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arch_calzenFandom: Cabin Pressure
Character(s), Pairing(s): Douglas, Martin, Carolyn, Arthur, various OCs. D/M
Rating: K for now, I suppose. Will go up in later chapters
Genre: mostly Romance, with a dash of some other genres
Word count: Ugh, will count when it's finished :D
Summary: Initially a fill for the CP kink meme. Prompt: "Neither Douglas or Martin have ever felt attracted to another man. But these feelings that build so slowly and surely, grown from friendship and companionship, are difficult to ignore. Before they well and truly realised what is happening, they've fallen in love with each other.
They almost can't believe it themselves."
Part 4
* * *
“Roger that, Toulouse,” Martin leant back in his seat and groaned. A thunderstorm, just the thing they needed on their way back from Barcelona. And since Carolyn was even more adamant about no-diverting-unless-the-number-of-wings-is-other-than-two policy, looked like they had to struggle through.
Which wouldn’t be really difficult, but only if Douglas finally deigned to come back from his ridiculously long bathroom break. Seriously, how long could that man adore his reflection for? Ten minutes were more than enough.
Martin’s grumbling thoughts were interrupted as Arthur entered the flight deck.
“Coffee time!” he announced, and the pilot reached out behind him to grab the mug as he glanced down at the panel to flip a switch.
“Yes, thank you, Arthur.”
“You’re welcome. Hey, you look all worried here, is something wrong?” Arthur folded his arms, leaning on the back of Martin’s seat to peer at the clouds already starting to darken on the horizon. “Whoa, looks like hell of a storm, right there! Do you see that, Skip?”
“Why yes, I actually do,” Martin snapped and immediately felt bad for it. It wasn’t Arthur’s fault they would fly through the storm, or that Douglas seemed to have gotten stuck in the loo. “I- Forgive me, Arthur, I didn’t mean to. Those clouds look nasty, yes.”
“Well, I think you know how Mum would say you’d have to make it, because if you don’t, she will claw your head off, not that I think she’s actually do that or that her fingernails can be counted as claws, but you get the idea-“
“Yes, yes, I do, I don’t need any reminders, it’s just – uh, I hate to admit it, but I suppose I would like Douglas to handle this for a while – I mean, it’s not like I’m incapable or – I’m Captain, for God’s sake, and I am perfectly capable and…” Martin knew he was blabbering, but all of this was really getting on his nerves, and he could, in fact, use some more sleep than what he’d finally got after spending several ridiculous hours in that bar, and honestly, the least Douglas could do to repay the favour of not disturbing him that night was to come back from that ruddy bathroom and get them through the storm.
“Skip, Skip, wait,” Arthur sounded confused. “Whom are you talking about?”
Martin turned his head to glare at Arthur. “Honestly, if this is some new joke, now is not the time. I’m sorry for snapping at you, but I’m not in the best mood, and this nonsense does not help.”
“But Skip, I really don’t know whom you are referring to. I mean, I know, for example, Douglas Fairbanks, Douglas Brinkley and that hockey chap with cartoon surname – I’m fairly sure he is a Douglas, too. But… Oh! Or maybe you are referring to Douglas Bader? That ace guy you’ve once gave me a book about?” Arthur paused, looking uneasy. “ Um… Skip, I don’t, I don’t know how you want him to help you, I believe he’s been quite dead for thirty years or something already.”
Martin shook his head in disbelief. What was going on? “Arthur. Arthur, what are you talking about? I mean Douglas Richardson, my First bloody Officer, who seems to have developed an ability to squeeze through the loo’s hole like some bloody octopus, since he’s left, what, fifteen minutes ago and hasn’t returned yet. Are you sure you haven’t fed him anything?”
“I- no- Skip. There really is no Douglas Richardson on Gerti,” Arthur sounded dead serious, and this was starting to creep Martin out. “I’m fairly sure we have no passengers on board, because I would have noticed them and served them drinks otherwise.”
“But- he’s not a passenger, he’s a pilot!” This was becoming stranger and stranger every minute. What was going on? Why the hell Douglas- where was he? The man felt something clench at his insides, twisting painfully with dread.
Arthur took an unconscious step back, much to Martin’s alarm. “Um. You’re the only pilot, Skip. Have been for years now.” What??! “Huh, I would think it’s Surprising Rice and its unpredictable aftereffects, but you haven’t had it yet,” Arthur paused with a thoughtful look on his face. “But yes, you’re the only one. Uhh, shall I call Mum? Maybe she’d sort it out?”
“No, no-no, don’t call Carolyn, in fact, don’t tell her anything, I’ll-“ he didn’t manage to finish the sentence as Gerti was shaken and thrown violently to a side by the upcoming storm. Martin heard Arthur’s surprised yelp behind him, but the pilot was too busy trying to steady the poor aeroplane, prancing like a spooked horse.
Something was really, really, unbelievably wrong. Somehow Douglas was erased from- what? Arthur’s memory? Everyone but Martin’s mind?
Or maybe the older man was a product of his own imagination the whole time?
The thought made his heart drop heavily, and Martin gulped for air before forcing himself to push the assumption aside for a minute and concentrate on the matters at hand – namely, how not to crash an aeroplane without Douglas to back him up (“????!!!” Martin’s mind readily supplied him with his most coherent thought).
Another jigging shook Gerti, and suddenly it became even darker in the flight deck that it already was from the thunderclouds. Martin lifted his eyes from the panel his hands were swiftly dancing over, and his body threw itself back against the seat in panic as he took in the view of a gigantic yellow eye hovering just outside the aeroplane, surrounded by sharp black feathers.
Martin’s mind didn’t register as his hands unbuckled the seatbelts and his body jumped up and turned to fly – somewhere, anywhere, away from the – whatever that was – when he glanced at the back of the deck where Arthur was and froze in horror.
Because, even while the clothes at the body were decidedly Arthur’s, his head was not his own, but one of a raven’s. The creature turned its ugly head sideways to look at Martin, and then it wired up as a spring and charged at him.
Martin choked back a yelp and dashed to a side, struggling not to lose his balance as the aeroplane shook again, the lightings blinding him for a moment. The creature let out an inhuman cry, shaking itself and charging again. Martin attempted to dodge the attack once more, but that was when the gigantic thing outside decided it didn’t like to be neglected, and seized Gerti in one powerful movement, huge claws piercing though metal.
The aeroplane shuddered as if in pain and went into a spin, approaching the ground with frightening speed. Martin barely registered in the turmoil as one of the claws shattered the windows, and cold air came rushing in in wild swirls, drowning everything in suffocating wind.
* * *
Martin awoke with a start, ‘Arthur’’s piercing cry still echoing in his head. He sat up sharply, chest heaving as he gasped for air.
A fraction later, he twisted sideways and his eyes made out a shape of Douglas’ bed next to his own, the outline of sleeping pilot’s body distinguishable in pale moonlight.
Martin had no idea why he had done it – he couldn’t remember anything, no matter how hard he tried; the dream just vanished as soon as he awoke – but seeing Douglas sleeping there, in the same room, had a strangely calming effect on him.
Douglas existed.
Martin frowned. What was that thought about?
He rubbed a hand over his face and through his hair, trying to regain his breathing. Half a minute later, he got up heavily and padded to a tiny bathroom, squinting as he turned the light on. Martin grasped the sink’s edges and leant forward after splashing cold water in his face, looking himself over in the mirror. His breathing was resembling normal now, but his eyes were bloodshot, and he couldn’t stop furrowing his eyebrows in distress over the nightmare.
Yes, he could safely assume this was a nightmare. And it somehow involved Douglas; more particularly, the man’s presence (or absence). Even now, he still felt a painful knot inside of him as he tried to recall the events of the dream, but finally the man had to give up, he was too exhausted.
Martin turned the light off and padded quietly back to his bed, glancing at Douglas’ form as he passed the man. The other pilot seemed to not be disturbed by Martin’s activities, and he was grateful for his sound sleep. Martin lowered himself back on the bed and was out in several minutes, exhaustion taking over him even despite the nightmare.
* * *
Martin yawned tiredly as he bent over his desk, writing up the logs. The flight back to Fitton was thankfully uneventful, safe for a small rain starting before their landing and increasing dramatically ever since, and now the man only hoped he wouldn’t fall asleep at the airfield and somehow make it home as soon as the rain lessened.
A steaming mug of coffee appeared in front of him, seemingly out of nowhere. Martin glanced up with glassy eyes and deduced that Nowhere had Douglas as its courier today. Who was at the moment standing in front of his desk with a mug of his own, contemplating the younger man silently.
“Hu-uh?” Martin drawled. He really didn’t think he was capable of any coherent sentences, so he decided not to risk it.
“I was merely wondering if Sir would like to up his spirits with this godly liquid, for Sir doesn’t look like he’s had his beauty sleep,” Douglas answered, looking unaffected by Martin’s apparent inability to speak. For a moment he looked like he was going to add something else, but the next second it was gone, and Martin didn’t have the energy to spend it on pursuing the fact.
“Uh. Coffee,” he dropped and reached for the mug, eyes closing tiredly at their own accord.
“Indeed. However, if Sir doesn’t desire-“ Douglas stopped, watching as Martin sipped the hot liquid carefully. “Ah, he does seem to desire. Well done, me.”
“If you’d really want to do something for me, you could just do the logs one god damn time,” Martin bickered half-heartedly, the ability to talk returning as the blessed caffeine entered his system.
“Sir asks too much from the likes of I,” Douglas dismissed the idea quickly and wandered over to the sofa, picking up a book on his way. The rain outside was making the walk to the parking place too dreadful to consider it until the weather changed for good.
* * *
Part 5
* * *
“Hey. Chief. I might be wrong…” Martin didn’t have to look at the First Officer to know that even after all this time since the seminar, the man couldn’t entirely wipe the disbelieving scowl of ‘am I really saying this’ off his face. He sighed and closed his eyes briefly. God he was tired. Again. Why was he always tired?
“…but I think we are going to dive into the runway while landing.” Okay, not always. But this time it had something (a not quite small something, mind you) to do with bouncing like a ridiculously shaped inhabited ping-pong ball between Beijing and Irkutsk for the past two days, way past their legitimate hours. Martin wondered how Douglas still managed to function, for he himself had definitely stopped breathing and blinking a couple of hours ago, it was too tedious. Thankfully, they have finished the business at last and were now nearing blessed Fitton airfield.
“This makes me…” a brief contemplation. “Scared of concrete in my mouth. And my face. And everything else, in fact.”
“Douglas, if you are hinting that I am incapable of landing Gerti, then you are seriously mista-“ Wait. Full stop. Martin could almost feel the wheels in his head turning (and wasn’t that idiom reserved for describing another person’s thinking process, not your own? Ah, blast it).
“Douglas,” he repeated, turning stiffly in his seat and squinting at the older man. “I am taking the landing because I have lost the bet on what Carolyn would call us when she appeared here next time, aren’t I.” The fact that they have reached the state when losing the game meant taking the landing instead of letting the other have it spoke volumes of their current condition.
“You are astonishingly bright today, Captain. Has Chinese wisdom and that of Buryat taught you something?”
“Ugh,” Martin decided to ignore the jibe, which was remarkably flat even considering the state Douglas was undoubtedly in, even if he appeared otherwise. “Why do you want to take it? You were so keen to win that bet when we took off in Irkutsk. What has changed? What is in it for you?” That was more talking that they have both done since the take off, but he really wanted to know the motives. If their roles were reversed, Martin would need to have an enormous reason to redeem the blasted thing he had been so willing to give away earlier.
“What has changed, Sir inquires?” Douglas drawled. “That is no complicated question. Might it be so that I want this landing because, even though you didn’t look half asleep at the beginning of our fine journey, you certainly do right now? And it’s not like I am intending to live forever, Sky God or not, but I surely do not wish to die at the age of fifty-two, AND to be buried simultaneously, AND to be buried at the airfield. A bit noisy, I find it, and not entirely peaceful with these roaring machines flying to and fro every ten seconds. Therefore, since I am the more experienced pilot and thus will perform a perfect landing regardless of whether I have had any sleep for the past forty-something hours or not, I am willing to take it and ensure that all of us are more or less in one piece and not having any runway or jet bits in their systems by the time we taxi. Did I answer your question?”
Martin blinked slowly, staring fixedly ahead.
“Douglas, I seriously want to punch you. Why do you have to be such a clot even when making someone’s life easier?”
“Because I am utterly amazing and wonderful, that’s why.”
Martin rolled his eyes. “I do hope you are joking about no sleep during this whole business.”
Douglas chuckled. “Captain, you are wounding me deeply. I am a serious man. When have I last joked?”
* * *
Something was… strange.
Martin sat down on the sofa in their living room, narrowly avoiding piles of junk food hiding a small coffee-table from view completely. James reached forward for another pack of chips and leant back again, munching on its contents and switching the channels with his free hand.
The man shook his head absently, muttering a polite “No, thanks” just as absently when the student offered him the pack, sleepy gaze fixed to the screen. A thud of a body hitting the floor and a muffled curse sounded from the room above and Martin gave a small smile: apparently, Miles was about to present himself shortly. It was noon, but the habitants of the house were just starting to wake up and drag themselves out of their respective rooms. Saturday was showing. And it wasn’t even an after-Friday-party Saturday. Just a regular one.
Martin tore his eyes away from a cheery person presenting news and returned to his thoughts, though it took him a while to grasp. They returned from Irkutsk yesterday morning, and Martin fell asleep as soon as his head met a pillow upstairs, and it wasn’t until after almost twenty hours of dreamless sleep that he went down to the common area.
Sidetracking again. Okay, what was he thinking about?
Ah, of course. The weird.
Douglas was acting unusually lately. It wasn’t like he was acting usually in general, after all, this was Douglas he was talking about, but still. His behavior toward Martin has changed subtly over a rather prolonged period of time, and the young man didn’t quite know what to make of it.
It wasn’t like Douglas was rude or more biting than usual. Rather… on the contrary.
Somehow, he acted… nicer?
Martin sighed deeply and chewed on his bottom lip, recalling all those small events from the past month or so. How they were delayed in Tunis and Martin was practically dying of thirst when a misted bottle of water was “forgotten” by the panel as the older man declared that he was going out to “get some fresh sandy air”. Or that time, on the contrary, in Vancouver, when the four of them were waiting outside the airport for their taxi to the hotel and Martin could swear he would start shaking uncontrollably from cold in under two minutes, and Douglas positioned himself behind the shorter man, his shoulder a warm and solid, if accidental, presence between Martin’s shoulder blades. Or when Martin predictably (not any less humiliatingly, though) ran short of money in Athens during a short stop for dinner, and Douglas suddenly announced that since the mysterious “turkey and machine oil” smuggling deal had gone particularly good and thus raised his spirits considerably, he’d pay for the four of them.
Or how he took that landing, even though he clearly didn't want to?
All those casual gestures, touches, automatic movements as if to be able to catch him when he slipped on icy ground, or how Douglas switched their places to appear between Martin and a drunken company passing them in Lisbon streets one late evening without even noticing it.
Passing things over, glancing unconsciously, positioning himself so that he would be able to see Martin at any given moment – all this nagged at the man’s mind, reminding him of something terribly familiar. If only he could put his finger on it…
He sat up straight suddenly, earning a surprised yelp from a jostled James, who cradled a bowl of popcorn to his chest as it balanced precariously on his knees. Martin smiled apologetically and forced himself to settle back again.
He remembered where and when he had seen all this. When he brought Douglas his bloody brown sauce, and when he came over to dinner at their house a week later – not soon enough for Douglas to confess to his wife, therefore before the relationship between the spouses changed. He had seen all these subtle touches and glances. Martin froze as realization hit him.
Douglas was courting him.
Consciously or not – the latter more likely – but Douglas was showing his… do they call it affection? his something in his Douglas-y way. Martin wasn’t all too experienced with relationships, but he had a good visual memory and could easily compare data when he knew what to look for.
Martin leant forward, resting elbows upon his knees and cradling his head, remaining in that position for several long minutes, then sighed and leant back.
Or maybe he was wrong. Hell, he was most likely, no, most definitely wrong. This was just Douglas finally warming up to him after, what, three years of flying together.
Indeed. The more he thought and compared, the more probable it seemed. In fact, Douglas was showing these random signs of companionship to both Carolyn and Arthur, too, so there was no wonder that Martin was finally accepted as one of the crew.
Martin frowned at the thought, and then frowned deeper, perplexed by the fact that the realization actually upset him.
James grabbed a pack of biscuits from the table and pulled one out of it before offering the pack to Martin. This time, he accepted.
* * *
Part 6
* * *
Carolyn groaned. Oh how she hated trans-Atlantic flights, if only someone knew. Well, of course, the crew knew, as she never tired of reminding them just how tremendously boring these flights were. Especially cargo ones. Like this, for instance. She’s just refused Arthur’s approximately fiftieth attempt to get her to play charades, and they were only halfway on their journey to Miami.
She groaned again, audible signs of distress being her only available option at the moment.
This was a long flight.
Thankfully, it served at least some kind of purpose, for after unloading a box of horse blood samples for the upcoming races in Monte Carlo (why was the box to go to Miami, she hadn’t the foggiest) they were to pick up a businessman and his tanned bleached lover (Carolyn’s never seen her, but she was absolutely sure the girl would be tanned and bleached) to fly them to Fiji. Seriously, what was the reason to fly from one beach to another?
In addition, Carolyn was doubting the Miami-Fiji flight would be any better, for she would have to actually serve the couple and be nice (by her standards, or course; but that required effort, anyway), and wouldn’t that be just… She fumbled for a word. ‘Awful’ sounded as if she gave a toss. ‘Boring’ was already overused. ‘Disgusting’? Nope, again, too engaged.
The woman sighed and got up, stretching her arms and listening satisfiedly as her spine cracked a couple of times. What was so surprising? Arthur with his love of cracking knuckles was her son, after all.
Bo-ored.
Luckily, she had two pilots to bother. Carolyn made her way swiftly to the flight deck door, pausing for a few seconds to assess the situation like she usually did before entering any room.
“Bewilderment,” Martin’s muffled voice sounded. Carolyn quirked an eyebrow.
“Good,” was Douglas’ genuinely appreciative reply before he added in a dramatic tone of voice, “Accomplishment.”
A groan, unmistakably Martin’s. “Umm. Give me a second.”
“You have fifty-three- ah, no, fifty-two more minutes to think all you like, I don’t mind this amazing gap I have on you. Though… I wouldn’t mind if it grew bigger. ‘Bulldozer’.”
“Oh, come on!” Martin’s exasperated cry grew louder as Carolyn opened the door and stepped inside, eyeing the pilots. Word games were nothing new to her, just as juggling apples (apple, she corrected herself), but… combined?
“I see you are just as bored as I am. What crispy hell is this, gentlemen,” Carolyn dropped.
Douglas gave a lay smile. “Ah, good of you to ask. We’ve thought of a new game, it’s goal is to-“
“No, wait, I changed my mind, I don’t want to know. I value my sleep,” she cut him off. Douglas shrugged indifferently.
“Martin, if I were you, I’d wish to think of the next move before we near the turbulence area, I doubt Sir would be able to operate with his hands occupied. But hell, think all you like, just like I said.”
“Aha! Establishment,” Martin suddenly announced and tossed the apple to Douglas, who caught it effortlessly with his left hand, allowed the fruit to roll smoothly to the right one before rounding up its trajectory and sending it right back to Martin.
“Chastity.”
Martin fumbled clumsily as the unexpected projectile hit him in the chest. “Dignity!”
Douglas glanced at him disapprovingly. “You can’t be serious. They are almost synonyms.”
“Are not.”
“Still, too similar. Though, of course, you can have this one, if you want-“
“I don’t!”
“Ah, so Sir wishes of no dignity in his life. O tempora, o mores.”
“Douglasss,” Martin hissed exasperatedly.
“Yes, Sir? Oh, by the way, I was about to inquire if Sir remembers that the winner gets the landing.”
Carolyn couldn’t suppress a chuckle as Martin flushed. “Yes, I bloody well do, thank you. I still have forty-nine minutes.”
“May I ask, according to genuine-?”
“Just stop it, will you! There is nothing wrong with my watch.”
“Completely, absolutely nothing, Sir. If Sir says so.”
“Sir says so!” there was a hint of defiance in Martin’s voice. A broad hint. A really broad one.
Carolyn chuckled again and made her way out of the flight deck. The monkeys were entertaining, certainly, but one could not possibly stand them for more than several minutes. The level of not-so-subtle (frankly obvious, to Carolyn’s feminine gaze) ogling, body language and sometimes even outright verbal communication on both parts was suffocating in its unnoticed (how?? How could this still go unnoticed?) tooth-rotting lusciousness.
The woman made her way back to the rows of seats and sat down. Another hour or two to digest the excessive sugar amounts, and then she could go and entertain herself again. Granted, the two were amusing to watch. Alright, maybe Martin could be excused; the boy had quite possibly no past experience to make comparison with, but Douglas? She briefly wondered if the imbeciles were really so dense and blissfully ignorant, and for how long this nonsense will continue.
Character(s), Pairing(s): Douglas, Martin, Carolyn, Arthur, various OCs. D/M
Rating: K for now, I suppose. Will go up in later chapters
Genre: mostly Romance, with a dash of some other genres
Word count: Ugh, will count when it's finished :D
Summary: Initially a fill for the CP kink meme. Prompt: "Neither Douglas or Martin have ever felt attracted to another man. But these feelings that build so slowly and surely, grown from friendship and companionship, are difficult to ignore. Before they well and truly realised what is happening, they've fallen in love with each other.
They almost can't believe it themselves."
Part 4
* * *
“Roger that, Toulouse,” Martin leant back in his seat and groaned. A thunderstorm, just the thing they needed on their way back from Barcelona. And since Carolyn was even more adamant about no-diverting-unless-the-number-of-wings-is-other-than-two policy, looked like they had to struggle through.
Which wouldn’t be really difficult, but only if Douglas finally deigned to come back from his ridiculously long bathroom break. Seriously, how long could that man adore his reflection for? Ten minutes were more than enough.
Martin’s grumbling thoughts were interrupted as Arthur entered the flight deck.
“Coffee time!” he announced, and the pilot reached out behind him to grab the mug as he glanced down at the panel to flip a switch.
“Yes, thank you, Arthur.”
“You’re welcome. Hey, you look all worried here, is something wrong?” Arthur folded his arms, leaning on the back of Martin’s seat to peer at the clouds already starting to darken on the horizon. “Whoa, looks like hell of a storm, right there! Do you see that, Skip?”
“Why yes, I actually do,” Martin snapped and immediately felt bad for it. It wasn’t Arthur’s fault they would fly through the storm, or that Douglas seemed to have gotten stuck in the loo. “I- Forgive me, Arthur, I didn’t mean to. Those clouds look nasty, yes.”
“Well, I think you know how Mum would say you’d have to make it, because if you don’t, she will claw your head off, not that I think she’s actually do that or that her fingernails can be counted as claws, but you get the idea-“
“Yes, yes, I do, I don’t need any reminders, it’s just – uh, I hate to admit it, but I suppose I would like Douglas to handle this for a while – I mean, it’s not like I’m incapable or – I’m Captain, for God’s sake, and I am perfectly capable and…” Martin knew he was blabbering, but all of this was really getting on his nerves, and he could, in fact, use some more sleep than what he’d finally got after spending several ridiculous hours in that bar, and honestly, the least Douglas could do to repay the favour of not disturbing him that night was to come back from that ruddy bathroom and get them through the storm.
“Skip, Skip, wait,” Arthur sounded confused. “Whom are you talking about?”
Martin turned his head to glare at Arthur. “Honestly, if this is some new joke, now is not the time. I’m sorry for snapping at you, but I’m not in the best mood, and this nonsense does not help.”
“But Skip, I really don’t know whom you are referring to. I mean, I know, for example, Douglas Fairbanks, Douglas Brinkley and that hockey chap with cartoon surname – I’m fairly sure he is a Douglas, too. But… Oh! Or maybe you are referring to Douglas Bader? That ace guy you’ve once gave me a book about?” Arthur paused, looking uneasy. “ Um… Skip, I don’t, I don’t know how you want him to help you, I believe he’s been quite dead for thirty years or something already.”
Martin shook his head in disbelief. What was going on? “Arthur. Arthur, what are you talking about? I mean Douglas Richardson, my First bloody Officer, who seems to have developed an ability to squeeze through the loo’s hole like some bloody octopus, since he’s left, what, fifteen minutes ago and hasn’t returned yet. Are you sure you haven’t fed him anything?”
“I- no- Skip. There really is no Douglas Richardson on Gerti,” Arthur sounded dead serious, and this was starting to creep Martin out. “I’m fairly sure we have no passengers on board, because I would have noticed them and served them drinks otherwise.”
“But- he’s not a passenger, he’s a pilot!” This was becoming stranger and stranger every minute. What was going on? Why the hell Douglas- where was he? The man felt something clench at his insides, twisting painfully with dread.
Arthur took an unconscious step back, much to Martin’s alarm. “Um. You’re the only pilot, Skip. Have been for years now.” What??! “Huh, I would think it’s Surprising Rice and its unpredictable aftereffects, but you haven’t had it yet,” Arthur paused with a thoughtful look on his face. “But yes, you’re the only one. Uhh, shall I call Mum? Maybe she’d sort it out?”
“No, no-no, don’t call Carolyn, in fact, don’t tell her anything, I’ll-“ he didn’t manage to finish the sentence as Gerti was shaken and thrown violently to a side by the upcoming storm. Martin heard Arthur’s surprised yelp behind him, but the pilot was too busy trying to steady the poor aeroplane, prancing like a spooked horse.
Something was really, really, unbelievably wrong. Somehow Douglas was erased from- what? Arthur’s memory? Everyone but Martin’s mind?
Or maybe the older man was a product of his own imagination the whole time?
The thought made his heart drop heavily, and Martin gulped for air before forcing himself to push the assumption aside for a minute and concentrate on the matters at hand – namely, how not to crash an aeroplane without Douglas to back him up (“????!!!” Martin’s mind readily supplied him with his most coherent thought).
Another jigging shook Gerti, and suddenly it became even darker in the flight deck that it already was from the thunderclouds. Martin lifted his eyes from the panel his hands were swiftly dancing over, and his body threw itself back against the seat in panic as he took in the view of a gigantic yellow eye hovering just outside the aeroplane, surrounded by sharp black feathers.
Martin’s mind didn’t register as his hands unbuckled the seatbelts and his body jumped up and turned to fly – somewhere, anywhere, away from the – whatever that was – when he glanced at the back of the deck where Arthur was and froze in horror.
Because, even while the clothes at the body were decidedly Arthur’s, his head was not his own, but one of a raven’s. The creature turned its ugly head sideways to look at Martin, and then it wired up as a spring and charged at him.
Martin choked back a yelp and dashed to a side, struggling not to lose his balance as the aeroplane shook again, the lightings blinding him for a moment. The creature let out an inhuman cry, shaking itself and charging again. Martin attempted to dodge the attack once more, but that was when the gigantic thing outside decided it didn’t like to be neglected, and seized Gerti in one powerful movement, huge claws piercing though metal.
The aeroplane shuddered as if in pain and went into a spin, approaching the ground with frightening speed. Martin barely registered in the turmoil as one of the claws shattered the windows, and cold air came rushing in in wild swirls, drowning everything in suffocating wind.
* * *
Martin awoke with a start, ‘Arthur’’s piercing cry still echoing in his head. He sat up sharply, chest heaving as he gasped for air.
A fraction later, he twisted sideways and his eyes made out a shape of Douglas’ bed next to his own, the outline of sleeping pilot’s body distinguishable in pale moonlight.
Martin had no idea why he had done it – he couldn’t remember anything, no matter how hard he tried; the dream just vanished as soon as he awoke – but seeing Douglas sleeping there, in the same room, had a strangely calming effect on him.
Douglas existed.
Martin frowned. What was that thought about?
He rubbed a hand over his face and through his hair, trying to regain his breathing. Half a minute later, he got up heavily and padded to a tiny bathroom, squinting as he turned the light on. Martin grasped the sink’s edges and leant forward after splashing cold water in his face, looking himself over in the mirror. His breathing was resembling normal now, but his eyes were bloodshot, and he couldn’t stop furrowing his eyebrows in distress over the nightmare.
Yes, he could safely assume this was a nightmare. And it somehow involved Douglas; more particularly, the man’s presence (or absence). Even now, he still felt a painful knot inside of him as he tried to recall the events of the dream, but finally the man had to give up, he was too exhausted.
Martin turned the light off and padded quietly back to his bed, glancing at Douglas’ form as he passed the man. The other pilot seemed to not be disturbed by Martin’s activities, and he was grateful for his sound sleep. Martin lowered himself back on the bed and was out in several minutes, exhaustion taking over him even despite the nightmare.
* * *
Martin yawned tiredly as he bent over his desk, writing up the logs. The flight back to Fitton was thankfully uneventful, safe for a small rain starting before their landing and increasing dramatically ever since, and now the man only hoped he wouldn’t fall asleep at the airfield and somehow make it home as soon as the rain lessened.
A steaming mug of coffee appeared in front of him, seemingly out of nowhere. Martin glanced up with glassy eyes and deduced that Nowhere had Douglas as its courier today. Who was at the moment standing in front of his desk with a mug of his own, contemplating the younger man silently.
“Hu-uh?” Martin drawled. He really didn’t think he was capable of any coherent sentences, so he decided not to risk it.
“I was merely wondering if Sir would like to up his spirits with this godly liquid, for Sir doesn’t look like he’s had his beauty sleep,” Douglas answered, looking unaffected by Martin’s apparent inability to speak. For a moment he looked like he was going to add something else, but the next second it was gone, and Martin didn’t have the energy to spend it on pursuing the fact.
“Uh. Coffee,” he dropped and reached for the mug, eyes closing tiredly at their own accord.
“Indeed. However, if Sir doesn’t desire-“ Douglas stopped, watching as Martin sipped the hot liquid carefully. “Ah, he does seem to desire. Well done, me.”
“If you’d really want to do something for me, you could just do the logs one god damn time,” Martin bickered half-heartedly, the ability to talk returning as the blessed caffeine entered his system.
“Sir asks too much from the likes of I,” Douglas dismissed the idea quickly and wandered over to the sofa, picking up a book on his way. The rain outside was making the walk to the parking place too dreadful to consider it until the weather changed for good.
* * *
Part 5
* * *
“Hey. Chief. I might be wrong…” Martin didn’t have to look at the First Officer to know that even after all this time since the seminar, the man couldn’t entirely wipe the disbelieving scowl of ‘am I really saying this’ off his face. He sighed and closed his eyes briefly. God he was tired. Again. Why was he always tired?
“…but I think we are going to dive into the runway while landing.” Okay, not always. But this time it had something (a not quite small something, mind you) to do with bouncing like a ridiculously shaped inhabited ping-pong ball between Beijing and Irkutsk for the past two days, way past their legitimate hours. Martin wondered how Douglas still managed to function, for he himself had definitely stopped breathing and blinking a couple of hours ago, it was too tedious. Thankfully, they have finished the business at last and were now nearing blessed Fitton airfield.
“This makes me…” a brief contemplation. “Scared of concrete in my mouth. And my face. And everything else, in fact.”
“Douglas, if you are hinting that I am incapable of landing Gerti, then you are seriously mista-“ Wait. Full stop. Martin could almost feel the wheels in his head turning (and wasn’t that idiom reserved for describing another person’s thinking process, not your own? Ah, blast it).
“Douglas,” he repeated, turning stiffly in his seat and squinting at the older man. “I am taking the landing because I have lost the bet on what Carolyn would call us when she appeared here next time, aren’t I.” The fact that they have reached the state when losing the game meant taking the landing instead of letting the other have it spoke volumes of their current condition.
“You are astonishingly bright today, Captain. Has Chinese wisdom and that of Buryat taught you something?”
“Ugh,” Martin decided to ignore the jibe, which was remarkably flat even considering the state Douglas was undoubtedly in, even if he appeared otherwise. “Why do you want to take it? You were so keen to win that bet when we took off in Irkutsk. What has changed? What is in it for you?” That was more talking that they have both done since the take off, but he really wanted to know the motives. If their roles were reversed, Martin would need to have an enormous reason to redeem the blasted thing he had been so willing to give away earlier.
“What has changed, Sir inquires?” Douglas drawled. “That is no complicated question. Might it be so that I want this landing because, even though you didn’t look half asleep at the beginning of our fine journey, you certainly do right now? And it’s not like I am intending to live forever, Sky God or not, but I surely do not wish to die at the age of fifty-two, AND to be buried simultaneously, AND to be buried at the airfield. A bit noisy, I find it, and not entirely peaceful with these roaring machines flying to and fro every ten seconds. Therefore, since I am the more experienced pilot and thus will perform a perfect landing regardless of whether I have had any sleep for the past forty-something hours or not, I am willing to take it and ensure that all of us are more or less in one piece and not having any runway or jet bits in their systems by the time we taxi. Did I answer your question?”
Martin blinked slowly, staring fixedly ahead.
“Douglas, I seriously want to punch you. Why do you have to be such a clot even when making someone’s life easier?”
“Because I am utterly amazing and wonderful, that’s why.”
Martin rolled his eyes. “I do hope you are joking about no sleep during this whole business.”
Douglas chuckled. “Captain, you are wounding me deeply. I am a serious man. When have I last joked?”
* * *
Something was… strange.
Martin sat down on the sofa in their living room, narrowly avoiding piles of junk food hiding a small coffee-table from view completely. James reached forward for another pack of chips and leant back again, munching on its contents and switching the channels with his free hand.
The man shook his head absently, muttering a polite “No, thanks” just as absently when the student offered him the pack, sleepy gaze fixed to the screen. A thud of a body hitting the floor and a muffled curse sounded from the room above and Martin gave a small smile: apparently, Miles was about to present himself shortly. It was noon, but the habitants of the house were just starting to wake up and drag themselves out of their respective rooms. Saturday was showing. And it wasn’t even an after-Friday-party Saturday. Just a regular one.
Martin tore his eyes away from a cheery person presenting news and returned to his thoughts, though it took him a while to grasp. They returned from Irkutsk yesterday morning, and Martin fell asleep as soon as his head met a pillow upstairs, and it wasn’t until after almost twenty hours of dreamless sleep that he went down to the common area.
Sidetracking again. Okay, what was he thinking about?
Ah, of course. The weird.
Douglas was acting unusually lately. It wasn’t like he was acting usually in general, after all, this was Douglas he was talking about, but still. His behavior toward Martin has changed subtly over a rather prolonged period of time, and the young man didn’t quite know what to make of it.
It wasn’t like Douglas was rude or more biting than usual. Rather… on the contrary.
Somehow, he acted… nicer?
Martin sighed deeply and chewed on his bottom lip, recalling all those small events from the past month or so. How they were delayed in Tunis and Martin was practically dying of thirst when a misted bottle of water was “forgotten” by the panel as the older man declared that he was going out to “get some fresh sandy air”. Or that time, on the contrary, in Vancouver, when the four of them were waiting outside the airport for their taxi to the hotel and Martin could swear he would start shaking uncontrollably from cold in under two minutes, and Douglas positioned himself behind the shorter man, his shoulder a warm and solid, if accidental, presence between Martin’s shoulder blades. Or when Martin predictably (not any less humiliatingly, though) ran short of money in Athens during a short stop for dinner, and Douglas suddenly announced that since the mysterious “turkey and machine oil” smuggling deal had gone particularly good and thus raised his spirits considerably, he’d pay for the four of them.
Or how he took that landing, even though he clearly didn't want to?
All those casual gestures, touches, automatic movements as if to be able to catch him when he slipped on icy ground, or how Douglas switched their places to appear between Martin and a drunken company passing them in Lisbon streets one late evening without even noticing it.
Passing things over, glancing unconsciously, positioning himself so that he would be able to see Martin at any given moment – all this nagged at the man’s mind, reminding him of something terribly familiar. If only he could put his finger on it…
He sat up straight suddenly, earning a surprised yelp from a jostled James, who cradled a bowl of popcorn to his chest as it balanced precariously on his knees. Martin smiled apologetically and forced himself to settle back again.
He remembered where and when he had seen all this. When he brought Douglas his bloody brown sauce, and when he came over to dinner at their house a week later – not soon enough for Douglas to confess to his wife, therefore before the relationship between the spouses changed. He had seen all these subtle touches and glances. Martin froze as realization hit him.
Douglas was courting him.
Consciously or not – the latter more likely – but Douglas was showing his… do they call it affection? his something in his Douglas-y way. Martin wasn’t all too experienced with relationships, but he had a good visual memory and could easily compare data when he knew what to look for.
Martin leant forward, resting elbows upon his knees and cradling his head, remaining in that position for several long minutes, then sighed and leant back.
Or maybe he was wrong. Hell, he was most likely, no, most definitely wrong. This was just Douglas finally warming up to him after, what, three years of flying together.
Indeed. The more he thought and compared, the more probable it seemed. In fact, Douglas was showing these random signs of companionship to both Carolyn and Arthur, too, so there was no wonder that Martin was finally accepted as one of the crew.
Martin frowned at the thought, and then frowned deeper, perplexed by the fact that the realization actually upset him.
James grabbed a pack of biscuits from the table and pulled one out of it before offering the pack to Martin. This time, he accepted.
* * *
Part 6
* * *
Carolyn groaned. Oh how she hated trans-Atlantic flights, if only someone knew. Well, of course, the crew knew, as she never tired of reminding them just how tremendously boring these flights were. Especially cargo ones. Like this, for instance. She’s just refused Arthur’s approximately fiftieth attempt to get her to play charades, and they were only halfway on their journey to Miami.
She groaned again, audible signs of distress being her only available option at the moment.
This was a long flight.
Thankfully, it served at least some kind of purpose, for after unloading a box of horse blood samples for the upcoming races in Monte Carlo (why was the box to go to Miami, she hadn’t the foggiest) they were to pick up a businessman and his tanned bleached lover (Carolyn’s never seen her, but she was absolutely sure the girl would be tanned and bleached) to fly them to Fiji. Seriously, what was the reason to fly from one beach to another?
In addition, Carolyn was doubting the Miami-Fiji flight would be any better, for she would have to actually serve the couple and be nice (by her standards, or course; but that required effort, anyway), and wouldn’t that be just… She fumbled for a word. ‘Awful’ sounded as if she gave a toss. ‘Boring’ was already overused. ‘Disgusting’? Nope, again, too engaged.
The woman sighed and got up, stretching her arms and listening satisfiedly as her spine cracked a couple of times. What was so surprising? Arthur with his love of cracking knuckles was her son, after all.
Bo-ored.
Luckily, she had two pilots to bother. Carolyn made her way swiftly to the flight deck door, pausing for a few seconds to assess the situation like she usually did before entering any room.
“Bewilderment,” Martin’s muffled voice sounded. Carolyn quirked an eyebrow.
“Good,” was Douglas’ genuinely appreciative reply before he added in a dramatic tone of voice, “Accomplishment.”
A groan, unmistakably Martin’s. “Umm. Give me a second.”
“You have fifty-three- ah, no, fifty-two more minutes to think all you like, I don’t mind this amazing gap I have on you. Though… I wouldn’t mind if it grew bigger. ‘Bulldozer’.”
“Oh, come on!” Martin’s exasperated cry grew louder as Carolyn opened the door and stepped inside, eyeing the pilots. Word games were nothing new to her, just as juggling apples (apple, she corrected herself), but… combined?
“I see you are just as bored as I am. What crispy hell is this, gentlemen,” Carolyn dropped.
Douglas gave a lay smile. “Ah, good of you to ask. We’ve thought of a new game, it’s goal is to-“
“No, wait, I changed my mind, I don’t want to know. I value my sleep,” she cut him off. Douglas shrugged indifferently.
“Martin, if I were you, I’d wish to think of the next move before we near the turbulence area, I doubt Sir would be able to operate with his hands occupied. But hell, think all you like, just like I said.”
“Aha! Establishment,” Martin suddenly announced and tossed the apple to Douglas, who caught it effortlessly with his left hand, allowed the fruit to roll smoothly to the right one before rounding up its trajectory and sending it right back to Martin.
“Chastity.”
Martin fumbled clumsily as the unexpected projectile hit him in the chest. “Dignity!”
Douglas glanced at him disapprovingly. “You can’t be serious. They are almost synonyms.”
“Are not.”
“Still, too similar. Though, of course, you can have this one, if you want-“
“I don’t!”
“Ah, so Sir wishes of no dignity in his life. O tempora, o mores.”
“Douglasss,” Martin hissed exasperatedly.
“Yes, Sir? Oh, by the way, I was about to inquire if Sir remembers that the winner gets the landing.”
Carolyn couldn’t suppress a chuckle as Martin flushed. “Yes, I bloody well do, thank you. I still have forty-nine minutes.”
“May I ask, according to genuine-?”
“Just stop it, will you! There is nothing wrong with my watch.”
“Completely, absolutely nothing, Sir. If Sir says so.”
“Sir says so!” there was a hint of defiance in Martin’s voice. A broad hint. A really broad one.
Carolyn chuckled again and made her way out of the flight deck. The monkeys were entertaining, certainly, but one could not possibly stand them for more than several minutes. The level of not-so-subtle (frankly obvious, to Carolyn’s feminine gaze) ogling, body language and sometimes even outright verbal communication on both parts was suffocating in its unnoticed (how?? How could this still go unnoticed?) tooth-rotting lusciousness.
The woman made her way back to the rows of seats and sat down. Another hour or two to digest the excessive sugar amounts, and then she could go and entertain herself again. Granted, the two were amusing to watch. Alright, maybe Martin could be excused; the boy had quite possibly no past experience to make comparison with, but Douglas? She briefly wondered if the imbeciles were really so dense and blissfully ignorant, and for how long this nonsense will continue.
