A low burning fire sputters, and a log breaks with a shower of sparks in the dim hotel room. Two people, relaxed and happy, sit in overstuffed armchairs facing the fireplace. Their bare feet rest on the coffee table, each pair crossed at the ankles.
A glass of wine dangles from feminine fingers, while a beer dangles from a masculine hand near hers between the chairs.
A pride of pilots, namely two, are on layover, and basking in love.
Unaccountably, or maybe not, they’re both dressed in navy and gold blazers. Captain hats, emblazoned with gold braid across the brim, are perched askew over an eye of each.
And that is all they’re wearing. But at least they’re warm.
They turn their heads and smile at one another. On the morrow, they marry.
“Happy, Captain Crashpad?”
“Very happy, Captain Gatehouse. You?”
“I’m on Cloud Nine, my sexy sky jockey. I love the idea of flying tandem with you forever. Bravo for popping the question. I’m so happy you decided to just go for it by ringing the Admiral’s doorbell, and starting fresh with me.”
“Once I got the hang of the Bat Decoder and won over your mother, you became my Angel, angel. She was my bogey, with your brothers busting my six. But it’s okay. They kept you safe for me.”
“For awhile, I thought they’d prove too much for you and you’d punch out, but once you were in stealth mode, you stayed there. I loved going downtown with you.”
“With you as my wingman, I never had to worry about too much bluejuice. Ever since you’ve been in the full upright and locked position, we’ve been in a steady holding pattern. I knew we’d touchdown some day.”
“Well, Captain G, this is our final approach. I’ll be putting on my landing lips very shortly. After tonight, I hope you have the energy tomorrow to bring me to high warble. Your flathatting is FM. Every time I see you, it’s like my heart goes away.”
“I’ll be fine. I’m your tiger. I’ll throttle back a bit, but prepare for a little turbulence. We’ll be two turnin’ and two burnin’ after tomorrow, forever and ever. I can’t wait til we have a couple of cherubs of our very own.”
“You make me lower my landing gear with talk like that. Our merged plot is a thing of beauty. Let’s kick the tires, and light the fires, because we leave at zero dark thirty.”
“Bingo, my beauty. Prepare for a final fly over.”
“You’re my ATC. I love you.”
“Roger. Over and out.”