Sticks and Stones
"Four hundred and seventy two."
"Wrong."
"Drat. I was sure I got it this time, Douglas. Let me count the jellybeans again and I'll get back to you!"
This was how Douglas Richardson and Arthur Shappey normally spent their mornings before Martin arrived (though he was normally already on the air-craft running the usual checks and waiting for him to stop triple-checking GERTI).
"Arthur, look at the jar very closely. Now what do you see?"
"My face?"
"Okay...now looking past your nose being squished against the glass and away from your face, explain to me how you got four hundred and seventy two jellybeans in a jar with only ten in it?"
"Erm...let me think...you ate them? They are really yummy!"
"That is very true; however, one would think that if you stopped dropping the jellybeans on the floor and recounting the same jellybean you picked up, then just maybe you'll get the right number."
"Ohhhh, I get it!...How many jellybeans were there again?"
"Arthur!" Carolyn called impatiently from behind the door to the cabin. "Stop whatever you're doing behind that door and pick up all these jellybeans! You know you're not meant to be eating those. God knows we don't need you getting a sugar rush during a flight and sitting on the lap of a passenger singing 'You're The Voice' again."
"Coming, Mum!"
000000
Happy.
That was how someone, especially Douglas, would describe Arthur Shappey.
Exceedingly and sometimes sickeningly happy and cheerful all the time.
Even Caroline, Arthur's mother, complained and (very rarely) complimented on her son's attitude to life saying that "even if the Earth was disintegrating around them and they only had one hour to life, he would be telling everyone to cheer up and play a game of hide and seek in the dark where he would hide and forget he's supposed to be the seeker".
Or so his mother and friends thought.
What they didn't know was that Arthur was also a very talented 'cover-upper' (he invented the word when he was six). 'Course, there were days when he was genuinely happy and thought that flying and everything were brilliant, but who could be happy all the time?
They didn't notice the wince or the brief-second glimpse of hurt whenever he was called an 'idiot'. No-one saw the slight increase grip on his tray when either his mum or a passenger tried to explain something very slowly to him in order for him to understand. At twenty-nine, Arthur knew that his mind was much slower than the average man his age was supposed to, but why did people have to be so mean about it?
That's what he couldn't grasp as well as why he always failed to win the prize in a bottle of coke whenever it said 'Sorry, you didn't win this time. Try again' under the bottle top.
Normally, the words could be brushed back with a laugh and a small joke at how it was just Arthur being his typical slow self again. That usually work, but there was only so much a person could take and every now and again, it got too much.
Idiot.
Stupid.
Idiot-child.
Not good enough.
Arthur hid his head in his folded arms, trying to block out the bullies echoing inside his head, fingers gripped painfully in his head, voices mocking him with every nasty word that had ever been spoken to him. They had just landed after a long and difficult flight from Oslo. He had accidentally thrown out the passenger's in-flight meal along with the rubbish and had attempted to ease the situation by offering the irate lady with half a bag of Quavers and a partly melted-Malteaser.
That hadn't been greeted with the kindest of receptions and he could still feel the sting of the woman's bag raw against his cheek. Not that he had told Martin, Douglas or his mother about the situation. They had just seen that he'd made yet another mistake and did their best to sooth the woman down with offers of a free meal the next time she flew and a quick glimpse of the flight desk. It wasn't the first time a passenger had gotten more than a little rough with him, but his mother was forever telling him that 'the passengers are paying us handsomely for this flight so whatever they say is correct.
The flight had finished over twenty minutes ago and Arthur was now sitting in the onboard toilet, tears rolling quietly down his cheeks, the odd sniff escaping him every now and again.
Idiot.
Hopeless.
Waste of space.
"Arthur?"
The young cabin host's head shot up at the sound of Martin's voice, quickly wiping his eyes with the corner of his jacket and doing his best to hide the evidence of his small breakdown.
"Just a minute, Skip!" he cried hurriedly, turning on the tap in the nearby sink and dabbing water onto his face to cool his cheeks down. Taking a few seconds to steady his breathing and force on his usual care-free smile, Arthur undid the lock to the door and grinned up at his Captain. "Sorry."
Martin wasn't fooled.
"Are you alright?"
"Me? 'Course I am! Was just taking the tape off the air duct again. Don't know why people cover it up...it's not like anyone's going to hear you pee in the air...or can they? Maybe the angels could but..." Arthur replied quickly, scrunching his face up in thought as he pondered his ponder.
He stopped when he felt the cool fingertips against his red cheek, eyes widening as he looked up at his friend, who seemed to be looking both a little ashamed and angry at the same time. Martin looked over his shoulder and sighed, "You were right, Douglas. She did get him."
The first officer peeked his head over one of the seats he was now lazing over, a sly bottle in his hand.
"Right? I think we know that I am always right, Martin. Right on the score, right on the money...just didn't want to be right this time." Arthur noticed that, regardless of the drink in the older man's hand, he hadn't actually opened it and that was a worry in itself. Martin returned his gaze to Arthur, looking as if he was struggling to find words for what he wanted to say.
"Why didn't you tell us, Arthur?"
"Tell you what, Skip?" Arthur asked, bemused, tilting his head slightly.
"About the abuse..."
Arthur could feel a hard lump building at the back of his throat and he battled to swallow it back down. Not now! He couldn't let them see, but it seemed that his crew had maybe seen more than he had thought as he soon discovered a strong pair of arms wrapping themselves around him and his head leant against Martin's chest, soon followed by another hand slightly on his shoulder.
"I'm not...it's only..." he stuttered, his voice somewhat muffled.
"Not all abuse is physical, old boy," Douglas replied somberly, making Arthur jump as he looked up and saw that Douglas' was the hand on his shoulder. Arthur wanted to protest that they had gotten it wrong and that everything was fine, but his body chose that moment to betray him and his shoulders began to shake softly, the tears appearing once more and his head suddenly finding Martin's jacket very interesting.
"I'm sorry! I try! I know I'm an idiot and a letdown and..."
"Arthur, stop," Martin ordered firmly, pushing his friend back slightly so both he and Douglas could stare directly at him, both their heart tearing slightly and anger bubbling deep within at the broken sight of their young friend. "That's enough. Where on earth did you get the idea that you could say that about yourself?"
"Well...everyone else says it...Mum...Dad...passengers...so I thought..."
"That's where you're wrong, Arthur. Let me tell you something that you mustn't forget because I won't repeat it ever, ever again and will refuse all knowledge of such un-me like behaviour...there are people in this world who were born to be vindictive and cruel, needing to belittle others to feel better about themselves and then there is us. We may say words that might be cruel, but it's all in the tone. When we say, we don't mean it. When someone who cares about you says 'idiot', you know we don't mean it. Martin is an idiot, your mother is an idiot..."
"Ahem," Martin interrupted, arching an eyebrow at Douglas.
"Fine...I'm an idiot as well. Happy?"
"Yes. Thank you."
"Do you really mean that?" Arthur muttered thickly, face tear-stained, but a glimmer of hope shining in his eyes at the speech. Douglas nodded his head, causing Arthur to wipe his cheeks with the back of his sleeves and a genuine smile appeared.
"Aw, I love you, guys!"