Disclaimer: From here until the end, I do not own the creation of the fabulous Mr Finnemore
For all the sardonic comments and blasé half-smiles, today was not a good day for Douglas Richardson.
Granted, it wasn't awful; he knew he couldn't pretend to himself that he wouldn't have been even more unhappy had he spent the week trawling the Midlands in a van, or having to add up the month's accounts for MJN, but compared to his usual drudgery, today was at the bottom of the ratings list.
Maybe it wouldn't have seemed so bad if he had gone to sleep at a sensible time the night before; but his daughter had asked him to work out how to use a 'revision site' (as her mother was useless, she had complained down the phone – 'just email me with the instructions, I don't have time to work it out, Kelly and Susan need help with their costumes for tomorrow), and he couldn't possibly have let her down by turning in before he had sent her not only instructions, but her own registration details and completed timetable.
And then after only three hours in bed (at least one of which spent tossing and turning – he shouldn't have had that coffee) his phone alarm had chimed cheerfully, breaking into monotonous song to inform him that Martin Crieff had texted. It was a terrible habit the Captain had got into, texting to wake him up, to make sure that his First Officer would have no excuse for arriving late at the airfield.
And arrive on time he had; only to find Carolyn in a foul mood, storming about with Arthur at her heels. It appeared that the client they were flying for today (cargo thank the lord) had dropped off the hefty box without staying to sign any forms, just paid the money and left a destination.
Douglas rubbed his hands over his eyes, pressing in and relishing the fleeting moment of bliss before it became uncomfortable. Carolyn was bound to re-enter the porta-cabin at some point, and save for the sound of Martin humming under his breath, and the pen dragging across the flight plans he was writing up, the stillness was almost relaxing.
He stretched out on the ratty sofa, tucked neatly beside his own desk, across the room from Martin's obsessively organised workspace and Arthur's corner, (which after many an 'debate' was allowed to home the carry-heater, as 'Douglas can't have all the best bits of the office'). There was an audible clicking as the joints in his knees realigned, and Douglas let out a sigh of exhausted satisfaction, before opening his eyes to survey the events around him.
As he had thought (although he hadn't been sure) Arthur had left with Carolyn to do whatever it was that she did before bundling them onto GERTI and sending them on their merry way.
That just left Martin, and although he wasn't a particularly stunning specimen to observe, one never knew when he'd realise he was being watch and reflexively do something deliciously mock worthy. From his horizontal angle, Douglas had to peer across the room, but for his effort he was given a half-decent view of the Captain, tucked up primly in his uniform, hat placed carefully in its appointed place beside his left elbow.
Open on the desk was a file from the DIY shelving unit he had bribed Douglas into helping him construct, and the necessary papers for the flight plan were laid out across the width of the desk. Martin's hand swept jauntily across them, jotting in details, and Douglas watched with bemusement as the man's contented expression never slipped as his eyes followed the pen, and a chipper tune slipped unbidden from his lips.
It never ceased to amaze him how anyone could take such genuine pleasure from paperwork, but Martin just ploughed past any comments and remarks (although his expression would storm over stubbornly after such remarks). Given how grudging he had been to wake up that morning, Douglas had almost made one such remark in recompense for the uninvited wake-up, but had decided at the last second that a happy Martin would make for a pleasant flight, and perhaps even some entertaining games.
If nothing else, Douglas wouldn't have to bribe him with the opportunity to create his own games; there were only so many rounds of 'Operational Manual Trivia' that any sane man could withstand.
As Martin's humming was interrupted when he cleared his throat, Douglas sighed and pulled himself into a seated position, earning a cursory glance from the Captain.
"You with us then?" Martin asked, keeping half of his attention on the paperwork, but allowing his colleague a small quirk of his lips.
"Yes," Douglas replied quickly, getting the pleasantries out of the way; the great thing about a one track mind was being able to brush aside others' queries in favour of one's own far more pertinent, "Where are we going? This mysterious figure didn't stay long enough for me to eavesdrop."
"You were asleep when he was here," Martin retorted; the hand holding the pen paused as he looked up to meet Douglas's gaze with an exasperated pinched expression, "Although if anyone could eavesdrop in their sleep -"
"It would absolutely be me, but unfortunately even I struggle to achieve such feats over distances of more than about twenty yards." Douglas smirked at the warm smile that crept over Martin's features even as he looked pointedly away; it had become a habit between the two – they could easily manage to uphold a friendly conversation so long as a certain amount of ignoring was adopted by at least one party, "I repeat Martin, where are we going?"
"Hmm?" Martin looked up again, and this time his shoulders seemed to sag in defeat; Douglas enjoyed a moment of acknowledgement that his corruption of the Captain had been overall successful as Martin carefully stacked the papers (he must have finished the flight plan by then, so it couldn't have been important), "Oh, Philadelphia…" he drew out the syllables, and took in the confused face that Douglas assumed he was making before leaning back in his chair and actually going so far as to rest the tips of his shoes on the desk, "He didn't say why, he just said 'make sure it gets there' as if he were in a cheesy spy film before disappearing."
Douglas sat up a little straighter, his forehead furrowing in thought tinged with barely concealed annoyance.
"So we're expected to fly half way across the world to what? Ferry his possessions?" he inquired; that couldn't just be it, if it were, Carolyn would be over the moon; a big sum of money and no passengers to deal with, Marvellous! No, something didn't add up.
"Not quite, the box is small enough to fit in the jump-seat." Martin answered distractedly; the Captain's corner of the office meant that he could just about see out of the fogged window if he peered over his nose, so Douglas assumed that Carolyn and Arthur were almost upon them.
"So it's going to be another fun one is it?" he jabbed at Martin, who to his credit bit back a chuckle and fixed Douglas with a persuasive grin.
"It could be if we made it fun." Martin almost trilled in his low but sharp voice.
"No Martin!" Douglas bemoaned loudly as the door to the porta-cabin swung open and the two missing members of MJN were followed in (in a stony silence) by the early morning breeze, "I told you, I don't like those manual games, they're all numbers and facts – back me up Arthur."
Arthur's face lit up with curiosity as he wandered over to the sofa, dropping down in the space that Douglas's legs had recently vacated, (the silence that Carolyn was upholding couldn't have been an important one then, which meant that Douglas was no longer interested).
"What am I backing up?" Arthur asked, looking between the pilots a bit like the silly dog of his would when they used Carolyn's house as a pick-up point.
"That Martin's trivia games aren't as fun as he thinks they are!" Douglas insisted, raising a hand to gesture towards the Captain, whose face had actually reddened, as it always did when he was worked up, or embarrassed, or challenged, or…well all the time really.
Arthur looked momentarily torn, glancing again between Douglas and Martin, but his face brightened almost immediately afterwards as he met Douglas's gaze.
"Well, I mean, Douglas is right, the stuff we need to remember isn't very fun - " he grinned at Douglas, and then looked apologetically at Martin, his smile fixed in place across his cheeks, "But the whole game feel about it – that's loads of fun! Even when I don't get it right – it's exciting trying to see, have I got it? No, I haven't!" Arthur's eyes unfocused as if he were lost in the moment before realigning; Douglas peered across him to share a meaningful, affectionate look with Martin before Arthur continued, "Even if Douglas and I don't win, it's still a brilliant game Skip."
"Thank you Arthur," Martin acknowledged proudly, but it was Douglas that he directed his smug smirk at, to which Douglas rolled his eyes, "It's nice to know someone appreciates the effort I put into it."
"Effort‽" Douglas intoned over whatever comment Arthur had been about to make, "You just ask questions about things you've learnt by heart!"
Honestly, for all that Martin complained about Douglas's behaviour, the man was nothing short of devious himself; the smug grin on the Captain's face did nothing to disprove this, although Douglas was detachedly aware that if Martin weren't a little evil, they might not be... (Gasp) friends.
"Like you don't think up all the answers to your word games before you start them." Martin shot back, but there was no venom in his tone, just a muted acceptance.
Douglas huffed indignantly, folding his arms and glaring playfully across Arthur, who seemed to have chosen silent watching over interruption, his eyes flickering from one pilot to the other while the contented smile rested above his chin.
"Sir has some audacity to accuse me of cheating." Douglas drawled, earning himself a glare from Martin before his colleague realised that he was joking, and promptly rolled his eyes and muttered 'yes, yes', "As if I'd ever stoop so low as to begin a game on unequal footing."
Martin opened his mouth to reply but he was cut off.
"Will you two stop bickering!" Carolyn snapped; the sound of a heavy cardboard file hitting her desk made Douglas turn his head in interest, drawn by the unusual levels of frustration in her tone. Martin muttered what could have been an apology or a snide comment under his breath.
Douglas glanced towards Arthur, who shrugged his shoulders but didn't say anything, instead picking at the skin around his finger nails. So a genuine bad mood then, not just a disagreement with the customer.
"Everything tickety-boo Carolyn?" Douglas asked warily, careful not to sound as if he cared; the look that the CEO shot him spoke volumes of how successful he had been, but also just how obedient he would have to be to get a relatively peaceful day, "It's just you seem a little, what's the word? Frazzled?"
"Thank you for your false concern Douglas but it is neither warranted nor desired." Carolyn answered caustically; without looking up she strode towards Martin's desk and surveyed the neatly stacked papers as the Captain looked up at the stern older woman, one eyebrow raised as if poised to defend himself from any verbal assault, "Have you finished the flight-plan yet Martin?"
Martin scrabbled for the correct sheets and held them aloft; Douglas watched the scene with curious and mildly contained amusement.
"Yes, I've got them right here!" Martin declared, pushing the extra papers into an uneven pile, "Should I file them now or are we waiting-"
"File them now." Carolyn instructed sharply, her tone begging no argument, "I want the three of you jetting off in the next half hour."
"Oh, are you not joining us on this trek?" Douglas intoned, earning a sideways purse of Carolyn's lips.
It was Arthur that answered, as his mother marched back to the knackered old computer she had been working on when she had entered.
"Mum's got a meeting with some important people and she doesn't want them to see GERTI." He explained seriously, but it didn't seem as if the idea bothered him in the least, "Which I think is a bit silly really, because there wouldn't be any us without GERTI – well, there would be, but we wouldn't be here -"
"You mean we didn't all just turn up one day to drink coffee on the airfield?" Douglas teased, inwardly wondering why he bothered as Arthur's expression pinched with confusion, and then remembering when he caught sight of Martin's face, "and here I thought the plane was just an added bonus!"
"Douglas…" Martin scolded lightly, before turning his attention back to Carolyn, "Which people? Shouldn't I be talking to them as well – I mean I am the Captain."
"And as glad as I'm sure they'd be to hear that Martin, it's the CEO they want to talk to, and the CEO they will get." Carolyn replied, and a hint of pride leaked into her tone before she straightened herself up and looked between her two pilots, taking a deep breath as if to ready herself, "We are getting a visit from some CAA inspectors -"
"What? Why? I've been doing everything properly!" Martin insisted frantically, his voice taking on the reedy tone that accompanied panic; Douglas glanced momentarily in his direction, aware that if he weren't also concerned by the prospect that this news brought, he would have found some words with which to mock the other man by then.
"You're not in trouble!" Carolyn raised her voice and Martin fell silent instantly; she looked to Douglas, meeting his eyes, but apparently content that he had nothing to add, continued in a paced tone, "They just want to look over our books. Granted, that'll be bad enough, but I don't want to make our situation worse by presenting our metal-work aeroplane or my incompetent staff."
Douglas nodded in time with Martin, exchanging a silent agreement that for once they should just do as they were told. Both of them really needed to not be unemployed after that day.
"So it's like a 'code red' for the whole cabin crew?" Arthur interjected, his eyes wide as if he were adding something helpful to the conversation.
"Precisely Arthur," Carolyn confirmed, and then clapped her hands together, "Now if the three of you aren't gone by the time I count to four, I will personally ensure that you wish you had been."
The ensuing scramble definitely took more than four seconds, as Arthur hopped straight to his feet and vacated the porta-cabin, tripping as he did so over Douglas's flight bag, and Douglas raised himself slowly but surely from the sofa, making it as far as the door before grudgingly holding it open as Martin hurried about his workspace, checking his jacket, brushing down his uniform, making it half way across the room before remembering his hat, and then repeating the same actions as he realised that he had swapped the hat for the flight-plan and eventually bustling past Douglas into the chilling bite of the airfield in the morning.
After years of such behaviour, Douglas found that he could only muster up an exasperated sigh and a pronounced roll of his eyes, while Martin replied with a 'yes, I'm coming, just- hold on, I'm coming'. With no Carolyn to annoy, no passengers to harass, the weight of a CAA check hanging over their heads, and a mysterious package once again taking up residence in their flight-deck, today had the possibility of becoming even more frustrating.
"Post take-off checks complete, Captain."
"Thank you Douglas."
"So what do you think is in the mysterious box?" Douglas inquired, grinning wickedly at Martin.
The Captain had removed his hat, leaving it hanging over the corner of his seat, which meant that his now riffled ginger hair did nothing to hide his face as he rolled his eyes and exhaled, or the imperceptible smile that crept onto his lips. He was trying to be professional (someone else hadn't gotten a good night's sleep, Douglas guessed) but Douglas could tell that he was itching to know, which only made it far more entertaining to push the man into playing along.
"As I said when Arthur ran through his list of suggestions, Douglas, I think we should respect the client's privacy and accept that the package is none of our business." Martin dictated, spacing the words out in his best 'pilot's' voice.
"Oh, really?" Douglas drawled, smiling salaciously as Martin's jaw clenched in the effort not to turn and address him properly; the First Officer settled back in his seat, rolling his shoulders back and relaxing despite the otherwise uncomfortable padding to which he had grown accustomed.
"Yes." Martin said decidedly, and then sneaking a glance first at Douglas, then over his shoulder at the box that rested ominously in the jump-seat, "Besides…even if we all guessed, we couldn't know who was right unless we opened it – which we can't do!"
"Of course not." Douglas pandered, putting on his best winning smile for Martin, who watched him suspiciously as he leaned forward to 'ding' the service bell; watching the Captain work himself into a mental tizzee over the box would constitute a fantastic in-flight source of entertainment.
The door to the flight deck scraped open and Arthur bumbled through, a mug in each hand.
"Alright chaps?" Arthur called over his shoulder while he nudged the door shut with his foot, wobbling precariously as he did so, "Your coffee and tea as per, in mugs that were heated before the water went in."
"You remembered!" Douglas exulted cheerfully, as Martin shifted to allow Arthur room lean over and pop their drinks in front of them.
"Thank you Arthur," Martin acknowledged, and then catching sight of exactly where the steward was about to drop down onto, squeaked, "Don't sit there – the package!"
Arthur snapped hastily to his feet, having fallen partially on the box, knocking sideways, making whatever was inside thump against the wooden interior. He ran a hand sheepishly across the back of his neck.
"Sorry Skip," Arthur apologised, looking around before shrugging to himself and instead leaning against the back of the First Officer's seat; Douglas reached over his shoulder and briefly patted the arm that now hung just beside his head, and had a clever line at the ready, only to abandon it.
A firm but gentle prod in his upper arm moved his attention to Martin, who inclined his head towards the meters on the panel in front of them, even as Arthur asked "Can I still guess what's in the box?"
"I reckon you should go ahead and open it." Douglas encouraged, moving forward to make the necessary adjustments to their height and speed (apparently the wind had picked up tremendously in the last thirty seconds, bloody typical) as Martin had been gracious enough to submit the first stretch of the flight to him.
"No Douglas, Arthur, that box is to remain completely shut and…not opened at all during this flight." Martin stressed, nodding authoritatively towards Douglas even as Arthur 'aw-ed' behind them.
Douglas would have argued, for the sake of fun (and winding Martin up more than anything), but all he managed was a rejected "Oh, come on!", as for the first time in months the need to actually pay attention to the plane took priority. The readings still weren't quite right, and judging by eye what effect the adjustments he was making had didn't seem to be working.
"Yeah Skip, I'd make sure to put the lid back on exactly how I found it." Arthur was insisting behind him; he didn't look up, but the sluggishness of Martin's negative response, and the feel of a hand wavering just a small distance from his left elbow told him that the Captain had also noticed the issues with the steering (if not the unusually pensive expression on his First Officer's face), and was teetering between interfering and holding back.
"Let him open the box Martin." Douglas muttered, his tone lacking the usual bluster.
With a sigh (and what Douglas imagined was a hearty roll of his eyes, and an exaggerated slump of his shoulders) Martin gave up.
"Fine! Just make sure it doesn't look like we've been looking." He groaned.
Douglas pushed back the swell of amusement as Arthur let out a small cheer, and the sound of him clattering about with the wooden crate carried to the front of the plane. Thankfully, before he could bite back his pride as well, and ask for Martin's opinion, the Captain leaned in so that their heads were almost together and asked in a hushed voice.
"Douglas, is everything okay? Not that I don't think you're doing fine, but…" he took a breath, and seemingly encouraged when Douglas didn't come back with a sharp retort, and merely raised an eyebrow, hurried on, "It's just, I'm looking at the readings, and out of the window, and just sort of feeling the alignment of the plane, and something doesn't feel quite right - "
"No Martin, you're right - " Douglas admitted, and Martin's mouth clapped shut and his eyes widened as if he had been delivered the worst possible news; granted, Douglas thought, he couldn't remember a single time in their relationship where he had uttered those words, "It feels like we're going over turbulence – which is why I went to adjust our height- but the Altimeters are showing different things, the artificial horizon is useless as always, and by eye it looks like we're fine."
Douglas took his eyes from the panel in front of him to observe Martin's reaction. He didn't want to come across as paranoid, but a pilot's intuition was a pilot's intuition – maybe he was going prematurely senile…but the weird feeling in his gut made it so that waiting for Martin's, Martin's verdict wasn't as humiliating as it would normally be.
If it weren't for the continuous sounds of Arthur clattering in the background, the tense but confident 'Captain-y' way that Martin contorted his face for a mere moment might have seemed impressive. The fact that it dropped seconds later and Martin scratched anxiously at his ruffled hair made this an impossibility.
"Do you think we should ditch into the nearest airfield?" he questioned lowly, so that Arthur wouldn't hear; Douglas wished that Martin wouldn't look to him with those big eyes, as if he could provide a fool-proof answer when he was so completely out of ideas, "I mean, and don't make fun of me, but – I do have kind of a funny feeling – don't look at me like that!"
"I didn't say anything." Douglas replied dully; in truth he imagined his face had clouded with confusion, the raised eyebrow being mistaken for mockery. Maybe they had both inhaled some toxic fumes on their way across the airfield…whatever it was, now that Douglas was actually worried (and wasn't that a kick in the teeth), the last thing he wanted was for Martin to panic, so he fixed on a reassuring smile and remarked flippantly, "There's probably nothing to worry about! Just GERTI misbehaving again, the old girl, shecould use a touch up soon."
"Of course." Martin agreed quickly, straightening up in his seat (Douglas mirrored this action, pointedly ignoring the creaking that his shoulder made), "Everything's fine, just fine – we're just worrying over nothing, nothing we haven't seen before, eh?"
"Yes Martin." Douglas answered, giving his Captain a sympathetic smile, which was returned thinly as the trepidation remained in Martin's eyes while they flickered around the flight-deck and he flexed his fingers.
A brief silence passed, in which Douglas just about managed to calm himself (not that there was any reason to be worked up in the first place), when there was a grating CRACK from behind the pilots' seats, making both he and Martin jump and turn to stare over their shoulders, neck's cricking.
"Arthur I said DON'T break anything!" Martin bemoaned, shaking his head and groaning, sinking down into his seat and focusing back on the sky; Douglas decided that this blocking tactic was probably the best course of action. Coming up with an excuse to explain the broken box would be easy, but he didn't think he could have held back the scathing comments, and given his mood, they would be the kind that left Arthur sulking in the cabin.
"Sorry Skip!" Arthur apologised, not sounding the least but sorry.
"Can you see what it is yet?" Douglas inquired dryly; they might as well quench their curiosity now that Arthur had succeeded.
There was some more clattering as Arthur presumably dropped the remains of the wooden lid on the floor of the flight-deck, and dug into the crate.
"It's…I'm not sure what it is…" Arthur answered, his tone implying that the mysterious object, which Douglas couldn't muster the energy to turn and look at, had done him a great offence, "Hold on – just let me have a look – OW!"
That was the last thing Douglas heard before a high pitched, ear splitting whine filled the air, and a harsh white light that could have come from outside or in burned into his retinas. The plane seemed to jolt forward, making him catch himself on the panel in front of him.
He could just about hear Martin shouting frantically at his side, and although he couldn't quite see, Douglas took the initiative and tried to feel for the right controls, to try and stop the disturbing, fear inducing shuddering that was making it difficult to sit up straight, let alone stand to see if Arthur was alright.
He tried to yell to Martin, reaching out to his left, and just when he was giving up hope, his brain screaming with the confusion pushed upon it by the piercing shrill screaming and burning beams of lights, and the rocking and shaking and turning – his fingers grasped at a soft, familiar warmth, which slipped away as Martin too was flailing and trying to right the plane.
And there it was again, the weight of Martin's arm under his hand. Douglas had no idea what was going on, but he could make out the unintelligible sound of Martin's voice, and maybe his own – and it was hot, but cold –
- and Martin's arm stopped flailing and there was his hand, grasping at his own arm, his fingers digging painfully into Douglas's flesh.
Douglas tried to grasp at the hand, stop it clenching and unclenching, make Martin calm down and try to work out what was happening – they were trained to deal with emergencies but Douglas had no idea –
It was so loud, and so bright…and then his ears were ringing, and it felt like his guts were rolling and migrating as he felt the alignment change and the plane spin, or fall or…
Then it was dark, and Douglas could just about hear Martin's voice…but then he couldn't…and then…
I almost feel guilty for the cliffhanger, but then again, no
Hopefully it's all in character - I'm keeping what happens next under wraps, but I think it's pretty good (if I say so myself)