Archive of Our Own ^beta

Owen has no idea what in god's green earth possesses humans to use what must be fourteen bottles of perfume, but he loathes it. In particular, he loathes it when said person is a ninety-two-year-old French woman sitting in the window seat directly next to him on a twelve-hour flight.

In PARTICULAR, he loathes when SAID WOMAN keeps glaring at him, muttering some French shit into a phone that she thinks he can't understand.

"Excusez-moi," Owen finally snaps after the third hour, "Vous avez un putain de problème?"

The woman gasps, affronted, before furiously muttering into her phone and leaning as far away from him as possible.

Thank god.

The stench barely subsides, but he's grateful for even the tiniest bit of distance at this point. Grunting to himself, Owen leans back in his seat, closing his eyes in the hopes of sleeping the majority of his flight away.

Immediately, there's a small spritz sound. He rolls his eyes.

Then, the smell hits him.

"Tu sens toujours comme un cadavre!"

Kick.

"Are you a lawyer?"

Curt glances up from his file.

A little boy's head is sticking out from the seat behind him.

"Uh. No?"

The boy's head tilts, confused, and he points. "You're wearing a suit."

"...Yes?"

Kick. "Well, why else would you wear a suit?"

Curt sets his pen down. "I'm on my way to a party."

The boy tilts his head. "What kind? Like a surprise party?"

Curt chuckles, thinking of what the look on his partner's face will be when he shows up. "Yes, actually."

"For who?"

"For..." Curt hesitates. "For my partner. You know, it's not polite to kick someone's seat-"

"You don't have a gift," The boy frowns. Kick.

"Well, I-" Curt pauses, feeling oddly embarrassed. "I am the present. Me coming, I mean." Curt reaches for the cheap wine the attendant had poured him earlier and takes a sip, refusing to let some annoying child make him nervous.

The boy looks him up and down before shaking his head. "You're not a very good present."

Curt spits half the drink out.

"Mama-" The boy turns, poking the woman next to him on a shoulder, "If you were having a party and Daddy showed up without a present and said he was the present, would you like it?"

The woman looks affronted for a moment before snorting. "If Daddy ever tried to pull something like that, he'd be looking for a new place to live."

The boy nods decidedly and turns back around.

"I think your wife is gonna kick you out." Kick. Kick.

Curt scoffs, looking away from the boy.

What a little shit. What does he know?

Owen will be thrilled to see him.

Besides, they're not one of those mushy feelings couples that give each other gifts for their anniversary. That's just weird.

...It would be weird, wouldn't it?

"It's been delayed until when?"

The man at the counter sighs. "2:30, sir."

"AM? 2:30 in the bloody AM? The flight was supposed to leave at NOON! How is that even possible?!"

"We've been delayed all day, sir, there's nothing I can do."

"I have-" Owen huffs, lowering his volume, "I have someone who is expecting me this afternoon."

The man nods. "I really am sorry, sir, but there's nothing I can do. We've been delayed all day-"

"Well, then-" Owen splutters- "Then don't get delayed! I mean, that's- Okay, that's ridiculous, I know you can't control that, but- Surely there's something you can do?"

"I can give you a credit towards a future flight with our airline-"

"Why would I want to fly on this airline again after all of this?"

"I'm sorry, but that's really all I can do for you. I don't-"

Another attendant walks up, whispering something into the man's ear.

He groans, leaning closer to the intercom. "Attention, all passengers boarding flight 2094 to Boston, Massachusetts, your flight has been delayed and is now expected to depart at 2:45-"

"Are you serious?!"

Curt's pretty sure he's never been this annoyed in this life. Genuinely, he thinks he's going to apologize to Barb for ever acting like she's inconveniencing him, because this- this puts everything into a whole new perspective.

"Snooooooooork..."

The man next to him is snoring so loud that Curt honestly doesn't know how he hasn't woken up the entire plane yet. And normally, it would be fine- Irritating, but still tolerable- but then the head fell onto his shoulder, and this guy is drooling, and he is going to kill someone...

Gingerly, as if picking up a particularly nasty piece of trash off of the side of the street, Curt prods at the man's head with one finger, trying to slowly push it off of him, when-

"SNNNNNKKKKUUUUHHHH- Whazzat-WhuzHUH?!"

Curt jumps at the man's abrupt yelling, pulling his hands away. The minute he does, the man's head SLAMS back down onto Curt's shoulder.

Curt waits a moment, expectant. Nothing happens. He cranes his head to get a good look, and-

"Snnkkkkkorrrkkkk..."

"Seriously? How do you even sleep through that?"

"Skkkkrrrrrorrrrkkk," the man replies.

So, the thing is-

Owen's not really a "material" person.

(Decades into the future, in an age where Incel Reddit Bros tell random girls on the street that they don't have iPhones because they're not into "material possessions", and therefore, tragically cannot exchange numbers [despite never being asked], he would fit right in.

Unfortunately, in Owen's actual, current time period, he has to settle for telling Curt that he should focus less on how many outfits he packs, only to wake up the next morning to all of his clean briefs gone, and when questioning his current suitemate on where they might have ended up, being told that he "should really focus less on how many outfits he packs, old chum" in the worst "British" accent imaginable.)

So, of course, of course God would decide that this is as good a day as any to make Owen His personal jester by giving him a little jingle. Of course, out of all the flights he's taken through the years, THIS flight is the one that loses his luggage.

And of course, the airline attendant he's currently speaking to is some macho, beer-chugging Americana type that looks like he's physically fighting for his life to not call Owen a poof (or, well, faggot, he supposes, good God, American homophobes don't even have good slurs-), because here Owen is, being the worst kind of customer in the world, continuously whinging and demanding they find his luggage immediately and how dare they lose it in the first place and really see if HE ever flies with this airline again-

So yeah, all in all, he's coming across like a real material diva, and the worst part is, he can't NOT play into it, either-

The fact that an entire airport of people now thinks he's this obnoxious is AWFUL, but well- What else is he supposed to say?

He can't exactly tell them he needs that specific suitcase because it's the one A MOLE IN THE SECURITY OFFICE SNUCK A FIREARM INTO.

"Oh my god-"

"O?"

"For Christ's sake, would it kill you to use codenames in public-"

"Oh I'm so sorry, god forbid someone overhear your first initial-"

"Oh, you can piss right off-"

"Oof- Watch it, you jerk-"

"What, your sensitive shoulderblades can't handle being elbowed?"

"Well, as I remember it, you didn't mind those sensitive shoulderblades in Sweden-"

"Curt!"

"Oh now who's blowing cover-"

"You are insufferable-"

"And you are smiling, so you can't fool me with that eye roll-"

"Mm, perhaps the brain damage from being in your proximity is already kicking in-"

"Haha, fuck you!"

"In the terminal? A bit distasteful..."

"Well, if we're the only ones here, might as well-"

"Yes, and it really does speak volumes about our situations that there's not a single other soul that was willing to wait 28 hours for a layover, doesn't it?"

"Well, I wouldn't say "willing" is the best way to describe us-"

"Perhaps "paid handsomely"?"

"Hey, speak for yourself, Cynthia's paying me about as handsome as a Messerschmitt KR200-"

"English, love, please-"

"It's ugly!"

"What a pity, personally, Cynthia's offers have been rather appealing-"

"Oh shove it up your ass-"

"As much as I'd love to, dear, I'm a bit exhausted from the flight, so I think I'll have to take a raincheck."

"Awww, sitting in a seat for 9 hours take it out of you, old man?"

"Oh please, you would not believe how many things went wrong on that God-forsaken hell capsule-"

"You're preaching to the choir, O, believe me, they changed the terminal three times on me-"

"Bloody hell, you're joking-"

"I'm not-"

Ding, ding.

"Flight 401, you are now scheduled to depart at 9:40 AM. We apologize for the delay."

"Oh, come on-"

"For Christ's sake-"