AN: Enjoy my lonely fandom sighing!
The two tone scarf had seen better days.
It hung from the salt and peppered haired man's neck, strung for dear life. Loose, crooked stitches made her wonder if the man had patched it himself. He sat hip to hip with another silver haired man, one she recognized. This one often volunteered to be their designated flight marshal.
She frowned, adjusting her stewardess uniform while wracking her brain for the marshal's name.
The pair ignored everyone else in the terminal in favor of leaning together, laughing at some memory. An embarrassing one, judging by the scarfed man's groan. Both shook with stifled giggles. The marshal lifted his glasses to wipe at his eyes.
So did his friend. The marshal draped a warm arm over Scarf's shoulder.
Though wrinkled, both retired, their eyes glinted with a youthful vigor that made her feel old. They spoke without opening their mouths. A hand on Scarf's arm was all it took for him to rise and purchase two cups of coffee for them.
They sipped it in silence, their eyes distant, gazing out the window at something she couldn't see. The marshal murmured something and Scarf looked down at his lap. Scrambling to explain, the marshal used his hands. Scarf shook his head.
They stilled with a shared grin.
The marshal shuddered, pulling his coat tighter. Brow immediately furrowed, Scarf placed his free hand on his friend's forehead. The marshal batted it away. Though he groused, both wore the beginnings of a smirk.
A security guard approached their spot. When he asked to see the marshal's papers, Scarf stiffened. The marshal had a grip on the other man's knee before she could blink.
"Easy," the grizzled marshal rumbled. "It's alright."
She marveled.
Colleagues? But no. That didn't do justice to their fluid trust. Brothers perhaps?
It was rude to stare, she knew, but she couldn't stop herself. The plane began boarding. Zone two was called and the pair stood. The marshal shouldered his friend's carry on as well as his own.
"Gerard, getting off duty. You're Miss Hart, right?"
"Oh! Yes." Hart flushed. Gerard stood right in front of her, elbow brushing his friend's. In fact, she noticed they were never truly out of contact. "Of course, sir. We're departing for Chicago shortly."
Hart took Gerard's boarding pass and waved him through. He didn't move, eyes smiling, fixed on his friend. So Hart took Scarf's pass too.
Her eyes did a double take. She reread the name. Pale. Hart's gaze flipped up, wide.
But Scarf was already gone, breezing down the jet bridge. Laughter echoed back to her.
Another flight attendant rushed over. "Was that—?"
Hart nodded. "Yep."
"And he was with—?"
"Yep."
"Wow."
They stared after the two men.
"I recognized the doctor's photo from that famous case a while back," said the man, "over ten years ago now. He was innocent after all, leaving a paper trail for…"
"For our marshal to find," Hart finished.
No one else noticed the two legends. The marshal and doctor were just old men in a crowd. The greatest escape act of all.
"They became friends. Who knew?"
"Yeah," said Hart.
The doctor laughed at something Gerard said. Gerard beamed, more pride in his face than a newborn's father. He leaned back and glanced around as if to say, 'see that carefree man? See him? He's my friend.'
Her eyes softened. "Who indeed…"
Written in 2016. I firmly believe that these battered old bachelors, no matter how far or long apart, carry a piece of each other's spirit with them. They have an unorthodox but simple bond. I figure that would only strengthen after retirement. Especially after retirement.