OK, so this is a fandom I don't normally write for, but having listened to the last episode of Cabin Pressure the other night, I just HAD to respond to the evil genius of John Finnemore, threatening to keep us all on tenterhooks for a few months. Uncannily like a certain Stephen Moffatt... Anyway, this is set immediately after the ending of Yverdon-Les-Bains, so contains spoilers for that episode.

BTW, before anyone asks, I know that it would be highly unprofessional for Herc and Captain Deroche to text each other as they do in this story and that it wouldn't really happen...but hey, suspend your disbelief.

All belongs to John Finnemore - if asked to fill in a satisfaction survey for him, I would go down Arthur's route of creating an extra box called 'BRILLIANT'.

It felt odd to be climbing aboard G-ERTI once more; familiar and yet unfamiliar, as if something undefinable had changed in his brief absence. Or was that fanciful?

For weeks now, he'd been wondering what it would be like to leave her behind. With MJN's often chaotic schedule, where flights were likely to be cancelled at short notice, each time he'd flown her, each time he'd landed, he'd wondered Is this it? Is this the last time? Each time, as the post-landing checks were completed, he'd run a gentle hand across her flight deck while Douglas pretended not to notice.

Now, stepping into the cockpit alone, the Captain's seat seemed oddly different, as if it had been moved, which was, of course, impossible. But something was different… she'd allowed someone else to sit here – in his seat. Well, of course they would have had to, he knew that either Douglas or Herc must have sat there during the flight to Antibes, with all the passenger seats already taken. He wondered whether it had been Herc as a passenger, or whether Douglas had controlled the flight from the Captain's chair, as he had no doubt wanted to do for years.

He sat in his seat and ran his hand across the flight deck again, crooning under his breath. "Moved on from me already have you, old girl?"

It would be another twenty minutes before they could be cleared to fly, and the walk-around and logs and flight plan had already been completed and filed, but he was happy to sit here alone for a while. Somewhere behind him, in the galley, he could hear Arthur chatting away happily about the toblerones he'd managed to get (one of every type, as far as Martin could tell). That light, ever-enthusiastic voice was punctuated from time to time by Caroline's sharp tone and Douglas's rumbling replies – they were have one of their periodic if rather aimless arguments about something; he didn't know what. Probably one of Douglas's 'transactions'.

At least sitting here meant he could avoid that knowing look that Herc had directed at him when he'd announced that Swiss Air would let him know about the job.

He didn't know what had given him away. He knew he was a terrible liar, but normally, he would expect sharp-eyed Douglas to pick up on any evasions. Perhaps the very act of turning away from Douglas slightly as he spoke was what had raised Captain Shipwright's suspicions.

What on earth had made him say it? Finally – finally! – his dream had come true. Someone was prepared to pay him to fly. Someone believed in him enough to spend actual money on him. And he would fly with several captains who would respect his skill as a first officer. He would actually learn something useful from them, instead of spending every flight with the same sarcastic first officer who enjoyed embarrassing him on a regular basis. He would have a chance to develop his skills on decent planes without parts that kept falling off or giving out. And, when he finally made captain, he would have earned it.

And he would finally be able to show Douglas – Douglas, the man who thought he shouldn't bother to apply. The man who, quite frankly, wouldn't acknowledge the manual if it rose up and bit him on the nose. Visions of Qikiqtarjuac and the polar bears danced through his mind. OK, so he'd softened a bit over the years, and Martin might even go so far as to count him as a friend, albeit the type of friend that one could never trust with one's deepest darkest secrets, but…

…And think of Mum and Simon and Caitlin visiting him in some chic little Swiss apartment in Zurich instead of his drafty attic bedsit in Fitton – that would show them.

And Carolyn wanted him to go! She regretted not paying him – that showed how much her feelings towards him had changed, as he was pretty sure she didn't care less how he lived when he first started with MJN. And she'd warned him – hadn't she? – that MJN would fold sooner or later and that it would be easier for him to find another job while he was still employed…

And yet…

And yet… Yes, MJN was hanging on by the skin of its teeth, but did he really want to be the one to sound the death knell?

Carolyn would never be able to afford another pilot, even if Douglas cut his salary, and Martin knew that he really couldn't afford to, with a daughter to support.

It was Arthur, bless him, with his boundless enthusiasm and talk of becoming a hotel porter, who had really made Martin hesitate. Arthur of the frankly terrible coffee and the mysteries of 'surprising rice'; Arthur who bounced back after each knock; Arthur who could be guaranteed to keep smiling, even if that smile occasionally got a little strained after an encounter with a particularly obnoxious bunch of over-paid under-worked executives. Arthur, who would do anything (in his admittedly limited power) to keep Skip happy – who would even congratulate him on a new job that would mean breaking up the MJN team.

Martin pressed his palm against the edge of the flight deck, hard enough to leave an impression, and considered…

There were footsteps coming into the cockpit; expecting Douglas, he didn't look around immediately. It was only when the individual squeezed past his seat to get to the first officer's seat – and didn't have to squeeze quite as much as Douglas had to these days, due to a gradually expanding waistline – that he looked up.

Captain Hercules Shipwright eased himself into the first officer's seat – no, into Douglas's seat.

Martin looked at him in surprise. "Herc? Where's Douglas?"

Herc shrugged his shoulders. "The debate goes on. Something about a consignment of Rolex watches, although to be honest, I tuned out a while ago. How Douglas managed to set up a deal when we only decided to pick you up on the way back is beyond me. And I really don't know why he bothers. Carolyn is like a Rottweiler when it comes to using her plane for his nefarious plans." He leaned back in his seat, giving Martin an inscrutable look.

Martin looked away, uneasily, trying to avoid those keen, intelligent eyes.

He'd always admired Herc from afar – he epitomised the ideal captain as far as Martin was concerned. Authoritative, calm, competent, still handsome in an understated way, pleasant and – above all – professional. All the qualities that Martin had tried, and failed, to emulate. Unlike Douglas, who'd blotted his copy book at Air England, Herc was a success. He'd risen to the top of his profession and, when his airline had been taken over, he had walked oh so casually into a job at Swiss Air; fully confident that they would take him on. As, of course, they had. No impassioned speeches for him, in a last-ditch attempt to save the interview from hell.

"They offered you the job, didn't they?"

"How do you know that?" Martin muttered, fiddling with the controls.

"I know Madeleine Deroche." Herc pulled out his mobile and waved it at Martin. "I'd asked her to let me know how you got on, and she texted me – I received it when we arrived, just before we met you. I was going to tell the others, but I thought I ought to leave that pleasure to you."

Martin looked up at him, expecting to see condemnation or perhaps a mocking expression, but Herc's face was surprisingly gentle.

"I could tell her, you know. She cares about you. She wants what's best for her pilot."

"And what about her other pilot?" Martin countered.

Herc looked a little startled. "Douglas? He's a survivor, always has been. It wouldn't be easy for him, but he'd get by. I wouldn't base your decision on what might happen to Douglas, Martin."

"And what about Arthur? Who'd employ him, apart from his own mother? And what about Carolyn? You must care about what she'd do, how she'd live if MJN went under, surely?"

Herc sighed. "Look, Martin. You've given five years of your life to MJN Air, which is very generous of you, considering your somewhat unusual conditions of service. And yet, despite your sacrifices and Douglas's ingenuity and Carolyn's paring of the budget to the bare bones, the company is no more secure now than it was when you started. In fact, it's probably less so due to wear and tear on G-ERTI. The reality is that the current economic situation is not kind to small one-plane operations like Carolyn's. The millionaires with spare cash to spend on indulgent private trips will become fewer in number. If she has any sense, she'll try to sell to a bigger company now, before G-ERTI falls apart entirely – then at least she'll have something to retire on, and something to support Arthur with."

He looked very intently at Martin. "Your decision to stay or leave won't change the outcome. It's inevitable, and all you'll do is delay things slightly – and possibly make it even more painful when it finally happens."

"But at least -," Martin began, and stopped, embarrassed. It had been on the tip of his tongue to say but at least we'd be together, but then that sounded ridiculously sentimental. As if Douglas or even Carolyn would care one jot if Martin stuck with them to the bitter end.

Herc looked at him thoughtfully. "You would learn a lot at Swiss Air. Frankly, you should have gone into a bigger organisation in the first place – started from the bottom and worked your way up. It would have been a far more sensible career path. You could have been a senior first officer by now with plenty of varied experience behind you. You lack confidence, and you're not helped by having a first officer who frequently knocks you back. Oh, I don't think he means to, not really. But life has become one long joke for Douglas. He had his opportunities, both in his professional and personal life, and he messed things up – and he knows it. He has no ambition beyond winning the contents of the next cheese tray and making just enough money to hold on to his precious Lexus."

Martin felt bound to stick up for his friend. "That's a little harsh, isn't it?"

"Oh, don't get me wrong – I don't dislike Douglas – but I know him a little too well by now. It's not that his age counts against him – OK, yes, it's not easy for fifty-something pilots to find new work – but it's more than that. It's about attitude. He's a maverick – a brilliant, instinctive pilot who doesn't need to worry about the manual like us mere mortals - but he hates going by the book. Always has done. That's why, when he hinted to me that he might like to move to Cal Air, I put him off immediately. I wouldn't have minded working with him, but he would have been utterly miserable in that environment. A square peg in a round hole. That's why he messed up so badly at Air England."

He smiled at Martin. "Whereas you – you're still young enough and flexible enough to adapt. Tell the truth now – you'd live anywhere in the world if you could be paid to do what you love, wouldn't you?"

He nodded; he couldn't deny it.

"And that's the opportunity that Herr Bider has given you. Truth be told, I'm not surprised that he gave you a chance; he's a mischievous little sod in his own way – likes to ruffle feathers and keep his staff on their toes. Which is no bad thing; it would be pretty boring if we were all the same."

Martin's lips twitched. "Can I assume that her text was less than complimentary about his decision, then?"

Herc smirked. "Oh, I think that's a little snippet of information that should remain between Captain Deroche and I. But don't judge by what you saw of her at the interview; she's not a bad sort when you get to know her."

He looked over his shoulder at the cockpit door. "Judging by the general reduction in decibel levels, some kind of compromise has been reached. We may even make our allocated slot, miracle of miracles." He stood up, stretching his enviably lean, tall figure. "So… are you really going to turn them down?"

Martin stared up at him in surprise. "You mean you're not going to tell Carolyn?"

Herc shrugged. "Not my place to tell her, is it?"

"I… I'll give it some thought," Martin managed.

Herc looked down at him, with an odd look on his face - Martin might have even thought it was admiration if that didn't seem so unlikely. "If it helps with the decision, Martin, may I say that it would be an honour to fly with you as my first officer. I mean that genuinely."

Martin had to turn away quickly to blink back the sudden moisture in his eyes. "It – yes, it does help actually, Herc. Thank you."

"Something else too." Herc's voice was very quiet. "If you think that Douglas doesn't care what happens to you, you'd be mistaken. Even on the flight out, he said -."

He broke off suddenly, as the man in question appeared in the doorway, looking decidedly ruffled.

"That bloody woman! Frankly, I don't know how you put up with her."

"I heard that!" Carolyn shouted from the galley. "Well, Martin, is there any reason at all why we're still sitting here admiring the Swiss scenery? Chop, chop, pilots. I'd like us to at least try to get home on schedule, just for a pleasing change."

"One case, that's all it was. Hardly any extra weight at all. And it was her idea to come here in the first place. Just because I wanted to do an old friend a favour…" Douglas pushed an impatient hand through his floppy hair and glared at Herc. "Any chance you could vacate my seat at some point before we take off? I would hate to inconvenience you, of course, Captain."

Herc held up his hands. "Not at all, First Officer. If you would care to step back a little, I'm sure we can manoeuvre past each other in this increasingly small environment. Strange that it seems to get smaller each time, isn't it? How is that diet going?"

He gave Martin a final enigmatic smile as he disappeared from view.

Still grumbling a little, Douglas squeezed past Martin and flopped in his own seat. "Ready to operate back then, Captain? Don't mind me if I have a snooze on the way, will you? I'm not sure that Arthur's bastardisation of chilli con carne has entirely agreed with my digestion."

"Not at all," replied Martin, whereas once he would have grumbled at the lack of professionalism.

Douglas gave him a sharp look. "So what did Herc the Berk have to say, then?"

Martin paused with his hand over the comm, ready to call the Tower for clearance. "Oh, nothing much."

Douglas grunted. "Don't listen to him. He might look harmless, but he's an old rogue really."

"Takes one to know one," Martin countered, as he pressed the comm button. "Tower, this is Golf Echo Romeo Tango India, request start for Fitton."

"Roger, Golf Tango India, clear to start."

Douglas leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. "OK, here's one. Love songs that don't contain the word 'love' in them. I'll bet you the camembert…"

Martin groaned, even as a warm glow of contentment spread through his belly. He patted the flight deck affectionately, as his First Officer looked the other way, evidently distracted by something.

Yes, a decision had to be made, but it could wait until tomorrow.