makes you feel good. It can liberate you. It’s more fun if you’re enjoying it with someone special. Ultimately, too much of it can kill you.

Nevertheless, the right amount of love is just perfect.

Last November, I posted three photo collages following the same visual theme. I did so because I knew right then that those days were one of the best memories I’ve had last year—if not the best—and it’s just interesting that they all happened consecutively.

I contemplated hard within myself if I should give this the top spot or not—obviously, the other memory won.

November 11

We were supposed to celebrate this day back on October 7, few days after our anniversary. Gerald was unfortunately sick that time, much to our dismay, and we couldn’t schedule at an earlier date because he wanted to focus on reviewing for his licensure exam.

It was a good decision, though. Having it in November made it a double celebration—our anniversary and him passing his exam.

We had a staycation at a cheap hotel somewhere in Pasay. It had a swimming pool on the roof deck.

We ate a lot—Manam, Greenwich, hotel food—and we played Nintendo.

November 12

After checking out from the hotel, we went to SM Mall of Asia where my sister joined us. We watched Black Panther: Wakanda Forever.

November 13

Wilma and I went to the Pintô Art Museum in Antipolo, Rizal. We ate breakfast there—pizza and pasta.

She was astounded at how quickly I roamed around the galleries—she expected me to observe longer than she and Jemar did when they visited the museum, knowing the artistic person that I am.

Don’t get me wrong. I love viewing art. Not to say anything bad about the artists who made the pieces, but I think the museum was just too cluttered—it didn’t give the pieces the ample space they deserve. I was just looking everywhere and I’m like, “Why are these displayed like this???” 

It’s difficult to appreciate a work of art if everything surrounding it is trying to grab your attention. Having said that, I still gave some time to appreciate and try to interpret some of them if they were given enough space and justice—or if I find the piece very intriguing.

So for me, the museum itself—its galleries, the collection of pieces from the different artists, and everything that makes up the whole place—is the artwork. The obra maestra of the museum's owner.

Going back to our story... We went to a nearby café right after. She had coffee and I had a calamansi juice—if I remember correctly.

Then we headed back to Cavite to grab my keyboard from her house, then to Marjette’s house to eat dinner—it was the feast day of Cavite City.

November 14 (just some extra)

Wilma was in Cavite City once more and wanted to pass the time to wait for the traffic to ease—there was heavy traffic outbound from the city. She invited us for dinner, only I responded, so we ate at Papa Chon’s Ribs and Wings.

[rohitsharma24]

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