Summary: Written for the Summer Christmas challenge in the Cabin Pressure fandom. I've always loved the St. Petersburg episode, especially how the dicey landing goes and what a united front Martin and Douglas seem to present in facing down the evil Gordon Shappey. Consider this a "deleted scene" that explains some of the newfound camaraderie between the two of them. Douglas Richardson & / Martin Crieff, a little bit of emotional hurt/comfort, can be read as gen or pre-slash depending on your goggles, but rated G. ;-) Warning for panic attacks.
Chapter Text"Mayday, mayday. Golf Echo Romeo Tango India, suspected bird strike. We have one engine on fire. Request immediate return and priority landing St Petersburg." Martin gripped the control column with white-knuckled fingers, struggling to keep GERTI's nose up as the aeroplane shuddered and bucked.
"Golf Tango India, roger your mayday. Continue as cleared, contact Pulkovo, approach one two four decimal two."
"Roger." The tremor was falling out of Martin's voice now. "One two four decimal two," he confirmed.
"Good luck." ATC's words were hardly encouraging, but Martin couldn't spare a thought for that now.
"Fire is out, Captain," Douglas reported. "One two four decimal two is selected." Martin could feel Douglas's eyes on him. "Martin, do you want me to land it?"
Christ, it would be so easy, to let Douglas do this. Douglas who never messed up, Douglas who always came out on top. Not Martin, against whom Lady Luck seemed to hold a personal grudge. But Martin was keeping GERTI level, transferring control now would add a level of risk they could not afford. And Martin was Captain.
"No. I'll do it," Martin said, his voice conveying all the steadiness and confidence he didn't feel. He was so braced for an argument that he hardly comprehended Douglas's soft-spoken reply at first.
"Okay."
"Post-flight checks complete." Douglas's voice was still uncharacteristically subdued. "Carolyn and Arthur have gone along to the terminal. Ready to brave the cold again?"
Martin could feel it coming, like the tide pulling sand slowly and inexorably from underneath his feet and it was only a matter of moments until he fell. He cleared his throat, aiming for a steady tone of voice despite the iron band that seemed to be tightening around his chest, squeezing the breath from his lungs. "You go ahead. I'll — I'll just check a few more things here."
"You're sure?" He could feel Douglas's hesitation.
"I'm sure." He kept his eyes on the control panel, still feeling Douglas's gaze on him. Please go, he thought as the cold sweat prickled up his spine, his vision starting to grey around the edges. Please. The only thing worse than having this happen was to have Douglas still here, watching it happen.
"All right," Douglas finally said, his voice still soft in that way that Martin had never heard before. Martin listened to the muted swoosh of the flight deck door closing, Douglas's footsteps as they retreated.
Martin let his breath out and cringed at the harsh, broken noise that escaped along with it. Slowly, gingerly, he pulled his knees up to his chest and lowered his head, pressing his forehead hard into the scratchy polyester of his cheap uniform trousers, trying futilely to fend off the oncoming wave.
He could feel his pulse racing, every muscle in his body locked tight as he struggled to drag air into his lungs. His heart thumped louder and louder, his ears starting to ring as the trembling started. The impulse to run far, far away warred with the instinct to just curl up into a ball and quake as the panic crept steadily through his veins, making his pulse jump erratically and his head spin.
It was probably only minutes but it seemed like hours as he remained hunched over, sweating and shaking and gasping for air. He practically screamed as through the chaos of his panic he suddenly felt a warm palm on the back of his neck.
"Martin?"
No. Oh no. Martin shook his head, trying to curl up further to hide his face. Of course Douglas would decide to come back. Of course the one person to find Martin like this is the one person he was most determined to impress, the one whose opinion meant the most to him. Martin squeezed his eyes shut tight, pretending that Douglas wasn't there. He could feel the thick hot lump swelling in his throat as tears gathered, threatening to fall.
"Here now." Douglas's voice was kind, soothing, as he gently placed one palm on Martin's forehead and another on his knees, applying steady pressure until Martin was forced to uncurl his body. "That's better. Look at me, Martin."
Martin shook his head, the words he was trying to form emerging as a high, choked whine between panting breaths instead.
"All right." Douglas's voice was as warm and steady as the palm he now laid on Martin's chest. "Just breathe with me, then. In through your nose, out through your mouth. You can do this, Martin. Ready. In…two…three…out…two..three. Excellent. Again. In…two…three…out…two…three. In…two…three…"
Martin was not doing excellently. He was still struggling, still gasping in breath through spasming lungs, but he was a trier, he always tried so hard, and so now he tried for Douglas; forcing his mouth closed, sucking in what felt like insufficient air through his nose, and then blowing it out in unsteady huffs through his mouth. Again, and again, and again, until finally he was able to do it in time to the steady drone of Douglas's voice. In…two…three…out…two…three…in…two…three…out…two…three.
Slowly, slowly, he felt the panic start to recede, his breath still unsteady but less erratic, his pulse slowing from a rapid drumbeat to a slow, steady throb. He felt the tight band around his chest loosening, as if it were slowly being unknotted by the steady pressure of Douglas's hand, the chocolate-rich rumble of his voice.
Martin's head started to finally clear, and he enjoyed the blessed relief for only a moment before humiliation started to well up inside him, a hot flush creeping up his chest and neck to no doubt accentuate his already blotchy, tear-stained face.
Christ, there was no helping it. He swallowed around the dryness in his throat and slowly, reluctantly forced his eyes open.
He blinked a few times, trying to make sense of what he saw. Douglas was always calm and masterful in a crisis, he knew that, but now that the crisis had been averted he expected Douglas to revert to his usual sarcastic, impatient self. He had never seen Douglas looking so…sincere. His brow was wrinkled in concern, his gaze searching Martin's face earnestly.
"Better now?" he asked gently.
"Yes." Martin tried to swallow away the rasp in his voice. "Yes. Thank you."
He would have thought that Douglas would move away now, but he remained where he was, kneeling next to Martin's Captain's chair, his hand still moving in soothing circles on Martin's chest. "Good," Douglas said. He suddenly seemed to become aware of his position and pulled his hand back. He levered himself to his feet, knees popping, but instead of leaving he settled himself in the First Officer's chair, both of them staring at the cold deserted airstrip through the windscreen.
Martin's head felt heavy, exhaustion weighing him down, pinning him to his chair. He should get up, he knew, Carolyn and Arthur were probably wondering what had happened to them both. God, would Douglas tell them? He clenched his fists, feeling the shame well inside him again. What must Douglas think of him?
"It — it never happens when I'm flying," he found himself stammering. "I wouldn't — I wouldn't put anyone else at risk. It used to happen when I was a kid, and then when I had to take the CPL, it's why I kept failing, and when my dad died, but it's been good — I've been good — for a few years now, and I know when it's coming, I could give over control if I had to —"
"It's fine, Martin." Douglas said firmly. "You landed this pile of junk on one engine in subzero conditions and a vicious crosswind. Anyone would have panicked a bit after that."
Christ, Douglas was being understanding, and that seemed worse than anything. "Not you," Martin found himself saying, his voice hollow and miserable.
"You think not?" Douglas's expression was unreadable, his eyes still fixed on the grey landscape. "Maybe not exactly in the same way, but when Helena left me I stayed in bed for three days. Didn't bother to shower, barely fed myself. Just huddled under the covers and waited for it all to go away. The only reason I got myself up is because we had that flight. You remember the one — to Seoul?"
"Really?" The word came out too high and loud, making Martin cringe, but Douglas only shrugged. "I didn't know," Martin said wonderingly. "You seemed — just the same as always."
"It was good," Douglas finally said. "To get back to work. To GERTI, and you lot. It made me feel like my world hadn't just fallen apart, for the third time." He turned toward Martin, finally meeting his eyes. "You helped a lot, then, even if you didn't know it."
"Me? But you don't even…I mean…do you even like me?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth Martin wished them back. But Douglas didn't seem put off at all by the pathetic neediness.
"Of course I do," he said, his voice tinged with surprise.
"But — you're always poking fun…" Martin stammered.
Douglas raised one eyebrow. "In contrast to the tone of utmost respect I employ when speaking to — who? Carolyn? Herc?" He looked down, his fingers tracing a tear in the upholstery on the arm of his chair. "It's just the way I act around people I like," he mumbled. "You're the only one who takes it seriously."
Martin had never thought of it that way. Come to think of it, Douglas was just as challenging and sardonic with Carolyn and Herc, even Arthur. It's just that Carolyn and Herc gave as good as they got, and Arthur was blissfully oblivious. Only Martin took Douglas's ribbing to heart, letting it feed his self-doubts. Quick on the heels of that revelation came another.
"You could have taken the landing off of me," Martin said, thinking through it aloud. "You didn't even try to argue when I said I'd do it. You even — you even called me 'Captain'. You never call me 'Captain'."
Douglas's mouth quirked in a hint of a smile. "You're a good pilot, Martin, better than you think you are. You did a bang-up job. And…I trust you."
Martin let that sink in, the praise setting a warm glow alight in his chest.
"Not as good of a pilot as I am, of course," Douglas added with a smirk, surprising a bark of laughter from Martin.
"Of course," Martin said. "I wouldn't expect you to say any differently."
Who knows how long they would have sat there, grinning at each other like idiots, if Martin hadn't started to shiver as the sweat cooled on his body in the increasingly frigid aeroplane.
Douglas noticed immediately, levering himself up from his chair. "Come on, then," he said, holding out a hand to Martin. "We'd best get this old girl into a heated hangar, although god knows Carolyn will yowl about the cost."
Martin accepted the outstretched palm with a smile, letting Douglas draw him to his feet. "I could use a nice hot cup of coffee," he agreed, following Douglas through the flight deck door. "There has to be one even in this godforsaken place, doesn't there?"
"Hope springs eternal," Douglas said wryly, bundling himself into his parka as Martin did the same. "Ready?" he asked.
"Ready." Hope springs eternal, Martin repeated to himself as they stepped out into the biting cold, the freezing wind instantly whipping around them both as they leaned against each other, making their way toward the terminal. Yes, it does, he thought. Himself, Douglas, even Carolyn and Arthur — none of them were perfect. They were all a bit like GERTI. A little flawed, a little battered about, but with a bit of luck they might keep flying. And maybe Lady Luck didn't have as much of a grudge against Martin as he thought. Maybe he had been luckier than he knew all along.