i'm a rocketeer; let's fly

[attitude]

At first, when Faye steps behind the opera house to find that Redtail has been altered, changed to allow for steam valves rather than her usual gas engine, she's furious. It's been months since she'd flown in the craft, short on fuel as she is, and having even the thought of escape torn from her is more than she can swallow in all of his snow, weather that she's been unaccustomed to since long before she landed on the island. A girl like her's meant for sun, for balmy beaches and summer breezes, the smell of suntan lotion as familiar to her as anything else. A girl like her keeps her ship in just enough shape to rush through space, stopping only when she gets lost in it, unafraid to push herself to her limit, and still ends up among the stars.

But a taxi passing by calls back her anger and draws her attention to the steam that rises into the air in whorls and puffs. Peering around the craft, she finds no fuel. No gas tank. Hours later, she's shoveled coal, sparked a fire, and the hiss of steam seems to manage just about everything— except that all gears have taken a turn for the worse, stuck in disrepair.

"Could be worse," she sighs to herself, tugging her jacket more closely around her shoulders as she rummages around in the back for a canister of oil and her tool kit, climbing out of the cockpit and situating herself underneath the belly of the ship. "So, how do we get you to fly again?"

Comments

[weary_head]

"Of - " Dean repeats, suddenly breathless, "Of flying? No." He motions with his hand as if to wave the thought away, promptly disappearing back into the bowls of the engine.

"I fought monsters back home," he says, muffled, "Vampires, djinn, demons...How dumb would it be if I was afraid of flying?"

[attitude]

Raising a brow in amusement, Faye slipped closer to where Dean stood, laying herself out on the ground below him with a knowing smirk. There were times when Faye wasn't sure she could ever understand what went on inside his head, but just then, he wore his heart— or more accurately, his fear— on his sleeve.

And, hell, somehow it just ended up endearing.

"So fly with me," she concluded, tone easy, words light. "Unless you're afraid of my piloting."

[weary_head]

"'Course I'm not afraid of your piloting," says Dean, mostly to cover the sound of his own uneven breathing, though it's true. "I'm sure you're a great pilot. I'm, uh."

Looking up, he sees at least twelve gears he could jam a wrench into and make his escape, but he can't do it. Not to a good engine, and not to Faye. "Yeah." He swallows, the beginnings of Metallica already in the back of his throat to distract himself. "Yeah, I'd love to go up."

[attitude]

"Hey."

She sits up, wraps her arms around his shoulders, her hand splaying against his back while her lips are curved in a mischievous grin, and an almost feline curiosity sharpens their edge. It softens when she sees his eyes, pointed stubbornly up at the engine, and she hooks a thumb in the loop of his jeans, gives it a slight tug.

"If you don't want to go, we don't have to go," she points out with a tilt of her head. Her grin widens, unable to keep from poking just once. "I mean, if I want to hear you shout, I'd rather it be for other reasons."

[weary_head]

The thought goes a long way towards cheering him, and Dean grins down at her, not minding the grease they're smearing pretty neatly between their clothes. "Said I would," he replies, and hell if he actually wants to go up there - just the thought of sitting in the cockpit makes his stomach lurch - but when else will she be able to show him this, her last real bit of home?

"Will it make you happy?"

[attitude]

Her brows raise in slight disbelief. They shouldn't. She feels a touch bad for it as soon as they do, because of all the people she's ever known, Dean wouldn't be the kind to be disingenuous about that. He's never been anything but genuine with her, she thinks, and there's such an impulse on his end to take care of everyone that it's hard for Faye not to simply let herself go, to let herself be taken care of in the way she was once.

She brushes the back of her hand against his temple, gaze growing distanced for a second in thought.

"If you like it," she decides, a small smile on her lips and a slight wrinkle in her nose. "But if the thought really makes you sick, it's fine. I know how to fly solo."

[weary_head]

"I said I'd go," says Dean again, mentally steeling himself even as the words leave his mouth. She wants to go up, he'll go up, and do his best to like it. "I'm not gonna puke on your cockpit, I promise."

[attitude]

"You know, when I'm from, flying is our equivalent of driving. The kind of thing I could probably do single-handed," she considers, brow wrinkling in sympathy. "In case you need someone to hold yours. But, how about this." Glancing above at the skyline, Faye draws a square with her finger, roughly around where she's pretty sure Buckingham Palace and its garden are.

"No further than a couple of blocks. And we won't go that high," offers Faye, even as she can feel her cheeks flush with excitement again. Truth be told, even if Dean has to sit this one out, being up to the air's going to be like nothing else she's had yet in London. And while the option of flying on her remaining fuel's still available on the island itself, Faye knows that she needs to save that.

Just in case.