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The sudden snowstorm is probably the result of bad karma. If one believed in that sort of thing. Which she normally didn’t, but as it is, the horrible weather and subsequent canceling of her flight is probably the most thorough cosmic rebuke Charley has ever gotten.
“They think the sky will be clear in a little while,” says the flight attendant, fluttering her crookedly glued falsies. “The bad weather might just go as suddenly as it appeared, no?”
“Are there any other earlier flights?” Charley asks a bit desperately.
The flight attendant is looking increasingly more irritated, and is shooting her a glare that clearly says she’s both clearly aware of the ancient rivalry between France and England, and that she’s not unwilling to spill a bit of blood, if stupid English bitches didn’t stop bothering her.
“All flights are canceled because of the snow, mademoiselle,” she sniffs. “I suggest you wait like all the other passengers, and we will announce when the weather is clear enough.”
Maybe it’s for the best, or a sign. Leaving it all until last minute had been foolish enough, anyway, and maybe it’d serve her right for taking off so unexpectedly without telling her parents (though she did leave a note). Even so, Charley can’t help swallowing down sickening disappointment and muttering several words that her mother most certainly would have scolded her for. Half heartedly, she opens her mobile to the weather app.
Less than 48 hours from the New Year, and Singapore is looking less and less likely.
“They’re up to their necks in it, and they know it,” hums a smooth voice to her left.
She turns to the man sitting two chairs over. “Up to their necks?”
He shifts onto his hip a bit. “The airline officials. This close to New Year’s Eve, an entire airport canceling its flights so suddenly. It’s not irregular, especially in the winter, but the complaints they’ll get are not exactly a time and a half for anyone.” The man’s face softens in an almost-smile, like the two of them are in on a secret joke.
“The weather is awful, though,” Charley mumbles.
“Oh, it’s ghastly!” he says, not picking up on her bitterness at all. “It was cold, clear skies from New Zealand to Berlin. Which is unusual at this time of year, so I should have suspected something. I was going a nice 400 knots, and out of the blue, the clouds just close in! I’ve not seen any sort of weather change that fast in all my time flying.” He sounds delighted.
Charley straightens, putting her mobile back in her pocket. “You’re a pilot?”
“Hm, recreationally,” he nods, taking a white paper bag from the pocket of his velvet coat. “Usually we’re discouraged from landing at the larger airports, but with the weather, I had to radio in.” The man plucks a red sweet from the bag, eats it with relish, and rustles the bag at her. “Would you care for a jelly baby?”
Charley knows that one usually shouldn’t accept sweets from strangers, especially eccentric- though charming- strangers.
She selects a green one and bites off its head. “You’ve seen a lot of the world, being a pilot, then?” she shifts to face him more. He has a soft, pleasing face and light eyes.
The man curls the top of the bag shut, slipping it back into his inside pocket. “Oh, of course. You’d never guess how many cultures there were on earth. Dozens, or sometimes even hundreds of cultures and sub cultures in a single country, or island, or Provence.” He’s growing subtly more excited, with graceful, sweeping hand motions. “Seeing everything is the second best thing of being a pilot.”
Charley makes an incredulous sort of noise. “Second best? Traveling is all about seeing the world, what can be better than that?”
The secret little half smile spread into a full grin, all white teeth and sparkling eyes. “Being in the sky, of course.”
It’s a weird way to put it, but the soft happy lilt in his voice makes it sound like an almost obvious answer. “I’m Charley.” She brushed the leftover sugar from the sweet onto her trousers and stuck out a hand.
“Pleasure to meet you, Charley.” His hand is pleasantly warm.
She sent back a grin of her own. “Which part of the wide world were you headed off to, Mr…?”
“Oh. Well, I was going to stop over in Berlin originally, but I’m not sure it strikes my fancy anymore. I’d rather someplace warmer. And you?”
“I was going to Singapore, but I might not be headed anywhere, now, in this weather,” she tosses her head at the white filled window.
“Don’t say that, it’s bound to clear up sooner or later.”
“But if it’s later… Well, it’s a bit time sensitive you see,” Charley winces.
“Ahh, New Years?”
“Mmm. A party, sort of.”
His eyebrows rise into his fringe. “You’re flying to another country for a party?”
“You’re flying wherever you fancy for no apparent reason,” she shoots back, but not without a smile.
He looks amused. “Touché.”
Charley leans on her hand, looking outside the window again. Even if she didn’t catch her first connecting flight in India, maybe she could at least enjoy being in a new country. It was apparently the second best thing about traveling.
“Are you bored?“ The man had tilted his head and was fiddling with one of those rubix cube-like pyramids that he’d brought out of seemingly nowhere.
“I suppose a little,” she admits. “Not that talking to you is boring, but being stuck at an airport in the middle of a blizzard isn’t the most thrilling way to spend one’s time.”
His face lights up again, and he shoves the puzzle into one of his pockets. “There, I can help you.“
The way he says it is both thrilling and worryingly ambiguous. Oh God, he wasn’t going to take her to a dark corner and start feeling her up, was he? He’d been nice to talk to, if a bit weird, and she was hoping he wasn’t about to spoil it.
She follows him anyway. To her relief, he didn’t lead her to some dark corner or an empty loo, but to a metal baggage cart.
Charley can’t help but feel underwhelmed. "A baggage cart?”
“A baggage cart!” he beams. “Abandoned when the planes were all canceled. I saw it earlier!” He looks absurdly proud of himself, and sweeps an arm towards it. “Ladies first.”
She gives him a genuine startled laugh. “First to what?”
“Come on, Charley, use your imagination.”
Raising an eyebrow at him, she grabs hold of the bar, and swings a leg over. She turns around, to see if she was missing anything especially exciting in the baggage cart. Before she can ask what he was on about, Charley feels the firm grip of his hand on hers, holding it to the bar on the side. His chest presses lightly into her back, and she feels a bit light headed when he whispers, “Hold on tight,” next to her ear.
He’s running, the baggage cart making clanking sounds, and then she feels him hop up. Charley had no idea how fast a baggage cart could go, but there they are, the cart rushing over the newly waxed tile like some oversized scooter.
He actually is insane. And when she notices she’s screaming with laughter, she realizes she likes it.
Every time the cart goes under what he thinks is an acceptable speed, the man hops down and gives it another run. They manage to revamp their speed seven times before a barrel chested security guard gets in their way and berates them in furious French. Charley’s odd companion responds in what sounded like perfect French, though, and she’s not sure what he said, but the guard looks severely calmed down and let’s them off with a stern warning.
The man hops off their self-made ride and offers her a hand down. “That was brilliant, usually they make me get off on the first two rides through the terminal,” he smiles absently. His curly shoulder length hair looks like he’s been through a wind tunnel.
“So we’re not getting kicked out of the airport?” Charley lightly confirms.
“No.”
“Or getting arrested?”
He scoffs. “That seems entirely too dramatic, don’t you think? Arrested on what charges, for taking a baggage cart on a short joyride?"
Charley shrugs. "You never know. They are French, I wouldn’t put it past them. You never said your name, by the way.”
He looks genuinely surprised. “I didn’t?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry, how rude of me. I’m the Doctor.”
Now it’s Charley’s turn to scoff. “The ‘Doctor’? Should I be worried about that candy you gave me earlier, then?”
“I certainly hope not. You’re not allergic to gelatin, are you?”
He’s definitely a weird bloke, but seems not only harmless, but genuinely polite, and she quite likes him. It helps that he’s rather pretty, even if he is dressed like he’d come straight from a Lord Byron themed costume party- if they had those.
“It’s a pleasure, Doctor,” Charley laughs again, shaking his hand.
They go to one of the cafes in the airport and Charley buys them both an overly expensive lunch. The Doctor insisted that it be his treat, but couldn’t find his wallet. He pulls out a ball of red string, a collapsible teacup, a Chinese finger trap, a ball of wires and computer chips, and two small light bulbs out of his velvet pockets before Charley pays for his too-dry croque de vin to herself.
“What sort of pilot are you, flying all over the world with no money?” she teases, and he shrugs helplessly and adds a fifth lump of sugar to his tea. He eats like he was in all of Charley’s much-loathed etiquette classes she’d been forced to take as a girl and had actually learnt something.
They hit the gift shop afterwards, and rearrange the display window to look like the final scene from “Macbeth” (Charley had found the broken off head of a doll in the bin and put it in the paw of victorious Teddy Bear Macduff. The Doctor had even made a crown out of gum wrappers and put it on Malcolm the sock monkey as the new king of Scotland.) The whole thing winds up looking very impressive and they congratulate each other by taking the baggage cart for another covert ride.
After they get kicked off again, Charley is sure they’re going to have nothing to do for the next few hours, but the Doctor pulls several card decks out of one of his pockets and they spend the next hour and a half building not only a card house, but a card palace, rampart, and village in the middle of terminal 2.
They gather their card city after a hyper toddler runs through it and start a new game.
The Doctor considers his hand and puts down a Queen of diamonds. “Truth or dare?” he hums absently.
“Not so fast, mister, I’ve got king of clubs, so it’s my turn. Truth or dare?”
“Dare.”
“What’s your real name?”
He laughs. “Charley, I said ‘dare’, not truth!"
"Oh, alright. I dare you to tell me your real name."
"Charley!”
“What? It’s not like you have ‘Doctor’ on your pilot’s license, do you?”
He looks down his nose disapprovingly. “'Daring’ me to pick truth is cheating.”
“You’re no fun,” she pouts. “Fine, then, I’ve got a better idea. I dare you to pretend to propose to me in the middle of the airport. Loudly.”
She thought he’d back out and she’d be able to badger him into answering her question, but he merely smiles at her challenge.
“Charley…” He sighs, then raised his voice. “Charlotte.” Charley’s eyebrows shot near her hairline. “I can’t stand us being apart anymore,” he declares, and took her hand that wasn’t holding the cards tightly. “I can’t stop thinking about the way you can yodel. I remember when I first heard you, yodeling out the table of elements, I knew I must be with you for the rest of eternity.”
People were beginning to look over, eager for a distraction in the middle of their waiting. Charley tightens her mouth and fights to keep a straight face.
“Your yodeling was so beautiful, it haunts me to this day, and the way you recited the noble gases was so heartfelt, I-” The Doctor paused, as if fighting tears. Bloody hell he was good. She needed to step up her game. “Charlotte Van Buren, I’m irrevocably infatuated with you.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Infatuated?”
“Yes! Infatuated. And moreover, I’m in love with you."
There were several happy gasps from their spectators as he began to sink down to one knee, stuffing his own cards into one of his many pockets. "I can’t live without you and your scientific yodeling.”
Charley swallows a snort of laughter. “Ludwig…” she gasps. “What are you doing?”
The Doctor’s face twitches almost imperceptibly at ‘Ludwig’. “I know you could have anyone you desire, my Charlotte.” He pauses to dig in his pockets, and after pulling out a plastic frog and a barometer, brings out a small round box. “I see into it, into our future. The gold potential, blended 'tween us two. A blurred crepuscule, where lives meet and breathe, a shared blissfulness.”
Charley feels a little short of breath. Hell, he was really selling this, yodeling jokes aside. She should have guessed that he didn’t just dress like a poet.
“Charlotte my sweetheart, yodeling darling,” the Doctor intones, still managing to project his voice in its sober whisper to their audience. He pops open the box, to reveal… A silver yoyo. He frowns, like he’d rather forgotten what was in the box before he’d opened it.
Charley scrambles to continue the ruse. “Oh! Your family’s heirloom yoyo!” she chokes out emotionally.
“Er, yes! I know that it is untraditional, but I felt it a good metaphor for life’s ups and downs!” the Doctor stammers.
“I remember when you showed me how to use it while you wiggled your ears and burped the alphabet,” Charley wipes her eyes, and the Doctor covers a laugh with a cough nearly dropping the yoyo. Ha, take that. “That was the moment I fell in love. Ludwig Romero, er, Malteser III, of course I’ll marry you!”
The terminal erupts in applause as they embrace. He picks her up and spins her around for extra affect, and they hide their laughter in each other’s shoulders. It was the time when any real newly engaged couple would kiss, and to fully commit to their characters, they part, fully intending to complete the scene.
When they look at each other, Charley stops, caught off guard. Neither of them are holding back laughter anymore. The Doctor tilts his head and she shivers, just a little. He’s looking through her with those light, translucent eyes. They both rather forget to kiss until another swell of cheering reminds them and they hug again, startled.
Someone gives them a bottle of sherry from the airport bar as congratulations, and they split it.
“That was very impressive,” the Doctor nods, nursing his glass slowly. “Nice save on the yoyo. And you actually summoned up tears. I had no idea you had it in you.”
Charley takes an overly dramatic bow from her barstool. “And to you. It was a nice touch, the yodeling. Though I feel like the iambic pentameter near the end was just you showing off.”
He lit up. “You noticed!”
Charley snorts and tossed back the rest of her sherry, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Oh, by the by, I believe I’m next up,” says the Doctor.
“Next up for what?”
He slaps his hand of cards on the bar, revealing a Jack of Spades. “Truth or dare?”
She puffs up her cheeks, considering. “Truth.”
He doesn’t respond right away, looking her over in that intent way he had before, eyes narrowed, mouth soft. He seems about to ask about her deepest secret, or something more personal, when he straightens and asks, “Is your real last name Van Buren?”
She shoves him in the shoulder. “After all that, that’s you’re question?”
“You have to answer it! Follow the rules."
"That question blows,” she says a bit loudly, maybe because of the sherry and how long it’s been since they’ve eaten. “No, it’s Pollard. Charlotte Elspeth Pollard.” She gags playfully. “'Elspeth’. No one’s been named 'Elspeth since before television was invented.”“Old fashioned. I like it.” The warmth of the alcohol rushes near her ears.
Before she can start bothering him about his real name again, he’s making origami out of the bar napkin, and she forgets about it.
“Charley,” came the voice, with a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Charley, wake up, I’ve got good news!”
Charley grumbles, a jab of pain shooting down her neck. She sits up stiffly from the sofa that had clearly seen better days. “What is it?” she grouses, grabbing her lumpy carry-on from where she’d been using it as a pillow.
“The weather is clear, and the Air Marshals have given us all the affirmative to restart flight schedules!”
Charley was quickly more awake. “Oh, brilliant, do you know when my flight is, then?”
“Three hours.”
Her face falls. “Oh.” She looks at her watch and curses very quietly.
His smile fades as well. “Not going to make it on time?”
“Not to make my layover flight, in Mumbai. And then I’m probably not going to get to Singapore in time.”
“I could fly you,” says the Doctor off handedly.
Charley blinks. “All the way to Mumbai, India?”“Why not? I told you I fancied somewhere warmer."
"Doctor, it’s almost ten hours.”
“Closer to eight, eight and a half, actually, but if you don’t feel comfortable with it, I understand. That long with a non-professional pilot you just met several hours ago can be a bit daunting. But you mentioned Mumbai earlier, I thought it was a good idea, and I’ll be going either way.”
On one hand, he was right. They’d only just met a few hours ago, she’s never seen him fly or knew how safe the plane was, and it was a long time to Mumbai.
“Alright. But if you try to rape or murder me or anything, I took MMA in Uni for four years.”
The Doctor looks upset at the very thought. “Of course not. You’ll be completely safe.”
The Doctor’s plane makes Charley doubt her decision a little. It’s a rickety thing, and looks like it had been slapped together from several different planes, one possibly from World War II. It sat haphazardly on the newly salted runway, painted a slapdash deep blue. A smear of paint doesn’t quite cover a 'st. John’s ambulance’ marker on the wing, and faded letters are painted in gold on the tail, T-A-B, or maybe an R- the rest is peeling off.“How fast is it, exactly?” Charley asks hesitantly.
In broad daylight, the Doctor looks even more bizarre. A character from a Botticelli painting dressed up as a wistful Edwardian poet, cut out of the canvas and slapped haphazardly against this rickety plane. “Fast,” he says, giving her that secret half smile. “Faster than any of those silly commercial flights."He pulls himself up into the cockpit with ease and gives her a hand up. The seats are surprisingly plush compared to the rickety outside.
The Doctor adjusts his headset and began speaking to the radio tower in French, pulling levers and pressing buttons above their heads. The plane begins rolling down the runway, and Charley secures the seatbelt and looks down at the rushing grey and white concrete that was steadily becoming blurred. The Doctor pulls back on the wheel and the bottom drops out of her stomach.
"That’s-” Charles De Gualle airport is shrinking to the size of a shoebox.
“A little different feeling in a smaller plane than a commercial airline,” the Doctor spares her a look, crinkles forming around his eyes.
“Just a little.” And a much different experience being in the cockpit instead of just a passenger. She lets out a huge breath.
He gives her a glance, then focused back on flying. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m-” she laughs. “This is amazing.”
“Want some gum? For your ears,” he explains.
Her ears were beginning to block. “Thanks.” She unwraps a passion fruit flavored gum strip and crumples the wrapper in her pocket. “Truth or dare?” “Truth.”“Did you build this plane yourself?”
He glances at her from the corner of his eye. “Now, what gave you that idea?"
Charley shakes her head, smiling. "Nope, not an answer. You built this plane, or parts of it, true or false?”
The Doctor smiles back. “Not quite built. 'Tweaked’… Maybe.”
Charley had never watched anyone fly a plane before, but the way the Doctor does it is so natural it may as well have been breathing. If he’d seemed happy and charming on the ground, the Doctor in the air is another thing entirely.The shabby little plane is also a lot bigger than it had first appeared, with a lavatory in the back and a cabinet full of blankets and provisions underneath their chairs. Despite its appearance, the flight was so far remarkably balanced and smooth. And as the Doctor had promised, very fast.
“Do you want to give it a go?” asks the Doctor when they were four hours in.
Charley looks up from the copy of HG Well’s The Time Machine. “Fly the plane?”
“Don’t know what else I’d be talking about,” he says pleasantly.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Charley asks, but she was already putting aside the book.
“Why don’t we figure that out?” the Doctor grins, turning on autopilot to keep the plane stable.“First thing to learn is that this-” he gestured to the wheel. “Is the yoke. One of the most important parts of flying. Pushing forward will cause the nose of the plane to go downwards, and vice versa. Go on.”
Charley puts her hands on the yoke, and the Doctor nods in approval. “The most important thing to remember is-”
He’s cut off by the changing pitch in the plane’s engine as Charley pulls back on the yoke and they aim sharply upward. Her head slams into the back of the seat and there’s that intoxicating rush of falling, of gravity, even though they were ascending. She looks over at the Doctor and he is laughing. She lets up on the yoke and the pull of gravity decreased as the plane flew straighter.
“The important thing to remember is that the yoke is sensitive and responds to the smallest of pushes,” he finishes, eyes sparkling.
“I think I’ve figured that one out,” Charley grins back.
“You’ll like this one,” the Doctor smiles, indicating a black lever and red. “Red is fuel mixture, which I’ll tell you about later, but this black one is for thrust. This window shows the altitude line, or the horizon line, so we know how to keep the plane straight. And here’s the compass.” He taps the glass window. “Self explanatory.”
“Which way is Mumbai?” asks Charley.
“Slightly East of us.
"Charley beams and eased the yoke to the right.
"What’s so special about this party?” asks the Doctor. He’s been piloting the plane for the last few hours after showing Charley the basics.
“What’s special about any party?” counters Charley.
“Now you’re being purposefully ambivalent,” he scolds.
“I dunno, I thought it’d be a laugh,” Charley shrugs. “I was invited, I knew he wouldn’t expect me to show up, and I’ve never been to Singapore before.”
The Doctor raises an eyebrow. “’He’?”
“He’s not my boyfriend or anything,” Charley rolls her eyes. “Anyway, what about you? It’s New Year’s Eve, or at least nearly, and you plan to spend it with no one. Your accent’s English. Do you have family there?"
He’s quiet for a while and she’s worried she’s upset him until he says, "My family isn’t close in the… Familial sense. Holidays aren’t quite their area. It’s not that anything is wrong, we just don’t talk. They were never the warm sort even when I was young. They weren’t neglectful, they just all had… A traditional way of doing things that I wasn’t interested in.” He almost smiles, as if remembering something. “I’m in contact with Irving, my older brother, on and off.”
“That’s nice,” she smiles a bit. “Both my sisters have cut ties from the family. Margaret married an American my father really didn’t approve of, and they had a falling out, and Ceci… Has some political leanings we don’t talk about.”
“And then there’s you.”
“Then there’s me. To be fair with you, me running off to Singapore for a New Year kiss will hardly surprise them.”
The Doctor chuckles, but it sounds a bit stiff. “So the truth finally comes out.”
For some reason, Charley feels a little ashamed. She shrugs it off, irritated. “I’ve never had a new year’s kiss. And he was a great laugh when he stayed in London; I’d love to see his face when I show up.”
“Quite bold of you, Miss Pollard,” says the Doctor quietly.
Charley brushes a short lock of blonde hair behind her ear from where it had come loose from its ponytail. “Well, that’s me. You should try everything once, that’s what I say.”
“This is your first time to Singapore, isn’t it?” the Doctor asks quietly. The sky had taken on a blush with the setting sun.“Yes. And India. First time almost anywhere outside England,” Charley admits. “Besides France. My parents would take my sisters and me to the countryside in Marseilles during summer holidays when I was small, to visit my Uncle Jacque.” She shifts in the seat, which she suspects is originally an armchair the Doctor had put in when 'tweaking’ the plane. “Have you?”
“Been to India? Oh, yes. It’s beautiful there. Last time I was there, they were holding the festival of colour,” the Doctor replies. “'Holi’, is what it’s called traditionally. They start the night with a bonfire- Holika. The part the festival is most known for starts early the next morning. Everyone arms themselves with pounds of dry dye and colored water and it’s a day long color fight.” He makes a small sound that sends tightness straight into Charley’s stomach. “You should see it Charley, everyone smeared with tangerine and pink, and gold and Crimson, all colors of the sun. And it’s for everyone. No strict rules, no partitions from one religion to the next. Just dancing and music, celebrating life with one’s fellow man. It’s one of the largest, most inclusive showing of love and joy there is."
The rolls and swells in the his quiet voice causes the hairs on Charley’s arms to raise. The Doctor The muted pinks and blues of the sunset catches in his eyes and rolls off his tongue until she doesn’t just see the festival, she feels it. That warmth of bursting light and hue the Doctor described fills up her chest like a laugh."What’s the bonfire for?” she asks, nearly inaudible.
“It’s a reminder,” says the Doctor, almost as if to himself.
Charley hears her blood thumping hotly in her ears. “A reminder of what?”
He turns to face her, and there’s that look on his face again, the intent one he’d had back in the bar in Paris when he seemed to see all of her.
“Of how good always prevails.”
The Doctor announces that they have to make a pit stop in Pakistan. “The old girl has brilliant mileage, but even she needs a rest to refuel sometimes. We still have hours yet until your layover flight. Just a little while to let her engine cool off.”
They land in a tiny outpost in what seemed to be the middle of nowhere. Only a few tiny planes are parked on the cement runway.“Go stretch your legs, I won’t have any blood clots on my flights,” says the Doctor, leaning to check the fuel gauge.
Charley wanders around the back of the outpost, which seems to be little more than a block of cement surrounded by dry grass and dirt. It feels weird to have unmoving ground beneath her feet after so many hours of flying. Her legs are shaking and she felt vaguely sick. Maybe it’s from the altitude or the madness of the day, and probably being cooped up in a plane smaller than a normal sized loo. Probably.
Charley zips up her jacket and thinks about the Doctor’s breath next to her ear. She thinks about how he smelled of honey and sandalwood and the way his fingers curled loosely on his lap, and the silver tongue that she’s sure can do more than just talk. She thinks about how what she wants to do next isn’t a good idea.
Well. It had just been one of those kinds of days.
No one else is in the men’s loo when she comes in to him washing his hands. His smooth forehead puckers in confusion and he opens his mouth to ask what’s wrong (he can see something different on her face) but he doesn’t get the chance before she crashes her mouth into his.
'Crashes’ is a good way to describe it. It’s not a good kiss- all clumsy and hard and he winces when their teeth clank together, but he doesn’t push her away, either.
They don’t kiss after that. Charley snaps open her jeans and kicks them off her feet to the grimy bathroom floor. The Doctor’s trousers pool around his ankles.
He holds her up against the wall near the broken urinal, his hands cupping her arse, her ankles crossed tightly around the small of his back. She only got the buttons of his cravat and shirt half undone, so the plum colored ascot lists sadly to one side.
Even in the clumsy grappling of each other, he touches her incredibly gently, and she bites the hollow above his collarbone, leaving a bruise.
Even in the messy, cluttered buzz of their fucking, he makes sure she comes.
The only time he speaks during the whole thing is when she can feel the the tremors in his arms getting worse. She’s slept with enough men (and women) to know the signs so she lowers her fingers to finish herself off, but he stops her, with a raspy “Let me.” He lowers her down, and she slides off his still hard cock with a groan, legs wobbly on the floor, like she’s still trying to get used to being on solid earth.
He kneels on the slimy floor and puts his tongue underneath her clit and circles it until she comes. Charley pulls him back up and works his cock with her hand until he tenses, shooting sticky lines of white in her hand without another sound. She leaves red scratches down his shoulders.
_______________________________________________________________________
She’s had one night stands before. The thing about those, though, was that after the sex, you showered, left, and never saw them again except maybe in Tescoe’s, in which case you avoided each other’s eyes and left in a hurry before you’d picked up the milk. One didn’t tend to spend the next hour stuck within four feet of them.
The worst part isn’t the uncomfortable awkwardness, but the lack of exchanged stories and conversation they’d shared the whole trip. Charley misses it so much, it makes her chest ache and she hates, hates, hates herself. Bloody good job on that one, Charley, could’ve made a friend you could keep in contact with, maybe even a best friend, and you had to go ruin it by shagging him in the gent’s. She especially loathes that she wants to say something- anything- and stays quiet.
They arrive in Mumbai twenty minutes before her next flight does. The airport is sweltering and crowded and smells of old curry as he walks her to her terminal.
“Really hot, isn’t it?” Charley chirps tightly.
“33 degrees, high humidity.” He sounds distracted, like he’s in a world of his own.
“You were looking for a warm place,” she shifts awkwardly.
“Yes, yes, it’s certainly warm enough,” he nods absently. He looks around the room, like he’s confirming he’s in the correct, warm place.
Charley chews on her cheek and forces an overly cheerful smile. “Well. Looks like this is me, then.”
He glances up ahead at the next terminal’s sign. “So it is. Are you alright, from here? I could wait with…”
“No, no, you don’t need to, you’ve already done me an enormous favor,” Charley stammers.
Is she imagining it, or does a split second of disappointment flash across his face? But his expression is smooth and unreadable (as usual) only a moment later when he nods.
“Thank you for flying me all the way here. And for not chucking me out of the plane two hours in,” she laughs weakly, but her weak attempt at joke falls flat. She clears her throat. “It seems nice, if a bit hot. It’s too bad I can’t stick around here long enough for- for that color festival.”
“Holi isn’t until the spring,” he corrects gently.
“Oh, too bad, then.”
They stare at one another for another few moments until Charley switches her bag to her other shoulder and makes to go.
“It’s not until March,” the Doctor says suddenly. “Some places hold the festival for six days straight, but the rest of the year people tend to go back about their business, in their comfortable social bubbles, with their tidy little ways of socializing and sticking with what they know.” He tilts his chin downward and suddenly looks very timid. “Why do you think that is, Charley?”
Charley blinks slowly. “I- I don’t know. Probably because it’s safer.”
“Safer than what?” he whispers emphatically. “It’s utter chaos while it lasts, and it’s messy, but that doesn’t make it any less beautiful. Is that really worth being ‘safe’?”
Charley’s throat is tight, and she’s not sure what to say. She wants to tell him something, that she understands what he means, but in a split moment of indecision, shoulders her bag instead and glances at her terminal.
Something behind the Doctor’s eyes shutter closed and he’s back to the absent minded, polite smile. He gives a graceful nod that’s almost a small bow. “Best of luck in Singapore, Miss Pollard.”
“And to you. In… Wherever you’re going next."
They look at each other for a moment, and then they turn and part.
India isn’t as nice as he remembered it. Less sunny and more humid, and the hostel he’s staying in doesn’t serve sugar with their tea. He’d planned to stay at least a few days, but in the end he gets jittery and can’t even last twelve hours. Chhatrapati Shivaji Airport is also none too pleased that he’s taking up storage space without a reservation for his plane, so it’s all for the best, really.
Couples and families are already embracing in the airport terminals to ring in the new year together. Perhaps he ought to call Irving again soon.
He thinks of Charley, and wonders if she’s cozied up next to her bloke in Singapore- Adam or Alex or whatever she said his name was- with that crooked smile of hers, and if she had gotten that kiss she’d traveled so far for. Midnight had passed over two hours ago, there.
He hopes Alex-what’s-his-name was a rotten kisser, and then feels bad.
Well, he’d hit the new year up in the air. Best place to be.
"Doctor!” He swears it’s his imagination, or maybe a name that sounds very similar to 'Doctor’, in a voice very similar to-
“Charley?” She’s pushing her way through the crowd that’s especially thick in front of the passengers who are currently boarding, but it’s most definitely her.
He doesn’t even try to hide how ridiculously happy he is to see her, even though he has no idea why she’s still in India nine hours later. He wades through the crowd, keeping a careful eye on the blonde hair.
They both fight their way to the far wall on the other side of the room, nearly stumbling into each other. They look at one another for a moment before breaking down into quiet laughter.
“Why are you still here?” he says a bit breathlessly.
“Well, that makes me feel good, thanks very much,” Charley smirks. She’s wearing a red cotton dress that ends just above her knees, and she’s showered, her shiny blonde bob loose from its ponytail.
“No, I mean, Singapore, the party, what’s his name, you should’ve been there hours ago.”
She puts her hands behind her back, rocking back and forth in her ballet flats. “Well, you see, soon as they went to check my bag to let me on the plane, I realized I still had this."
She flashes something silver and round in front of his face- it takes him several moments to realize what it is."My yoyo?”
“Your family yoyo,” she says in mock seriousness. “Handed down from all your ancestors. And I thought, that wouldn’t do, only I didn’t have your phone number or postal code so I could mail it back.” She takes his hand and presses the yoyo into it with a crooked grin. “So I had to miss my flight. I’ve been staying in the hotel next door.”
The Doctor pauses, absently twisting the end of the yoyo string around his finger. “What about what’s-his-name in Singapore?”
Charley wrinkles her nose, shrugging one shoulder. “What’s-his-name in Singapore can get along without me. I can do a lot better than him, anyway.”
The Doctor smiles slowly. “How’d you know where to find me?”
Charley catches her lower lip between her teeth and gives him a grin. “Would you believe me if I said magic?”
“Probably not,” he smirks, tucking the yoyo into his front trouser pocket.
“What about knowing that you don’t have the attention span to stay in one place for long, and having a feeling you’d go running for your plane within ten hours?”
“Cheeky. Ten hours? How could I have possibly forgotten how cheeky you are in only ten hours?” the Doctor tisks.
“You still owe me,” Charley informs him, crossing her arms.
He raises his eyebrows. “Do I? For what?"
"For returning your family heirloom. And for making me miss my flight.”
“Oh, yes, you’re right. I’m terribly sorry. How can I make it up to you?”
She smiles like the cat that’s got the cream. “You can start by giving me next round in cards-truth-or-dare-or-pay-up.”
“I suppose that’s fair enough, then. Go right ahead.” He sweeps a hand.
She locks eyes with him. “Truth or Dare?”
She’s so close he can see the small scar on her nose and wonders where she got it. He doesn’t break their gaze. “Dare.”
“Kiss me.”
He’s swept her up in his arms before she can smirk at him again. Her mouth is hot and soft and he can smell her shampoo, strawberries. She crawls her fingers into his hair and kisses him back. She’s heat and heartbeat and bonfires and color, right there in his arms, and he knows she feels it too. It’s like the first time taking off in a plane all over again, the thrill and the drop in your stomach, the rush of blood to your head, dizzying and blurry and messy and brilliant.
It’s not quite like in the movies, because their reunion and kiss doesn’t start perfectly on the chime of midnight as planned. But they are still kissing when the new year does roll around, so they decide that must count for something.