#red-eye

Smiling and inwardly patting yourself on the back for a job well done, but also bone tired from said preparing, you decided to reward yourself with a quick nap. You fairly face-planted on your bed and released a sigh that you felt in every muscle of your body melting into the mattress.

Ten minutes. Twenty, tops. Then you’d wake up refreshed and ready to get a taxi over to JFK.

Three hours later, you woke up like the parents in Home Alone, bolting upright frazzled and confused. Then you checked the clock on your nightstand.

Oh, SHIT.

You scrambled out of bed and nearly twisted your ankle in the mess of blankets.

It was lucky for you that you lived in a city that never slept. Within ten minutes, the taxi you called pulled up to the curb outside your apartment building. You had your carry-on bag slung over your shoulder, basically resting on your back as you heaved your monumental suitcase down the concrete steps. Those last ten were easy, compared to the first few flights from your third-floor apartment unit.

Getting this thing back up there is gonna be a bitch when I come home, you realized, but that was a Future You problem. Present You had enough shit to deal with.

It wasn’t until you settled in the backseat of the taxi with a huff that you remembered what you forgot: your sandwich. Thermos. Apple. Health all gone out the window.

Perfect.

You’d lose your head if it wasn’t screwed on, came the thought that suspiciously sounded like your best friend. You didn’t think that was exactly fair though, considering she got into way more trouble than you on a frighteningly consistent basis—and way worse than nearly missing your flight back home.

You got to the John F. Kennedy International Airport at 11:30 at night for a flight that was supposed to leave at exactly 12:15 a.m. Yes, red-eyes suck, but it was the best you could afford that didn’t have any layovers. Living by yourself in Manhattan wasn’t easy, and not just financially. Somehow though, you were doing it.

You were proving your parents wrong, along with everyone who said smalltown girls couldn’t make it in big cities.

You stormed into the airport through a pair of heavy glass doors, lugging your purse and carry-on over one shoulder and the handle of your suitcase in hand. You were halfway to the line to get your ticket verified and your bag checked, when the weight you were dragging behind you suddenly felt much lighter. You stumbled in your ankle boots.

You looked down and realized you were holding a broken plastic handle in your hand. With wide eyes, you turned back and found your suitcase lying on the floor, a sad monstrosity on its side, now with two prongs of black metal poking out without a handle. The damn thing fucking broke.

“You gotta be shitting me!” you groaned as you struggled to pick up your suitcase by one of the now jagged beams coming out of it. “You can’t just give up, dude! You’re killin’ me here.”

To be fair, the suitcase was heavy as hell. You’d probably overpacked.

“Uh, you need some help?”

You looked up at the question, meeting a pair of green eyes and the handsome face of a young man. His short, blondish hair caught on the overhead lighting, brandishing the ends of it golden. He was dressed down in some dark wash jeans, a forest green shirt, and a sporty looking jacket. He looked preppy, like the jocks you used to avoid like the plague in college, but his concern seemed genuine. He held a green duffel bag casually strapped over his shoulder.

“Uh, thanks, I’m good,” you said, your face warming in embarrassment. With a valiant heave, you got your suitcase up on its little wheels and dragged it rolling behind you by one of the broken extended parts. You paused, looking down at your other hand where the severed handle lied. Shaking your head and not knowing what else to do with it, you tossed it into your purse.

Preppy Guy graciously let you get in line ahead of him. You nodded at him in thanks with a brief smile, not quite able to look him in the eyes through your embarrassment.

Another few minutes, and you made it to the front of the line. Iris read the name tag of the woman at the reception desk. She greeted you with a bland smile at best. You didn’t blame her. It was almost midnight, and your flight was set to take off in less than half an hour.

“I’m going to need your ticket and ID, hun,” she said.

“Of course.” You were already digging through your purse, nodding, but you stopped short. You found your wallet with your driver’s license, but where the hell was your ticket?

“Oh my God,” you uttered, more furiously digging through your purse. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no!”

When you still came up empty, you began rifling through your little duffle bag next.

“Miss,” Iris tried, but you held up a hand.

“Wait, I have a ticket. Coach, Seat B12, Gate 9. I know because I printed it off and put it in here just a few hours ago…”

You gasped when it dawned on you.

You’d switched purses, opting for your messenger bag that could hold more stuff. You sort of remembered a folded-up piece of paper getting tossed to the floor when you stuffed the smaller, cuter purse in your suitcase.

“I forgot it. I can’t believe it,” you breathed. “I forgot my ticket. Oh God, I can’t miss this flight! My best friend is getting married tomorrow. I’m the Maid of Honor!”

“Okay, miss, calm down. It’s…cutting it close, but we might still have a seat available on this flight,” said Iris. She checked her computer screen again after typing in something. Her brown eyes narrowed on the screen. “Okay, wow, we actually do have a couple of seats left.”

“Great! I’ll take it,” you said, shaking your head. You were going to be out an extra $200 at least.

“They’re in first class,” she said. Her eyes met yours, and your face fell.

“And how much is one of those?” you asked dryly. Her face remained unreadable, but considering your broken and frayed ten-year-old suitcase on the platform, you both knew the answer. Too damn much.

“That’s going to be $1,000 with the late booking fee,” she replied.

You gaped. “Excuse me? $1,000 for a three-hour flight?! What, are you gonna tattoo the seat number on my ass? Is the fake leather chair actually made out of gold?”

Iris inhaled a deep breath, like she was just barely holding herself back from rolling her eyes. You knew you were being that bitch right now, and part of you hated yourself for it. You just couldn’t help it. You loved your friend like your own sister, but there was no way you could justify forking over what little savings you had to cover this, even if you were staying with your parents to save money while you were in Smallville. 

“Ah, excuse me,” a smooth voice interjected.

Once again, you found yourself staring into the eyes of a stranger—the same Preppy Guy from earlier. He was still behind you in line, but now closer, hovering a respectful distance to your left. He raised a hand that said, I come in peace.

“I couldn’t help but, um, overhear,” he said, making you frown. Your cheeks lit aflame with embarrassment, but before you could offer a sharp retort, he shocked you with an offer. “I’ve got like, a bunch of frequent flyer miles. I can help you out, use ‘em to get you a ticket.”

You shook your head. “Oh, no. Look, I can’t ask you to do that—”

“Well, good thing you’re not asking,” he said. He gave you a smile infused with boyish charm. “Really, it’s no trouble. Also considering I’m on the same flight, and it’s about to take off in…”

He checked the silver Rolex on his wrist. “About twenty minutes.”

Your frown dropped in shock. Fuck! You needed to get through security and to your gate before the plane took off without you.

You debated internally with yourself for a moment, chewing on your lower lip. Was this guy for real? Or was he just trying to hook you in, like a man who thought you’d owe him something extra just because he decided to buy you a drink at the bar. And this was a little bit more than a $10 cocktail.

Ultimately though, the man’s earnest demeanor and his kind green eyes won you over. You thanked him profusely while he paid for the ticket, and again afterward, when Iris handed it over to you. It may as well have been made of shining gold, like you were gaining admission into Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory.

“I’m Jason,” he said, and shook your adrenaline-trembling hand after you gave him your name in return. His smile could probably melt butter. If not, the cut of his jaw would slice right through it. 

You held the ticket tightly in your hand, still somewhat in shock as you and your savior jogged together over to Security. You checked your big suitcase after he paid for the ticket, which left you with just your carry-on messenger bag.

“I still can’t believe you did that for me. Thank you,” you said, trying to regain your breath while you set down your things in a bin to get through the security checkpoint.

“Don’t worry about it. I wasn’t kidding about those miles…mostly,” he said, while taking off his jacket, followed by his shoes. The man was tall, with broad shoulders to match despite his lithe frame. Your gaze couldn’t help but follow the movement of his muscles flexing under the thin shirt and jacket. He looked…athletic. Your instinct was probably right about the preppy jock thing.

“Sure,” you said, beginning to smile.

The two of you managed to make it without hassle through the security checkpoint. All you needed was your belongings to come through on the conveyor belt, like groceries you already owned.

“I’ve never flown first class,” you admitted.

He chuckled and glanced over at you. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, trust me. You know what is?”

“What?”

“Good company,” he said. A hint of flirtatious charm in his eyes made your insides flip with butterflies, despite your lips pursing.

“Ooh, buddy. What exactly do you think you’re getting out of this? I’m grateful, but I’m not that grateful,” you warned. You grabbed up your stuff from the bin and quickly put your sweater back on and your bag over your shoulder.

Jason faltered, his brows furrowing, but his smile won out. “Okay, not what I meant.”

His bin slid toward him, and he grabbed his jacket and other things quickly as well. You two had about ten minutes before the flight was set to take off. They were still boarding from what you could hear on the intercom.

“It’ll just be nice to have someone to talk to. I usually fly alone,” he said.

“Yeah, me too,” you said after a moment, offering him a smile. At the end of the day, he did just save you from disappointing your best friend and missing her wedding. His returning smile for you made your chest fill with warmth. You studied him while you hastened to the gate.

Okay, so he was attractive beyond belief. You also seemed to have been sucked into the first twenty minutes of a romcom, complete with a crazy, ridiculous, would-never-happen-in-real-life meet cute. Except that somehow, this was your real life.

But life isn’t a movie, you stubbornly reminded yourself. And you weren’t about to stick around if it took a turn from 50 First Dates to an episode of Law & Order.

Meaning, you still didn’t know if you believed Jason’s motives as a Good Samaritan just yet. So, you wouldn’t drop your guard. You tugged your sweater up higher on your neck, but you also found yourself discreetly checking your reflection on your tiny phone screen. Your clothes were a bit wrinkled and your hair was on the frizzy side, thanks to all the hustle just to get to this seat before takeoff. At least you’d managed to throw on some makeup before you scrambled out of the apartment.

Hopefully being first class meant you could actually relax on this flight.

“It better come with unlimited peanuts,” you said.

You couldn’t stop the flood of girlish giggles, and it was all Jason’s fault. While most of the plane was trying to sleep on the red-eye, your ex-college pro football companion was too busy telling you story after story of all the crazy stuff he’d had to do in freshman year to appease his buddies on the football team.

Like getting overripe fruit from the cafeteria and coating the floor of their coach’s office, so every time he entered, he’d have to squish on something just to get to his chair. (That one earned him an entire week of wind sprints.) Or your personal favorite: a mental image of Jason streaking through the quad wearing nothing but a plastic bowl filled with whipped cream, placed strategically in front of him. Very interesting when he stopped in front of the sorority house. 

“So you were good, huh?” you said.

“Weeell,” he shrugged, smiling impishly.

Your lips curved. “What position did you play?”

“Quarterback,” he admitted. Your brows rose, and you whistled softly.

“Look at you,” you said. “Mr. Quarterback. Mr. ‘I’ve got sorority girls at my beck and call.’”

He laughed at your teasing, taking it in good stride.

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t quite like that. I, uh…I actually only played for about a year before I got hurt,” he said.

You sobered then. He was keeping it light, but you noticed the change in his demeanor, like there was genuine regret and old disappointment well-hidden behind his eyes. You asked the predictable question.

“What happened?”  

A wry smile tugged at his lips, but he told you.

“Tore my rotator cuff,” he said. “NFL recruiters tend to frown on that sort of thing. Disappeared like bong smoke.”

So just like that, the future he thought he was building for himself was over. It made you think about all those “meatheads” you sort of used to make fun of back in college. It made you feel a bit guilty, and it gave you some new perspective, wondering how hard they were working, knowing they were putting their all into something that could potentially be taken away from them in a single game.

“What’re you doing now?” you asked. Already an hour into the flight, by now Jason Teague had told you he was from Metropolis. He even played for Metropolis University back then.

“Working for my father’s law firm,” he said, though he didn’t seem all that happy about it as he retrieved a bag of M&Ms he’d set on his fold-out tray. “I managed to fight off the law degree. Got one in business to compromise. He still thinks I should get some experience, learn from him, so I’m shadowing him, essentially.”

You frowned. “Shadowing him? For a career you clearly have no interest in?”

Jason sighed with a rueful, humorless kind of laugh.

“Yeah, trust me, I tried the whole rebellion thing. Didn’t really work well for me,” he said.

You were kind of sad for him, if you were honest. Daddy’s money could buy a lot of things, but it couldn’t buy you passion, or love for that matter. It sounded like his father was trying to control him with it.

Though you now felt less bad about Jason buying your ticket.

“Well, look, it’s not like I have my life figured out either,” you confessed. “My parents think I’m wasting my life and my money in New York.”

“Yeah, but you’re a musician. At least you get good tips,” he said, a bit of his flirtatious teasing returning as he popped a peanut M&M into his mouth. He offered you the bag, and you took a couple of M&Ms for yourself. You spoke around thoughtful chewing.

“Oh sure, I play in musty clubs and hope even one person’s paying attention while they get shitfaced at the bar,” you say, chuckling. “That’s exactly how I imagined my life when I got a degree in music composition.”

“From NYU,” Jason pointed out.

You inclined your head in acknowledgement. “Okay, yes, I got to go to one of the best schools in New York. I’m grateful for that. Honestly, I am. But they don’t tell you how hard it’s going to be to even get a job after college, let alone something you’re passionate about. God forbid you can make money doing something you love.”

Jason nodded in commiseration, stuffing his face with a few more M&Ms. You sipped at the cocktail he got you, despite your protests. He’d grinned and flashed his silvery company card before handing it to the flight attendant.

“I’m not giving up though,” you said, after a beat. “If something’s worth it, you hold onto it. That’s what my dad always told me…even if it bit him in the ass later when I said I wanted to leave Smallville.”

Jason chuckled, tipping his head back. He eyed you in amusement, and something else, like this was a moment he was trying to commit to memory.

“Smalltown girl, huh?” he remarked. “Livin’ in a lonely world.”

A smile threatened your lips. Now he was quoting Journey at you?

“City boy, huh?” you countered. “Born and raised in…Metropolis.” You laughed at your own lameness. “Blech. That doesn’t work, does it? Maybe I should’ve thought harder about that whole career as a songwriter thing.”

He joined you with some laughter of his own, and it was a rich sound that showed off his charming smile.

An hour later, the tremor and bouncing of turbulence startled you awake. Jason grasped your hand, since you’d grabbed his arm on reflex.

“It’s okay, we’re just landing,” he said.

You cleared your throat and paused, realizing that you’d been sleeping with your head resting on his shoulder. Your face was mere inches from his, your lips parting in surprise. He looked back at you softly, his gaze briefly lowering to your lips, and back to your eyes.

You leaned back while embarrassment began to make your face and neck flush.

“God, I’m so sorry,” you said bashfully.

Jason’s smile returned, lighting up his eyes now that the overhead lights had turned back on.

“It’s okay. The drool will probably come out of the jacket,” he replied.

You gasped and checked his jacket sleeve, but it was clean. You bit your lip against a smile and lightly smacked his arm in retaliation.

“You think you’re funny, huh?” you said.

“I think I’m adorable,” he replied, leveling you with a grin.

“Hmph.” You crossed your arms, but you couldn’t quite stamp down that smile.

Because he was damn right.

Even though he didn’t even check a bag, Jason hung out with you in baggage claim after the plane landed. When you two made it outside the airport, you each hailed a cab. He made sure to give you his cell phone number.

“If you ever have some time to grab dinner while you’re here, or hey, even just a cup of coffee, let me know,” he’d said, with a certain gleam in his eyes. “If not, we’ll always have First Class.”

His cheesiness made you laugh. You hadn’t taken him for a Casablanca kind of guy, but you liked that. Your heart was kind of hurting though. Your return flight was the morning after the wedding, and you highly doubted you’d have time for more than raiding the mini fridge in your hotel room, let alone another meet-up. Or a date…

Besides that, Jason told you that he didn’t live in New York. He’d just been there for a business he didn’t even like. Your life and your dreams were in New York. You weren’t likely to see this man ever again.

So before he turned to leave, heading toward the taxi parked at the curb, you found yourself rushing forward to stop him. You leaned up on your toes and pulled him into a hug, circling your arms around his neck while the wind nipped at you both in the early morning darkness.

“Thank you,” you whispered near his ear. “Thank you so much. You really don’t know what you did for me.”

Jason’s smile was warm when he finally released you. He tucked a wind-swept strand of hair behind your ear, letting his thumb brush your warming cheek.

“Can’t let you forget me, can I?” he said. “Hope you have fun at the wedding. Just be careful. You know, bridezillas and all the uh, hairspray.”

He mimed getting blasted in the face with a spray can, with an exaggerated grimace.

Your smile pulled at the corners. Like you’d ever forget the man who bought you a first-class plane ticket without even knowing you.

“Uh, yeah. I’ll remember that,” you laughed.

You turned to head back to your waiting taxi, but something made you turn back around. Jason did too, as if he was as reluctant as you were to end whatever this was.

“I forgot to ask. What’re you up to here in Metropolis? Coming home?” you called to him.

“Yes and no,” he called back with a shrug. “Mostly just attending to some business.”

You shook your head. “That’s not vague at all.”

Jason chuckled and gave you a wave.

“This isn’t goodbye. I’ll see you someday soon,” he said with a wink.

You shook your head, unable to temper your smile. What a flirt.

You laughed as you let him spin you again. The skirt of your bridesmaid’s dress billowed out in shades of lavender and violet. Jason drew you back into him smoothly with one hand curled in yours, and the other wrapping back around your waist. He pulled you flush against his chest, looking down at you with a subtle smile when you gasped lightly.

You stared up into his eyes shook your head. Someday soon, my ass.

“Why didn’t you just tell me you were the Best Man?” you said, laughing incredulously.

Jason drew his plush lower lip between his teeth, and he dipped you. The move was sudden enough to get a squeal out of you, but he held you securely, bringing you back up with his usual charming (and slightly mischievous) grin.

“Now where’s the fun in that, sweetheart?” he replied.

You shook your head breathlessly. You caught sight of Lois and Clark passing by as they made their rounds, greeting guests. Jason spared a hand to slap Clark’s back in a brotherly gesture. The other man turned around with a bright smile, as did Lois. You blew her a kiss, becoming somewhat teary-eyed.

She was beautiful, and it had been too long since you’d seen her in person. Video chats just weren’t the same, but you were so grateful to be able to share this day with her. You’d been best friends with Lois since you were kids, fellow army brats who met in some dusty town in Arizona. When your father retired and settled back in Smallville, you became friends with Chloe, her cousin, but you and Lois never stopped writing, emailing, and later Instant Messaging and Skyping.

And while you were friendly with Clark, you'd never met his "mysterious" college friend from Metropolis...who apparently was an excellent dancer.

“I see you guys hit it off!” Lois called out across the dance floor, boldly teasing and not caring how many people heard her (including your parents).

You gave her an incredulous look, but she just laughed at you and went back to holding Clark’s arm. He looked at her like she was his sunny sky.

Your smile softened. You drew your attention back up to Jason’s face. He’d slowed things down to gentle swaying, now that the band was playing something softer, “Everything” by Lifehouse.

“You know, you look beautiful tonight,” he said. His gaze drew down your form in your dress, back up to your eyes. He cleaned up well himself in the charcoal black suit and gray tie.

“Thank you,” you said softly, a slight smile curving your lips. “Better than some old joggers and a ratty sweater.”

He smiled too. “Nah, it was a good look. Now I already know what it’s gonna be like when we’re five, six months in. Me in my sweatpants that have holes in all the wrong places, and you with that messy bun on your head, no makeup, potentially no underwear.”

You smacked his arm for that last bit, even though he was making you laugh already.

“Just chillin’ together on the couch with How I Met Your Mother playing on the TV, couple of beers, and one hot, pepperoni pizza,” he said. He squeezed your waist on the word hot.

You couldn’t prevent your sillier, giddier laugh from escaping. But then, reality just had to check in.

“I hate to roll the credits on your feel-good sitcom, but…I live in New York,” you said, even as the words tugged sharply at your heart. “I barely have the money to get back to Kansas once every six months, let alone for…”

Jason gave you a gentler look, if still with that mischievous gleam. “That business trip I had? It was to scope out locations for a New York branch of my father’s firm. He’s finally trusting me to handle the management side of things. Comes with a potential relocation…if that’s what I want.”

He gazed at you meaningfully. “I figure, maybe it gives us a chance to grab that cup of coffee. So I’m thinking…Monday morning, before your shift. I can take you to this little café I know in Little Italy.”

Your shock overtook you. But slowly, ever slowly, it faded away. You smiled. Your hands slid over his shoulders and up the back of his neck, your fingers carding through his dirty blonde hair at the nape of his neck. He guided you even closer to him, until you were sharing a breath. His lips became mere inches from yours.

“You sure know how to paint a picture,” you said, almost a whisper.

“Yeah?” Jason quirked his head slightly. “Let me try one more.”

He leaned in slow, giving you time to pull away if you wanted to. Your breath caught, but you let him touch his lips to yours, soft and plush and warm.

You melted into his second kiss even faster than the first, tightening your fingers in his hair and tilting your head. It gave him a better angle to cup your cheek and deepen the kiss. He held you gently, but strong and secure at the same time.

You couldn’t see it, but his brows were furrowed. You didn’t know it, but Jason’s heart felt full, even though he’d just met you. Each new sweet kiss with you was like he was taking his first real breath in years. 

For you, it felt like the first good thing you’d had in months, and yes, even years of struggle trying to build your career. His voice, his lips, his touch, it all was like heady wine, making proverbial tannins prickle under your skin, then dissolve warm and honeyed in your body.

Just then, you didn’t care who was watching or what music was playing.

Whatever this was, and whatever it could be, maybe it was worth holding onto for longer than tonight.

AN: I've been holding onto this little fic for quite a while, so it's so nice to finally share some more Jason with you guys! I would like to write more of him in the future. ❤️ In the first half of season 4, he just gives me such "Dean if he got to go to college" vibes. 🥰

In the meantime, let me know what you thought of this little adventure in AU Smallville!

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