Into The Blue

Clara drew back the curtain, ignoring the pilot's offer to escort her to her seat, too lost in her own turmoil to notice his suspicious solicitousness. The evening before, Charlene had returned in another puff of smoke with two plane tickets, sealing Clara's fate. Now Clara was here, going from one extreme to another, to be or not to be, resurrecting the memory of Jenkins's words, I always said you were more Guardian material than Librarian, but it wasn't my decision. The Library obviously couldn't decide between brains and brawn. I suppose it was just playing it safe... the memory only serving to increase her uneasiness, as if the Library had been preparing her for this moment all along, albeit unsuccessfully.

She'd stayed in the Library last night, sleeping on a sofa in the Reference section, unable to face Flynn under his own roof after his unfounded accusations. Upon waking up the next morning with a stiff neck, Judson had then provided her with everything else she needed, before sending her on her way, Charlene sarcastically saluting her, Clara resigning herself to her duty. And here she was, about to embark on a magical mystery tour to the Amazon, with the last person on earth she wanted to be with.

"God help Godfrey," Clara muttered under her breath, gripping her hand luggage even more tightly, the handles digging into her skin. As her gaze travelled across the rows of seats before her, it was only to see a bespectacled Flynn occupying an aisle seat near the back, Clara watching as he puffed out his cheeks, his broad shoulders hunching as he leant over the various pieces of paper he was scribbling upon, his hand nothing but a blur. As she drew closer, he began to mutter manically to himself, rather resembling a madman.

"May I help you, ma'am?" the pilot further pressed, breaking into Clara's thoughts, making her glance sharply at him.

"No, I'm fine," she said abruptly, before shaking her hair back, girding herself for the hell ahead.

As she did, Flynn happened to glance up, his mouth falling open as his dark gaze travelled over Clara, taking in her low-cut khaki coloured vest and frayed denim shorts, the fabric clinging to every curve. She seemed to shake her hair back in slow motion, Flynn gaping like a gormless fool, hugging his notes to himself. Her eye then suddenly caught his, startling Flynn, his papers exploding out of his arms, sending scraps flying through the air. "Sorry, sorry," Flynn said in a wild rush to the startled people seated around him, before scrambling to seize his notes, only for them to fall through his fingers.

"I didn't expect you to show up for the party," Clara said cryptically, making Flynn glance up from where he was kneeling on the floor, only to see her standing in front of him. Exhaling sharply, Clara shoved her bags into Flynn's hands before bending down and picking up all his papers, Flynn handing her hand luggage to the pilot in turn, who sullenly stowed them away in the overhead compartment. "Here," Clara said impatiently, shaking the stack of papers into some sort of semblance, before giving them back to Flynn, his spectacles now askew.

"Thanks," Flynn said suspiciously, tucking them under his arm, a silence spinning out between them, Flynn, Clara and the pilot remaining on their feet, forming a strange trio.

"Are you sitting down or what?" Clara said impatiently, looking at Flynn as if he was insane.

"The real Clara has now returned," Flynn said in a robotic monotone. "Normal service is resumed."

"Oh, be quiet," Clara snapped, shoving Flynn down into the window-seat, before claiming the aisle seat for her own.

"Hey, that was my seat!" Flynn protested.

"Not anymore," Clara said smartly, before glancing up at the pilot who was still hovering, the sight making her eyes narrow. "Can I help you?" she asked, brow furrowing. "You've been practically attached to my elbow since check-in."

"I was wondering if you would you like to watch the take-off from the cock-pit, ma'am?" the pilot asked with a charming smile, looming over her, making Clara get to her feet, the pilot still looming over her.

"Let's get one thing straight, my dear man," Clara said coldly, "your offer contravenes a hundred health and safety edicts" -

- "Ma'am" -

- "Let's stop for a moment," Clara said, striking a philosophical pose, "and consider what I just said. You are in danger of flouting airline regulations. So just toddle off for take-off. Savvy?"

"As you wish, ma'am," the pilot said stiffly, touching the brim of his hat before turning and leaving.

"Ouch," Flynn winced, making Clara glare at him as she sat down, "how to win friends and influence people, Clara."

"Let's just say I learned from the best," Clara said, looking at Flynn pointedly, who turned red, her dig hitting its target. To say Flynn was socially inept was an understatement, always managing to insult and offend with alarming ease.

"Um, this happens to be my first plane flight ever," Flynn said randomly, changing the subject, making Clara do a double-take. "So I would keep an umbrella handy, just in case."

"Just in case what?"

"Just in case it starts to rain vomit."

Clara just looked out of the window, half closing her eyes, Flynn glancing at her, his gaze becoming drawn downwards almost against his will, staring at her low-cut neckline as though in a trance, his spectacles nearly sliding off his nose. "Do you mind!?" Clara suddenly snapped, catching him offguard. "Life is horrible enough without you leering!"

"You – you can leer at me if you want," Flynn stuttered, nearly dropping all his papers again, "not that there's much to leer at."

Clara scoffed at this, face full of scorn.

"I'm sorry," Flynn said stiffly, recovering his dignity, taking off his spectacles as he spoke, "I shall keep my wandering gaze under the strictest of control."

Clara raised her own gaze to the ceiling before looking out of the window again, folding her arms defensively across her chest.

"You know, I think this is all happening rather fast," Flynn observed oddly, the suddenness of his statement making Clara glance at him curiously out of the corner of her eye, "you turning up at my house, the interview, the Library, now this..."

Because I tore you out of your timeline, Clara thought darkly to herself, and now time is speeding up, bouncing back on itself, trying to compensate.

"You show up and I'm inviting you to live with me and everything," Flynn continued, brow furrowing, stowing away his spectacles in his blazer pocket, "just after barely speaking to you that afternoon. It... it was like we were just picking up from where we'd left off but when or where, I don't know, and I definitely don't know you either – I've never even seen you before, have I?"

"Maybe we've flicked ahead through a few pages," Clara said coldly, "but that is neither here or there now."

"Is it?"

"What is that meant to mean?"

"I'm talking about the way you look at me."

"What!?"

"Don't play the ace card of ignorance," Flynn snapped, "we've had this conversation a few times."

"But I don't look at you!"

"No, you look at me."

Clara looked out of the window, refusing to remember the way she'd studied Flynn's face the first time she'd seen him in this time, the way she'd kept watching him afterwards. Flynn was highly observant so it was only natural he would notice, despite her best efforts at being discreet, but her fascination with Flynn was hard to control, constantly comparing him against the Flynn from the future, so different but the same.

"Well, I suppose that conversation is over," Flynn said loudly to himself, shooting Clara a sideways glare, "now if you'll excuse me, I have some popcorn to party with." Before she could stop him, he had pulled out a packet of popcorn, opening it with a loud inappropriately appropriate pop!, showering Clara with popcorn, whilst startling everyone who sat around them again.

"You blithering fool!" Clara snapped, shoving Flynn hard in the chest, sending him sprawling back in his seat. "What the deuce are you playing at!?"

"Why the devil are you talking like a character from an Agatha Christie novel!?" Flynn snapped back. "We're hardly on the Orient Express, are we!?"

"I should hope not," Clara said sulkily, picking a piece of popcorn from her hair, before flicking it at Flynn.

Flynn just glared at her again, retreating into the shade of high dudgeon, piling up his papers into a shambolic tower that offended Clara's orderly eye. Time then slowly ticked past, Flynn donning his spectacles again, before proceeding to wallpaper the plane window with neon pink Post-It notes, scrawling illegible notes across their too bright surface. Curiosity getting the better of her, Clara peered over his shoulder, trying and failing to work out his words. Giving up, Clara signalled for a glass of champagne, figuring she more than deserved it, needing alcoholic courage to face the enormity of the task ahead of her.

"Thank you," Clara murmured, nodding at the pretty Asian air hostess, who inclined her head in return, before turning on her heel.

"Oh, wow," Flynn exclaimed, reaching for the finely wrought fluted glass, "thanks."

"Hands off, Hamlet," Clara countered, slapping his hand away, "this is mine."

"You're not the boss of me," Flynn said, looking incensed.

"But I will be," Clara said cryptically again, "so if I say stay sober, you shall, savvy?"

Flynn just glared at her for the third time, before resuming his scribbling, muttering to himself under his breath as he did. Rolling her eyes, Clara took a sip of champagne, only to start violently as Flynn let out a loud whoop, double-punching the air in triumph. "I did it!" he crowed. "I actually did it!"

"Did what!?" Clara spluttered, choking down her champagne.

"I learned the Language of the Birds!"

"What, just there?" Clara said incredulously, too stunned to protest even when Flynn took the glass of champagne from her, downing the rest of it in one go.

"I am positively parched," Flynn complained, before glancing at Clara, realising she was talking to him. "I'm good but I'm not that good," he then admitted, gesturing to his pile of paper and Post-It notes, "I was up all night... studying."

"Couldn't sleep, then?" Clara said sarcastically, remembering her own uncomfortable night in the Reference section of the Library. "Was I running through your thoughts all night? No wonder I'm knackered."

Flynn just looked at her, the tips of his ears turning red, before averting his eyes from hers, Clara realising too late that she'd just answered her own question, that she was the reason for Flynn's sleepless night. Feeling the colour flood her cheeks, Clara looked away, gripping the armrest so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Before she could react, Flynn was suddenly on his feet, rising too fast, only to smash his head off the overhead compartment. "I'mgonnabesick," he said in a wild rush, "needbathroomnow!"

"What!?" Clara said in disbelief, diving out of his way. "Now!? Like right now!?"

"Ican'thelpit!" Flynn gabbled as he flung himself into the aisle. "Happenssofast!"

"Watch where you're going, buddy," a thickset man snapped as Flynn barrelled into him, "you nearly goddamn knocked me down!"

"I'msosorry!" Flynn apologized, trying to get past, clamping his hand over his mouth as he moved, only for the man to grab the front of his blazer, halting him like a horse.

"Going somewhere, Librarian?" the man sneered, Flynn glancing down with wide eyes at the man's arm, only to see the tattoo of a serpent winding its way around his wrist.

"Uh, Clara?" Flynn squeaked over his shoulder, making Clara's head snap up. "We may have some company."

Clara stood up, confused, only for everyone sitting in the seats around her to do the same. As the terrible realisation sunk in that she was surrounded, the thickset man suddenly slammed his fist into Flynn's stomach, making him double over with a sharp cry of pain. "Hey!" Clara screamed, rushing forwards, only for the pretty Asian air hostess from earlier to grab her from behind, swinging her off her feet.

"Clara!" Flynn half groaned, half shouted, only to suddenly throw up all over the thickset man's boots.

"You dirty bastard!" the thickset man yelled, seizing Flynn by the scruff of the neck, forcing him to his feet. "I'm gonna make you lick that up!"

"Not before I introduce him to my little friend," the air hostess smirked, casting Clara aside, before withdrawing a narrow plastic case from her pocket. "Now, it's only going to sting a little," she said to Flynn as she opened the case up, only to reveal a large syringe needle, "maybe" -

Clara suddenly rushed her, knocking the needle aside, sending the air hostess crashing into a seat as she did, everybody lunging at Clara in response. "Flynn, run!" Clara screamed, snatching up a tray from the trolley, before hitting it over a man's head, sending him sprawling, sending herself sideways at the same time.

"Where exactly!?" Flynn choked out, struggling feebly with the thickset man, only to emit a terrified squeak as a beautiful blonde woman suddenly appeared out of nowhere, slamming two suitcases into either side of the thickset man's bald head, knocking him out.

"Eve!?" Clara said in disbelief, smashing the bottle of champagne across a woman's back, showering them both with foam and glass.

"Christmas Eve!" Eve shouted back cheerfully, kicking a man in the groin, making him collapse onto his knees. "I tinkered a bit with time – thought you could use an extra pair of hands!"

"I could use a Guardian!" Clara called back, ducking as a man took a swing at her head, hitting the wall instead. "I'm out of my depth here!"

"You'll learn!" Eve bellowed. "Now get to the bathroom – Jenkins fired up the back door, it'll get you off the plane!"

"What!?" Flynn said, clutching the back of a seat for dear life. "Bathroom, back door, off plane!?"

"You know what happened - what's happening?" Clara fired at Eve, frantically hauling Flynn to his feet as she spoke, Eve double-punching a man and a woman at the same time.

"Discretion is the better part of valour," Eve said pointedly, echoing Judson's earlier observation, before doing a spinning side-kick, sending the air hostess flying through the air.

Dodging another punch, Clara dragged a now weeping Flynn in the direction of the bathroom, Eve clearing the way from afar by hurling champagne glasses like darts at the enemy. As she took one last glance at Eve over her shoulder, their gazes met and held for a long moment, Eve then saluting her, before turning and head-butting the air hostess who had come back for more.

"Bathroom break," Clara said clippedly, shoving Flynn inside, slamming the door shut behind them.

"This is so not the time to join the Mile High Club!" Flynn screeched, collapsing against the wall, sweat beading on his brow.

"Been there, done that, sweetpea," Clara trilled, fighting the panic starting to paralyse her, not seeing any sign of a back door anywhere. "Where's the book!?" she suddenly said, rounding on Flynn with some difficulty, Flynn taking up nearly all the limited space with his long limbs.

"What book!?"

"The book that's written in the Language of the Birds, you nincompoop! The one with all the clues to locating the other two pieces of the Spear!"

Flynn stared at her, all the blood draining from his face. "It's in my satchel," he said in a faint voice, beginning to flap his large hands wildly, "back at my seat, with all my notes" -

The door suddenly flew open, only to reveal Eve, holding out the satchel he had just spoken of, Flynn's papers poking out the side. "I think you forgot something," she said smoothly, handing it over to Flynn, who took it from her with wide eyes. "And you forgot the back door," she fired at Clara just as a flash of bright blue light filled the bathroom, a sudden wind whipping their hair wildly, making Flynn scream like a girl.

"I think it forgot me," Clara said, before shoving Flynn through the back door, throwing herself into the unknown after him.

God help me somehow
There's no time for survival left
The time is now...
Cause this might be your last chance
To disco, oh-oh...