Title: En Route Pairing: Colin/Brad Rating: PG Summary: Colin and Brad had a routine. A four drabble collection. Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. It is not meant to imply anything about any real person. No harm is intended. I. Take Off They went to the airport together on Sundays. The airports changed, but the routine didn't: they always got on separate planes. It was Sunday again. They sat at a pizza stand in the mostly deserted terminal of a small town airport that desperately wanted to be a big time operation. Colin ran his fingertips over the chipped edge of the table and didn't drink his flat sprite while Brad made faces at his bland slice of pizza. When final boarding was announced for Colin's flight over the PA he stood and nodded once at Brad. Brad slouched back in his plastic chair and saluted as Colin walked away. "Wait." Brad caught up with Colin in three long strides. He glanced around and pulled Colin behind a support column. The left wheel on Colin's rolling luggage spun uselessly in the air from the bag being pulled in the sudden, unexpected direction. Brad's kiss was sloppy. Colin smiled through it. Brad's kisses were always sloppy. That was okay. His enthusiasm more than compensated for it. "See you on Friday," Colin said, and righted his luggage. The airports changed, but the routine didn't. Maybe one day, Brad hoped, it would be different. II. In-Flight Movie In the earliest hours of Sunday, Brad watched Colin sleep. Brad should have been sleeping too, but he liked watching Colin. It was worth the yawns and dried out eyes later. Besides, he could sleep on the plane. Colin was a heavy sleeper, but that didn't stop him from reacting to Brad's touches. And that was why being awake now was worth it. When Brad shifted, Colin frowned, as if deep in thought. When he raked his hand up Colin's side, the hand on his arm tightened almost imperceptibly. And when Brad ran his thumb over Colin's mouth, Colin smiled. III. Turbulence If Saturday was a traveling day, Brad and Colin would sometimes fight. It never had any real malice behind it, though, and it never created a rift that lasted much more than an hour. In fact, Colin usually viewed it as an exercise, as something to pass the time. Nicotine-deprived bitchiness probably accounted for a lot if it, too. Colin was certain it was cliché to think it, which is why he'd never say it out loud, but making up with Brad was the best part about fighting with him. They usually didn't kiss, because the repair tended to happen in at least semipublic. But eventually one of them would blink and forget, and carry on the conversation wherever it had departed from civility. Often, it would be Brad who would give Colin a goofy grin that he couldn't help but return, and Brad would be instantly forgiven. Alternatively, Colin's return smile would be because he was grateful that he'd been forgiven. Either way, he'd let Brad win a few hands of poker backstage before the show: not so many that Brad became aware of the friendly manipulation, but plenty to insure his good mood lasted well into the night. IV. Landing They met backstage on Fridays. The theaters changed, but the routine didn't -- though Brad sometimes tried to time it right so that he’d bump into Colin somewhere else first. The shows were always the same, too. That is to say, they were always different: different suggestions, leading to different scenes and different jokes. But the same in that Brad and Colin found them enjoyable but ethereal: composed of rapid fire quips that vanished from their minds as soon as they passed their lips. At the risk of getting stale, they couldn't cling to their jokes, so they clung to each other. For a few days a week, at least, Brad could say Colin was his. In smokey bars (if the state they were in still allowed that sort of thing) they would trade jokes and pretended to be nothing more than good friends. "I counted eight girls in tutus tonight. The one with the hair," Brad gestured above his head in recollection of her overdone style, "was cute. You should have gotten her number." "You're such a jealous bastard." In sterile hotel rooms, they came together imperfectly, as if it was brand new every time. That was their routine. -- end --