Martin plugged his ear with his finger, using his other hand to pound digits into his rickety mobile. The opposite end rang for a few moments before a dark voice interrupted.
"What have you done now, Martin?"
That was usually Douglas' answer when they were not in the aeroplane, often times when they were. He assumed that Martin would not waste his precious money chatting with Douglas and that, if he called, it was because Douglas' expertise was needed.
"I haven't done anything," the screaming was getting louder and Martin cupped his hand around the mouthpiece hoping Douglas would not hear the child's wailing.
"So you just called me up for a chat while children scream and cry around you. Good. How's your day been?"
"It's been…" Martin rewound and chose not to answer the sarcastic remark, "I'm taking care of a child."
"It doesn't sound like you're taking care of it," Douglas retorted.
"That's the problem! I don't know what it wants!"
Douglas scoffed, "Martin, have you never cared for a child before?"
Martin scrolled through his memories, finding nothing worthwhile. "There was one time when I was left with my sister for the weekend!"
"Your sister is older than you. You told me that last week."
"Fine! No! I haven't!" Martin slammed down a small stack of bills for effect, a decidedly poor effect as even Martin was unable to hear the impact over the crying toddler.
"Well, Martin, you're in luck. I have a charge today, too."
"Could you…would you maybe be willing to get together with our children?" Martin hated asking anyone for help, especially from Douglas, but he knew childcare was not something he was equipped to handle by himself.
"Oh, it would be so stressful. You know how poorly I handle stress, Martin."
Martin sighed, "you don't even know what stress means. What do you want?"
"Oh, I don't want anyth…"
"What do you want?" Douglas always wanted something. He would probably lie about his actual motives, but he always wanted something.
"Just tell me where you are, Martin."
"I'm in Martin's home," Martin said, referencing an actor friend he had made several months prior who confusingly went by the same name and had even played the Skipper for a brief period of time.
Douglas, of course, did not know what he was talking about. "I know who you are," Douglas spoke as if Martin was inebriated and attempting to convince people he was Shakespeare (not that such had ever happened or that Martin had ended up reciting "my mistress's eyes are nothing like the sun" to a lemon.)
"Paramount Martin, Douglas!" Martin went on to describe where his friend lived, Douglas responding with occasional sarcastic quips about Martin's inability to provide accurate directions. It finally occurred to Martin that Douglas was in possession of a GPS and did not need directions anywhere.
"Good job, Little Martin!" Everything Douglas said reeked of derision.
"Just…come over. I have no idea what to do."
How did sweet, soft-spoken Martin manage to raise such an atrociously loud little girl? For the next twenty minutes, she screeched and wailed, stopping every five minutes long enough to catch her breath and make Martin believe she was going to sleep, only to break free a few moments later in a new fit.
In no way soon enough, there was a knock at the door. Martin ran to it, stopping to slip and stutter on the floor before yanking it open in exhaustion.
"Hello, Skip!"
Douglas side-eyed Arthur and turned back to grin at Martin. "Hello, Mary Poppins."
"Douglas! You know it's irresponsible to leave your charge in the car."
Douglas' smile dropped as he stared at Arthur for a moment. Arthur was oblivious, as usual. He had a bottle of orange Fanta with a curly straw from which he was sucking ambitiously. He stared at his Skip with all the admiration of a puppy.
Douglas patted Arthur on the back, returning to his grinning. "My charge is right here! Carolyn went to Brighton for the weekend with…Herc." He said the final name as if it was garlic stuffed in his mouth.
"You're babysitting Arthur?"
"Hey! Not babysitting. We're friends!"
"Of course, Arthur," muttered Douglas stepping past Martin to find the screaming child.
The toddler tumbled out of the hallway, slamming into the wood floors face first before managing to scream even louder. Douglas scooped her up and began to stroke the curled ends of her blonde hair. "Did the angry man scare you?"
The toddler squeezed her blue eyes and tears leaked from the corners when she nodded.
Arthur sucked up the last of his Fanta with a gurgle and smiled at the child, cooing, "he's not so scary once you know him. He's really nice. Aren't you, Skip?"
He tried to match Douglas and Arthur's cooing tone but came across as an obnoxious bicycle wheel. "I'm nice, Kelly." The girl buried her face in Douglas' dress shirt.
Arthur made a vaguely airplane-shaped symbol by linking together his thumbs and pointing his fingers in the opposite direction. He flew it around her tiny body, making all the appropriate engine noises. "Martin here knows how to fly an aeroplane!"
"Now, let's not lie to the children," Douglas smirked and winked at Martin before Martin stomped off to the kitchen in a huff.
He moved around pots and pans loudly and without purpose while Arthur made landing announcements in the other room.
"Place away all tray tables as we ourselves prepare our preparations for descendenment," Arthur sang cheerily, following it up with an enthusiastic Bing Bong. Kelly giggled at Arthur's antics.
How did Douglas and Arthur become so good with children? Well, Douglas actually was a father, so that should not have been shocking, but Arthur? Arthur never took any task seriously. It was a miracle he managed to exist without accidentally killing everyone within ten miles. Unable to take it anymore, Martin stormed into the entryway, where Douglas still cuddled the giggling Kelly and Arthur entertained with strange noises and a polar bear imitation.
"Polar bears don't even make that noise, Arthur!" Martin scowled at Arthur.
"I've seen the polar bears!" Arthur looked confused and hurt. Martin knew how much Arthur loved the polar bears. The comment was not worth how much it noticeably hurt Arthur's sensibilities, but Martin could not stand for Douglas' snorting giggles.
"Arthur, you have seen the polar bears, but you have clearly not heard the polar bears," Douglas pouted his lips and rolled his eyes.
Arthur wrinkled his nose and turned back to Kelly for more cooing, "Do you like my polar bear noises?"
Kelly nodded shyly and reached out two tiny, tanned hands to Arthur. She wrapped her arms around his neck and nuzzled his chin while he laughed.
Martin became determined that this child should like him. If Arthur, a certified clot, could entertain this child until she would nuzzle him like a kitten, then why could Captain Martin Crieff not do the same? "Why are you crying, Kelly?" Martin asked.
"Melk," she mumbled through pink, pouting lips. Martin was thrilled that she had not buried her face into Arthur yet. Maybe he could do this. Maybe he could conquer childcare once and for all!
"You want some milk? Warm or cool?"
Martin reached his hand out to touch her and was reminded of an unfortunate incident at an animal rescue shelter. He had volunteered with a group of boys – his mother had made him go so he could make friends and talk about something aside from flying – with the intention of assisting in the grooming of a few abused dogs. Martin had reached out to a large dog resembling a Great Dane, only to have the canine snap and tear a large gash in the palm of his hand.
Only later had he been told that one should approach abused dogs with caution, displaying to them the back of one's hand until the dog makes the first move.
He behaved similarly with Kelly, touching the back of his fingers to her cheek as she spoke. "War' melk."
The tears were dried against her cheeks, her breathing was even. Martin had done something right.
A knock came at the front door around which everyone was already crowded. With Martin, still acclimating himself to Kelly, and Arthur's hands occupied with holding her up, Douglas rolled his eyes and silently opened the front door.
The other Martin, actor Martin, with blonde curls and black circles beneath his eyes, propped a sleeping, sniffly boy of about six across his shoulder. The sight of his pilot friend getting along with his daughter sent a grin across his face as he stepped across the threshold and into his home.
"Hello, everyone! Kelly," he whispered so as not to wake his son, "do you like Martin?" He pointed to Captain Crieff.
The little girl looked at Captain Crieff, seeing him the way he wanted to be seen, as special. Her little pink lips flipped upwards into a smile. "Martun," she managed to pronounce, arms outstretched to the pilot.
Cautious not to destroy the progress he had made, Martin took the child from Douglas, holding her for the first time since the actor had called saying his son needed to go to the doctor. She pulled herself up to his cheek and kissed him in the silly, overzealous way of toddlers, leaving a wet ring.
Kelly grasped Martin's strings of reddish curls and held on tight. "My frien' make melk," she declared and Captain Martin Crieff, the lonely pilot in the attic, carried his new friend to the kitchen.