Hello again! Clearly this is me not updating YNTA, but I have this Cabin Pressure ficlet for anyone interested!
Newark: When The World Falls Down
It felt like forever since he's started crying. His face was red, redder than usual, and he felt as though they had been scraped out. It had been a terrible flight. One of the worst he'd ever had since becoming the Captain of MJN air. He'd had a run of bad luck; late for the first time, well, ever; shirt slightly pink and crumpled because of a bad dryer and a stray tie; the news from Carolyn that not only were they taking a stag do to Newark, oh no, the boys had already been drinking for 6 hours straight. They were rowdy. They had stolen Martin's jacket…and hat… and then ridiculed his ridiculous shirt.
Did it even count as bad luck anymore?
He had felt so shaky on the landing that it had taken him 20 minutes after touchdown to move.
It hasn't been the best of weeks, when is it ever? Martin had thought wryly. The worst flight ever. Well maybe not the worst flight, but it was pretty bad.
Martin had been glad to get back to the hotel. Glad to get away from GERTI, from the passengers, the crew, everything. Martin had toed off his shoes, and his recovered hat and jacket were dropped on the floor, before sitting on the neatly made bed.
His thoughts were swimming, dancing and spinning. He caught snatches of words and faces, memories that taunted him and the wreck that he had become.
His father. GERTI. Icarus Removals. His pink shirt. Simon squeezing his shoulder at Dad's funeral. Peeling a lemon off of his hat. Running around the school playground pretending to be a plane. Standing at his father's grave, Captains hat in hand.
It was only when he felt the wetness soaking through the material at his lap that he realised he was crying.
His thoughts drifted to what would have happened had he not been employed- for want of a better world- by Carolyn and MJN. Would he be paid at this point? Probably not. Would he be with a crew that respected him? What crew would respect him. Was there one that wouldn't tease him, trick him, or call him "Little Martin".
I'm not Little Martin! I'm not! I'm not!
The tears flowed freely now. Martin could feel his own racking sobs beginning to choke him as he tried to smother them, tried to forget how truly pathetic he was.
He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn't hear the gentle knocking at his door, or the soft tentative voice.
"Skip?" Another few knocks. "Skip? Are you alright? You've been awfully quiet since that stag do stole your hat-"
Arthur was stopped mid sentence, and mid-knock, by Martin opening the door abruptly. His curled hand knocked gently against Martin's chest.
"Hello Skip." Arthur said in a small voice.
"What do you want Arthur?" Martin replied, his voice deeper and more raw than usual.
"Oh Skip!" Arthur cried, catching sight of Martin's face, puffy and streaked with sticky, hot, remainders of his tears. Scrubbed away by the back of his hand. "Have you been crying?"
Martin promptly shut the door in Arthur's face.
"Okay you want to be alone. I'm just worried because you seemed a bit off recently, especially when you came in this morning." He paused. "Mum says pink isn't the right colour for a shirt but I think you look nice in it." He paused again. "Skip?"
"The door's open, Arthur."
Arthur grew more worried at Martin's small, muffled reply. Usually he would have told Arthur to go to his own room and leave him be. He pushed the hotel room door open, and was heartbroken by the scene before him. Skip was on his side, curled in on himself, back to the door. Shaking slightly. He quietly clicked the door into place behind him, and did the first thing that came into his head.
He took off his shoes, climbed onto the bed beside Martin and wrapped his arms around his distressed Captain.
At first Martin froze, surprised by Arthur's tactile approach. Though not really. He would never ask for a hug, but Arthur was caring enough to just give him one when he needed it. Slowly he stopped shaking. Then eventually he relaxed into Arthur's embrace.
He began to think that it didn't matter that he didn't get paid by MJN. He had friends who cared about him.
Douglas, Carolyn, Arthur. They were his family. He felt safe.
Martin rolled so that his body faced Arthur's. He snaked his arms around Arthur's middle, tucked his forehead into his neck. He sighed deeply. Arthur's hands pulled Martin a little closer, one stroking soothingly along his spine.
"Thank you Arthur." Martin breathed quietly.
"Go to sleep Skip. We'll talk in the morning."
It was only when he heard the soft, snuffling, snore of his Skipper that Arthur closed his eyes and fell asleep.