…

Martin sunk into the warm, bubbly, comforting waters of his newly drawn bath. He gave a small sigh, feeling a bit of the tension slip from his thin shoulders. After a long day of doing captain-y things, one needs to relax.

He slipped further down, letting the steaming bathwater almost completely engulf him. He started to wonder: if he killed himself, right here in this bath, who would care? It kind of frightened him, thinking like that, but it didn't feel like anyone would actually miss him. He considered just sliding slowly further and further down, until the water swallowed him and his troubles. He imagined the hot water filling his lungs and gasping for breath involuntarily, hands grasping the sides of the tub.

Douglas would be happy. Well, not happy. Maybe relieved he didn't have to continue listening to his captain's complaints all the time. And he would become the captain, like he always wanted. Might as well go right through with it. Carolyn wouldn't care; she wasn't paying for his funeral anyway. It's not like she cares for him. Or anything, not even her own son, over the pounds she would earn to keep MJN afloat.

At this thought, Martin's mind took a step back. Arthur.

Arthur would care. At least Martin liked to think that he would. He took his head in his hands, feeling not as relaxed as before. What if even Arthur didn't care? He felt a hollow in his chest he hadn't noticed before. He had never considered Arthur disliking him before, and it hurt more than he might have expected it to.

A loud noise (the bathroom door opening) made Martin start, disturbing the bathwater.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, eyebrows raising in surprise and horror.

"Oh, Skip!" an equally surprised (although more happy than horrified) voice replied. It was Arthur, carrying a full armload of towels and some fresh clothes. "I'll just…er…" he smiled sheepishly and began backing away.

"…Wait. Arthur." Martin felt his cheeks burn as he said it, but he was feeling particularly bad tonight, to the extent he was considering killing himself, and he needed to know if he was going to go ahead and go through with it. If Arthur didn't care, then what was the use?

He had almost decided Arthur hadn't heard him when, "Sure, Skip? I mean, baths are usually done in private. I can come back." He said this through the door, still outside, and Martin began doubting himself. Maybe it was best to not ask.

"Er…" he began, but Arthur returned anyway, towels and clothes in tow.

"What do you need?" Arthur asked, smiling benevolently down at him, not taking note of Martin's nudity, just smiling genuinely into his face.

"Er, er, actually, can you just…sit?" It sounded better in his head, he realized, and now it was just awkward.

Either Arthur didn't notice or simply didn't care. "Right, brilliant," he said, continuing to hold the towels and plunking down on the closed toilet seat beside the bathtub. He seemed completely content just sitting next to Martin, and his presence calmed Martin down enough, soaking in the bath, not talking.

"Arthur?" he asked quietly after a short while.

"Yeah?" Arthur replied lethargically, calmed also by the steam and fresh soapy scent.

"I…I'm not…feeling. Not feeling good." Martin's cheeks burned, but he had needed to say something. Something to fill the silence, something to explain why he was the way he was, why he needed Arthur more badly than he ever needed him before, inexplicably but with every fibre of his being. The hollowness in his chest began to swell and felt the need to burst, to release every pent-up emotion, every rage and lust and laugh within him wanting to escape, to live. This was new, and it rushed at him with a mighty force, but all of this was inside of him, pounding against his head and he had the will. He could feel Arthur's warmth and strength and it helped him. He wasn't completely better. He still hated himself. He doubted many people cared about him. But screw them. Martin wanted to live and breathe and swim, not sink. But only with Arthur by his side.

It felt important, the most important thing Martin had ever said, even as an airline captain. He wanted to ask Arthur how he felt, what he needed, how he cared, and he waited for a reaction.

But of all the things Martin expected Arthur to say, it certainly was not, "Oh, Skip, if you feel a bit queasy you really should say something. Would you like, I don't know, some soup or something? Mum can get you some coughdrops but I think they're really old. And smell a bit like smoked salmon."

Martin's mouth opened a bit to say something but he decided against it. "Actually, Arthur, the best and most helpful thing you can do right now is just…hold my hand."

Martin's one dry hand, lying out of the tub, reached for Arthur's. Martin's hands were always cold, thin, and bony, with long pilot's fingers and sharp knuckles. Arthur's hands were slightly warm and dry, with pleasantly thick fingers with no callouses. Martin smiled at the touch before realizing just how naked he was, holding another grown man's hand. It should have been weird, or uncomfortable, or something, but…it wasn't any of those things. It was beautiful, the most comfortable Martin had ever been. And Arthur smiled and Martin looked up and genuinely smiled back.

This was a start.

…