24Paris yawned and stretched his arms above his head. The plane trip was taking longer than he expected and he was bored stiff, his eyes glazing over slightly as he watched the old movie flickering across his screen. He flicked it off and yawned again, looking blankly out the window. Next to him, his friend Blair turned over in his sleep. Paris glanced at him, envying his ability to doze anywhere anytime.
He fidgeted in his seat as the lights above him flickered on and the raspy metallic voice over the loudspeaker announced, "The flight attendants will now be serving refreshments. We will touch down in Oslo in just over an hour." Blair yawned and sat up, "Oh ." Paris shook his head, just like Blair to only be concerned about his stomach. Blair hadn't changed over the years, but then again, he hadn't much either. He pulled out his guitar magazine and flicked through the glossy pages, wishing he could afford a new one. He shrugged and shoved it back into his backpack. Maybe he could buy one duty-free in Oslo.
He leaned back, pulling his tray table down as the flight attendant pushed the trolley past, giving them each a tray. He glanced at Blair who was already demolishing whatever the hot dish was and opened the lid of his carefully, grimacing at the contents. Sighing, he reached for the cheese and crackers, they and the Magnum ice cream would have to do until they reached the airport. Blair glanced at the tray, his already completely consumed, "Are you going to eat that?" Rolling his eyes, Paris pushed it towards him, "Be my guest." Blair took it and devoured it hungrily, as if he was starved.
Fighting back a laugh, Paris finished off his cheese and crackers and unwrapped his ice cream, wondering idly where Mira was. He hadn't heard from her in about a week, all he knew was that she was somewhere in Europe, or around that area, for a month or so, training in the criminal justice court. He sighed, throwing away the wrapper of his ice cream and trying to take a bite, almost breaking his teeth as he did. He remembered with a jolt that he had ended up exactly the way he said he would when he was sixteen, a few years ago now. He grinned, Mira had ended up exactly where she said she would as well. They had discussed it a few times when they were younger. He'd talked to her the day before she left and she'd promised to fly down and see him after they both got back.
Flashback. Mira, aged fourteen, curls up on her bed with the phone. Paris, aged sixteen, on the other end of the phone, sits on his bed, lazily strumming his guitar, talking quietly into the handset. "You'll probably end up rich and famous, and I'll be some poor starving musician trying to make his way in the world." She giggles, "No, you'll be a struggling musician and I'll just have a steady job, probably somewhere overseas and we'll always be in touch." He grins, even though he knows she can't see it. "True, we'll stay in touch always." End flashback.
He sighed and concentrated on his ice cream, carefully biting into it so that he didn't break his teeth and have to use his only spending money on dentures. He polished off the ice cream and drank his water thirstily. When Blair was still busy with his tray, he took the other water, so he drank that too, trying not to laugh when Blair looked for it.
"Flight attendants, please collect the refreshments, we will be preparing for landing in ten minutes." He handed his tray over and folded up the tray table, leaning back in his seat, looking out the window, glad he had opted for the afternoon flight instead of the day one. They'd go to the hotel now and stay the rest of the night. The next day, they'd head out into the country for a few weeks or so, then come back and explore the city. He nodded, satisfied. He'd planned this trip since he was sixteen and he didn't want anything to go wrong.
He gritted his teeth slightly as the plane took a dive towards the runway. He'd always hated that bit, his ears blocked with the pressure and he held his nose, blowing to release it. The plane hit the runway and he jolted in his seat, frowning slightly as he waited for the plane to come to a complete stop before unbuckling the mandatory seatbelt. He and Blair waited patiently until the crowds had dissipated before they both stood, he grabbing his backpack and then his guitar from the overhead locker, walking off the plane relatively unscathed, shivering in the bitter wind that greeted them as they walked across the runway.
Collecting their bags from the conveyor belts, they hailed a taxi and gave directions for the hotel. Snow fell lightly around them and Paris looked out the window, up into the sky, noting all the antique buildings around them. "Wow." he breathed. The taxi pulled up outside a darkened building and they got out, hoping they'd given the driver the right change. They walked up to the door, knocking and calling, but nobody answered, odd for the early hour they'd arrived. The building itself looked like it had been abandoned for months. "What are we going to do now?" Blair asked and Paris spotted an ancient cathedral, the doors wide open. "Let's crash in there for the night and in the morning, we'll try again, or find a different hotel." They picked their way carefully across the road and stepped inside the warm, dry cathedral, pulling the doors closed behind them.
Yawning, Paris set down his bags and pulled out his light jacket, making it into a bundle as he lay down in a pew, placing it under his head, slowly falling asleep. Blair pulled out his lighter and his cigarettes, lighting up, taking a deep drag and filling his lungs with the smoke. He found an old newspaper and crumpled up the pages, placing them in a small pile on the floor and lighting them with his lighter. He leant back, his cigarette hanging from his hand, and closed his eyes, feeling the warmth spread over him.
The flames crackled, slowly burning the carpet leading up to the altar and some of the nearby pews. Blair sniffed, smelling burning wood and petrol. That wasn't a good sign. He opened his eyes and his jaw dropped. The aisle carpet had burst into flames, as someone had poured gasoline onto it, and the flames were licking at the pews. "Paris, man, wake up!" he yelled and Paris opened his eyes, sitting bolt upright when he saw the flames. " did you do, Blair?" Blair shrugged, gulping when he saw the tapestries on the wooden walls slowly become illuminated by the blaze. "Let's get out of here, before the whole place burns down on us!" Paris yelled and Blair nodded. They grabbed their things and rushed towards the door, opening it to find a police car pulled up out front. "Man," Blair said in an undertone, "this doesn't look good."
A few hours later, they sat in the Oslo police station, trying to explain themselves to the officers, who altogether spoke very limited English. Paris sighed and raised a brow at Blair. One of the officers spoke up, in very slow English, " two lawyers for you, and one speaks English, but they will not be here until morning. You must stay here until then." Paris and Blair looked at each other before nodding with a sigh and collecting their bags and Paris' guitar, being escorted to a nearby cell. The officer locked them in and then left them, telling them it would be lights out in two minutes.
Paris shot a sharp look at Blair, "Well this is a great mess you got us into, isn't it? What exactly were you doing with your lighter?" Blair shrugged casually, "Well, I was having a smoke and I decided to try to warm up the place a bit." Paris rolled his eyes, "Do you know what the sentence is for burning down a church here?" Blair shook his head and he continued, "Anything from a few months to a few years! We could be stuck here for that long. Let's hope we have some good lawyers." He lay back, staring at the ceiling as the lights were shut off, wondering how he was going to get out of this one.
Mira groaned and slammed her hand down on the cabinet beside her bed, reaching for the phone. "Hello?" she said in English before switching to Norwegian quickly. " , I'll be right in." She put the phone back and stared up at the ceiling, frowning. She hadn't expected to go in today, she was hoping to go and see the ancient cathedral in the town square that she had been too busy to go and see before. She swung her legs over the bed, her feet hitting the icy floor and she winced, picking her way towards the adjoining bathroom, hoping as she shut the door that the hot water was working today.
After she dressed and had breakfast, she waited outside for Mattias Gasseholm, her partner while she was here, to pick her up in his red Ferrari convertible, since she had left her rented one at the parking lot. He pulled up, looking at her over the top of his sunglasses as she made her way down towards the car, "Well aren't we looking stunning today?" he quipped in Norwegian and she sighed. "Grow a brain, Mattias. It's obvious that you need one!" she retorted in Norwegian, before muttering something under her breath in English, which he couldn't understand. He waited until she had gotten in and closed the door before speeding off towards the station, driving with one hand while talking to her. "So why are you so irritated this morning?" he asked and she replied, "It's none of your damn business, watch the road!" They had almost collided with an elderly couple on their early morning drive. He got the point and asked no more questions until they reached the station.
"So, what kind of case is it?" he asked and she shrugged, "Obviously some foreigners who speak English, since I'm here." He grinned, linking his arm with hers affectionately, "Not just that, you're a better lawyer than I am. I'm just here because you're my partner while you're here." She grinned and poked him, "Oh, come off it, Mattias." She broke off mid-sentence, listening to the faint sounds of a guitar. "Who's playing that song?" Mattias shrugged, "Could be one of our clients, or an officer." She smirked, "You don't know the song, do you? Oh, wait, you wouldn't, only the person who wrote that song, and I, would know it. It was written for me." She hummed softly as she walked towards it, him following her, listening to the faint strains of the guitar, turning the corner, "How do you know." The two in the cell looked up and she gasped, holding her hand over her mouth as she recognised one of them.