"Coming out for a drink El Capitan?" asked Ted, pounding Dean on the back in a comradely fashion at the end of their post flight check.
"Not this time, Ted" replied Dean, smiling. "We've been gone a full two weeks, I should get home."
As a broad grin spread across Ted's face, Dean realized he was about to endure a rigorous teasing and wondered if there was actually anything he could have said to avoid it.
"Oh. Of course. I see. Have to get home, right? See the wife, right? I bet you miss her a lot, huh. All that….uh…home cooking and stuff. Think she has a good homecoming planned for you? Dessert, do you think? I always figured that being French, that would be her specialty…"
Ted was beginning to cross the line. Fortunately, Laura appeared at that moment and smacked Ted hard in the chest so Dean didn't have to.
"Ted!" exclaimed Laura, "Stop being horrible! Tell Colette hello, Dean. We all miss her."
"Thanks, Laura" said Dean, taking a calming breath to release the irritation that had been building. "I'll do that." And with that, he hurried off the plane, ignoring Ted's final suggestive eyebrow wiggle as he passed.
By the time Captain Dean Lowry reached his new house in the suburbs, he was grinning broadly. Honestly, he couldn't help himself. He was moments away from seeing his wife for the first time in two weeks. As he practically skipped up the front steps, he realized suddenly that he was whistling and wondered absently how long it had been going on.
"Colette?" he called, opening the door. He tried not to be too disappointed that she wasn't waiting to greet him on the other side. "Mrs. Lowry? Mon Amour?" he called again in a teasing tone, setting down his case and hat, still hoping she would come giggling around the corner at any moment. His horrible French was a joke with them. During their honeymoon, Colette had tried to teach him, but his accent was terrible and only a few words had stuck. It didn't help that most of their lessons had turned into…well…something else entirely.
There was music coming from the kitchen so he headed that direction, suddenly looking forward to the prospect of surprising her. Getting closer, he recognized the sound of one of Colette's French records that usually indicated she was pursuing a project of some kind. Expecting to find a bright eyed woman working happily, it was a shock to instead find his wife of three months crumpled in a chair, covered in various baking ingredients and sobbing into her hands.
"Colette!" Dean cried in alarm, quickly moving to turn off the music before rushing to her side.
At the sound of her name, Colette's tear streaked face shot up, and she launched herself into his arms. "Dean, Dean!" she sobbed into his neck while clinging to him like a lifeline.
"Hey! Shhh. It's okay! What's wrong? What is it?" Dean had never seen her so broken, not in Berlin facing the demons of her childhood, not in Haiti when there had been little hope they would escape with their lives, not even when Bridget had returned and threatened their relationship. All he could do was hold her close, murmuring comforting words until she was able to tell him what had happened.
After what seemed like an eternity, Colette pulled her head back slightly to look into his concerned eyes. "I…I burned the fried chicken." She gulped out brokenly, her French accent slightly thicker than usual. Dean looked at her in absolute bewilderment for a fraction of a second before a relieved chuckle bubbled up and out before he could stop it. "You did what?" Finally looking around the kitchen, he noticed the mess, the open windows, and the burnt smell hovering in the air.
The moment her face crinkled up again, he knew it had been the absolute worst thing to say. "You're laughing at me!" she cried, the sobs returning.
"Hey, hey! I'm sorry sweetheart. Shh! Hey! Come here." Dean sat down on a kitchen chair pulling Colette onto his lap. Her sobs were beginning to subside again so he risked another question. "Why were you making fried chicken?" Colette was an accomplished cook between a brief stint of training she had gone through in France and her experience with in-flight dining for Pan Am. Dean had eaten a variety of delicate, exotic, and gourmet dishes she had prepared, but certainly never fried chicken.
Colette was sitting taller now where he could see her face, her hands playing with the trim on his pilot's uniform. "You told me once it was your favorite when you were a child. I called your mother for the recipe."
"You called my mother?"
"I wanted to make you something special when you came back. I wanted this to really feel like coming home."
"Colette, this IS home here with you! I couldn't wait to get back! Ted was giving me such a hard time on the plane…"
"Dean. I don't think I can do this."
Dean stopped breathing for a moment. She was completely calm now, staring at him with a face he had only seen once or twice before, never with words he wanted to hear. "Do what?" he asked, voice cracking.
"Be a housewife." Said Colette, her voice wavering as tears threatened to overtake her again. "The first day was fine, but after that… I miss people, Dean. I loved my job. I'm all alone here. All my friends are still flying or are in other cities around the world. I missed you so much." She closed her eyes tiredly, leaning her forehead against his.
Dean took a deep breath. At least he now knew what the underlying cause of her tears had been. This wasn't about fried chicken at all. He would have to figure out some way to help her before he flew out again next week. There wasn't a quick fix to her situation. In the meantime, the best remedy was probably distraction. "I missed you too." He said, kissing her forehead before forcing her again to meet his eyes. "Forget the chicken." He said, trying to sound playful. "Let me take you out to dinner tonight."
"Dean…" said Colette reluctantly. "You've been eating out for the past two weeks all over the world! That's why I wanted you to have something nice at home."
"Yeah, but I haven't been eating out with my beautiful wife." Said Dean, pulling her closer and waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "Did I mention I've missed you?" He murmured, planting kisses along her jaw line, feeling her sigh and press into his caresses.
"Dean…." She moaned as her hands began work on his jacket. Finally feeling they were back on course for the time being, Dean stood with Colette still in his arms and began guiding her towards their bedroom.