Tommy leans back in the stiff airport chair, long legs stretched out in front of him. The fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting odd shadows across the scuffed tile floor. Delayed. The word flashes in angry red letters on the departures board, taunting him.

Just his luck. He'd promised Dr. Ruiz he'd make it back for the pre-launch briefing, even joked that he'd hijack a plane if he had to. Now here he is, stuck in a crowded waiting lounge with no backup plan and a phone battery edging towards single digits.

He glances at his watch, that old analog thing that's seen more missions than most. Grandpa always said, 'Digital makes you late.' Tommy huffs a laugh under his breath. Grandpa never met the airline industry apparently.

He's just about to get up, maybe hunt down some halfway decent coffee, when his phone buzzes. It's Jake, probably calling to razz him about missing their sim session tomorrow. Tommy brings the phone to his ear, ready to unleash some choice words about the state of air travel—

And that's when he sees her.

She's standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, haloed by the setting sun. It catches in her hair, turns it to molten gold. Tommy's words die in his throat. His heart stutters against his ribs, then kicks into overdrive like it's trying to launch itself into orbit.

Holy hell.

He's dimly aware of Jake's voice in his ear, something about atmospheric density and fuel calculations, but it fades to background noise. All he can see is her. The way she tucks a stray hair behind her ear. The way she worries her bottom lip between her teeth as she stares out at the tarmac.

Tommy's not the type to believe in love at first sight. He's a man of science, of measurable facts and quantifiable data. But looking at her? He's pretty sure his world just tilted on its axis. Christ, pull it together, Hayes. He runs a hand through his hair (which probably just makes it look worse). He stared down enemy fire and g-force blackouts, but somehow this feels more terrifying.

He takes a step towards her without thinking. And another step. Don't trip. Don't you dare fucking trip. His feet are carrying through the crowd with a boldness he definitely doesn't feel. His palms are sweating. His mouth is dry and he's pretty sure his heart is still stuck somewhere in his throat, but he can't seem to stop. Up close, she's even more... more everything. More real. More present. More likely to notice he's been standing there for three whole seconds without saying a single word like some kind of malfunction.

Say something, idiot.

"Uh." Yeah good one Hayes, all that Air Force training is really paying off. "Hi." It came out weird and croaky. Perfect. Just perfect. She's probably wondering if he's having a stroke right about now. Way to make a complete fool of yourself in front of the most beautiful woman you've ever seen, space cowboy.

His brain scrambles for something, anything else he should say that doesn't sound like he just learned English five minutes ago. The PA system crackles overhead, announcing another delay for Flight 447 to Houston. His flight. Maybe hers too.

"Delayed?" He gestures vaguely at the departure board like she might not have noticed the giant red letters.

Christ, Tommy. 'Delayed?' That's your big opener?

He should walk away. Claim temporary insanity. Blame the recycled air. Instead he tries for a grin, and ends up with a grimace. "Looks like we're in the same boat. Or, uh, plane. Eventually."

Jesus. He wants to smack himself. That wasn't better. It's worse, actually. Much worse. This is why he sticks to telemetry and thrust vectors. But then she met his gaze with eyes so bright they put the stars to shame, and suddenly, Tommy forgets how breathing works.

"Guess the airline really winged it this time, huh?" His next words tumble out before he can stop them, landing with all the grace of a dropped wrench. He feels the heat crawling up the back of his neck, the urge to abort mission and retreat to the safety of his own awkwardness.

Then—something. A flicker, maybe. He thinks he sees the corner of a smile. Or maybe it's just wishful thinking. Doesn't matter. Tommy would launch himself into the sun if it meant seeing that smile again.

"I mean, you'd think they'd have plane old common sense. Enough to take off on time." He shrugs, tries to lean casually against a nearby pillar and nearly misses. Abort, abort!

He hears laughter. Real, actual laughter, and it hits him like sunrise over the West Texas plains. Tommy's a goner. Absolutely, completely gone for this stranger in an airport on what was, until a second ago, the worst day of his life. He offers his hand before he can think twice—then instantly questions all his life choices. Who even shakes hands anymore?

"I'm Tommy, by the way. Tommy Hayes. And I promise I'm usually better at, you know, words."