Note: Hello! More gratuitous suffering for all! This week on Cabin Pressure! Martin gets ill, Douglas gets the wheel, Carolyn gets her way and Arthur gets a banana milkshake! More H/C and false Douglas love than you can snake a plane at.

Skip is feeling poorly and Arthur really wants to help! He does! But he's not 100% on how.

The portacabin was in an off state when Arthur burst in happy to greet it. The same flickering lull his Mum exuded whenever he said something off or if his nose needed blowing. Martin was seated at his desk like normal though not buried in paperwork as was his preference. Douglas was standing next to him looking very cross which was, if Arthur had another minute to reflect, not so unusual. Martin looked none too happy either but that was rather typical for him as well. One button of his shirt was undone as though he'd loosened it on purpose and he looked somehow, not as together as a real Martin should. On closer inspection, Arthur surmised that the thin glass stick between his lips probably had something to do with it.

"Oi Skip, what's that?"

"It's a thermometer." Martin mumbled through clenched teeth.

"Gaw Skip, your voice is gone all funny!" Arthur balked.

Douglas and Martin had a neat trick of rolling their eyes in precise unison. It made them both look like puppets. Arthur was about to press on the subject when Douglas took the time to sort things out patiently if not kindly.

"Our illustrious captain is not at any capacity to respond at present." Douglas seized Martin's wrist for some reason and then found his watch suddenly very interesting. "I'm taking his temperature."

"Oh. You'll give it back when you're through, yeah?"

"I'm not taking anything FROM him, I am trying to determine just how warm the inside of Martin's body is. That is his temperature. God, it's like a walk-on role on Sesame Street with you, Arthur!"

"Sorry, just asking So eh, why you wanna know how warm Martin's insides are?"

"Because he's got worryingly more than enough of an otherwise good thing."

"And what's that, then?"

"Temperature!" Martin growled his face flushing even redder. Arthur marveled. What a neat trick that was being able to change colors at will like one of the lizard thingies at the zoo! He'd have to ask Martin to teach him how one of these days. Only Martin didn't seem to be up for anything at the moment. His eyes were too shiny the way mum's went when she'd had a tipple of "go away juice".

"Incidentally, Martin and I have made a little bet. Since sir insists he is hale enough to carry all of our lives in a little tin box thousands of feet in the atmosphere without collapsing, I have wagered a full week of cheese tray access if his temperature rises above the 39th point. Never have I so ardently wished plague on my fellow man."

Martin groaned behind the thermometer.

"You know, it is blissfully less irritating in the portacabin with that thing in your mouth, Martin. You should be under the weather more often."

"Sorry Skip, awful lot that." Arthur agreed. "If you'd just stay OVER the weather, maybe you'd be the right temperature like the rest of us!"

"Helpful as always Arthur, thanks." Martin grumbled, rubbing his temples. At least that's what Arthur thought he'd said. He couldn't be sure.

"Arthur." Douglas said, addressing the small child that Arthur was, not the pretend grown up he struggled to be. "Our beloved commander has gone and caught himself a rather nasty cold. I'm taking his temperature now to find out just how nasty before your matriarch comes in and makes all of us as equally unwell."

Now Arthur was confused.

"A cold? But I thought you said he was too warm!"

"Shut up, Arthur!" They both said.

Sometimes, it took the dual force of two exasperated individuals to get the gears in Arthur's brain working. Suddenly, things fell into place like nirvana.

"Ohhh! I see! Martin's got a cold which means he's got a temperature which can only conclude that he's…er, sick!"

"Bravo, Arthur." Douglas clapped him on the shoulder. "You get a biscuit."

Arthur was greatly pleased with himself. Just then the thermometer made a tiny bleepy noise and Douglas swiped it from Martin's clenched teeth.

"Thirty nine point…five old chap! My condolences." Douglas patted Martin's shoulder as he collapsed onto his desk, burying his face in his arms. Fat lot of good having a temperature did him seeing as he was shivering so. How curious it was!

"Fine, have the bloody cheese plate. I probably couldn't stomach it anyway." Martin sulked.

"After all, who needs such trivial comforts as a delicious luxury cheese plate to keep one's morale up during a six hour flight to the colonies? I'm sure your unflagging good health and chipper spirit will see you through."

"I shouldn't have reported in today!" Martin groaned without looking up, muffled by his sleeve. "I'm just so hard up for cash and Carolyn promised she would pay me!"

Arthur's ears perked up at the word: "pay". Whenever his mum saw it in her heart to pay Martin, she usually found it in her heart to pay him as well.

"Ohhh! Cashews instead of peanuts then?"

"Arthur, don't you have some pre-flight check lists to complete?" Douglas asked. "You know, a red tick in the empty little boxes?"

"Uhm, I think so." Arthur's mind quickly shifted to the stack of pre-flight sheets in his special file box that was just for him. "But Skip's alright, isn't he?"

"That may depend…" Douglas murmured, placing the back of his hand against Martin's forehead. Martin, for his part, didn't move a muscle. Arthur was uncomfortable with middle answers. A yes or a no were perfectly well and good but things that depended were too much to sort.

Arthur turned to leave. This was turning out to be a fantastic day, regardless. Except for poor Skipper, of course.

He returned from scrubbing the seats to find Martin and Douglas both standing (the former if somewhat unsteadily) before his mum who had a clipboard tucked neatly under her arm. She was going over the flight procedures and agenda as usual, along with a bunch of other official talk Arthur couldn't even begin to make any sense of.

"Right. Got all that, Martin? Straighten that tie and button up, for goodness sake. Did you drive or crawl here?"

"Yes Carolyn." Martin did his best to silence his coughing. Arthur winced but his mum didn't seem to notice. That was usual for mum pre-flight, though.

"It's a cargo this time and we must dispatch directly to New York without delay. And, because I am truly benevolent in my heart, I will allow each of you ten hours lay over during which you may spend quality time staring at the city which does not sleep."

"Delightful." Douglas commented.

"Oh boy!" Arthur bounded in again, overhearing his mother's announcement. "We're going to see where King Kong lives in the Big Banana!"

"Big Apple, dearest." Carolyn corrected. "And for the last time, King Kong was shot dead and his remains sold to science."

Arthur looked crestfallen. "Then all those other films were his body double?"

"Now Arthur. There's no such thing as King…King-Ah-CHOO!." Martin said through a succession of violent sneezes.

"King Achoo? Never heard of him. He a cousin?"

"Will you please shut up, Arthur?" Carolyn's irritation shifted instantly from her son to her pilot.

"And you, you're not getting a cold this early in summer, Martin!" Carolyn scolded. "Deny it all! Arthur must have let the pollen in."

"If I may Carolyn," Douglas interjected. "But an innocent seasonal allergy this is not. For you see—"

"I see nothing but a captain and crew ready to embark!" Carolyn snapped. "On the double, gents! Gerti isn't flying herself."

"Oh not without our humble assistance I'm sure, mum." Douglas replied. He turned to his self-proclaimed official captain. "Looking forward to a marginal waste of time as much as I am, Martin?"

Martin at least tried to smile though, as with many of his tries, it ended up looking more like a grimace. His nose was red, his cheeks even redder and now that Arthur really got a good look in, Martin should probably be in bed with a hot lemonade.

"Always w-wanted to see New York. C-Can't let a sniffle stop me, eh?" He sighed miserably before another attack of sneezing took him. Douglas offered him a handkerchief.

"Here, I normally use this to wipe down toilet seats before use but since we're chums."

"Augh!" Martin made a face but had little choice but to smother his sneezes in the small square of cotton Douglas had given him.

"Carolyn's right, you know." Martin shifted uncomfortably in his uniform, loosening the collar a little. "Always did have the worst sodding luck, catching cold in the middle of July."

"Let's see if we can't get Arthur to ruin a cup of tea for you." Douglas said. "With any luck, this is just a twenty two hour bug but with yours there's no telling. Either way, you'll feel something more akin to human once we're on the ground again, I'm sure."

"With MY luck, it'll probably be H1N1." Martin grumbled.

"Cast not they pearls before? No, no, Martin. Doesn't suit you at all. Avian flu, however, you know, I rather feel a pun coming on…" Douglas mused.

"Stow it, Douglas. Get a move on. The faster we leave, the sooner we arrive."

"Golf Tango India. Now clearing airfield. Awaiting coordinates." Martin gasped over the intercom, coughing lightly into his hand. "Sorry control, just a bit croaky today."

"Loud and clear." The control operator clipped. "Feel better, captain."

"Thanks. Over and out."

"Didn't you at least have the sense to take some cold medicine before takeoff?" Carolyn asked soon after Martin successfully leveled Gertie from takeoff. "You sound as though you're saying every word through a wet poodle."

"Medicine costs money I haven't been able to make." Martin hacked into his elbow. "I had something that passed for tea this morning, I'll be fine. We're only going to America."

"Only going to America! That's what our forefathers thought and look how they ended up!"

"How?"

"American! Let me feel your forehead."

Martin recoiled, swatting at Carolyn's hand as she reached over.

"No! Honestly Carolyn, I'm not a child! Give me back my hat!" He protested as she reached for it. "Really, I will not have this behavior in the cockpit while I'm trying to do my job!"

"Shut up and do it then while I do mine.""

Carolyn took no notice of his fuming and flung his hat carelessly over her shoulder. She pressed one primly manicured hand against his forehead, then his heated cheeks.

"Good Heavens! You're burning up, Martin!" Carolyn exclaimed. "Douglas, take over. Martin, come with me at once."

"Really!" Martin was exasperated. "Douglas can't fly the plane, he's—"

"—currently not running a temperature of thirty nine point...oh, what is it now, five or eight?" Douglas supplied helpfully, picking up Martin's hat and fitting it on his head. "Up you go, my lad. As first officer it is my sworn duty to usurp what little claim you have on authority when you are deemed incapable of command."

"Incapable!" Martin scoffed. "That's ridiculous! I am perfectly capable! This is really intolerable, Carolyn! And might I add, illegal!"

"Bugger legality! Who's to arrest me from 30,000 feet? Now I am to be obeyed if I am to cut your checks. Up!" Carolyn dragged him ungently up from his chair by the starched collar of his uniform jacket. "I haven't raised an idiot for nothing, you know."

Martin wilted in her grasp. Resigned but somehow limply reluctant, he lumbered behind her out of the cockpit and into the passenger's cabin.

"Don't think I didn't catch you nodding off at the controls!" Carolyn's chastisement was far from over. "A right mess we'd have been in had you fallen asleep! Come sit here. Arthur, fetch me a tea towel and some water."

"Right on, mum! Er, does Skip need a washing?"

"Just a touch feverish, dear. He'll be fine."

"Oh! Ok, right then! So water and a shovel?"

"Towel!"

"Right away, mum!" Arthur disappeared into the galley.

"Poor Martin." Carolyn simpered, sitting down next to him. "Your first time in New York and you won't even be able to enjoy it."

"Come off it!" Martin growled, loosening his tie and removing his jacket all the while muttering over the indignity. "As if you had any intention whatsoever of letting us have any leisure time. New York is full of barmy clients willing to hire an airline on the dole. We wouldn't last fifteen minutes at JFK before you had us packing off to Thailand."

Carolyn shook her head at him and looked as though she wanted a smoke.

"You have me there, Martin. I am, ever, diligent when it comes to the money-making aspect of our little business. Yes, I would have made a contact or two. Maybe even three and with that money, I'd have had enough to buy Arthur a new train set, my car a new paint coat and my pilot a due cheque."

Martin froze. "You...you mean, we aren't getting paid for this flight?"

Carolyn cleared her throat uncomfortably.

"I was promised contacts, Martin. A networking opportunity. Favors for several parties waiting to be contacted upon landing in New York. They were all assured."

"Assured?" Martin's irritated throat made his anger sound strangled. "Carolyn, how desperate are you?"

"I am as desperate to make money, Martin, as you are to fly a plane." Carolyn said firmly, looking straight at him. "I would have us flying from Antwerp to Beruit if it meant I could pay you but now..." She sighed. "I'll have to see what contacts I can make from the waiting room of an infirmary."

Martin now went from looking ill to looking dreadful. Though he had no idea what they were discussing, Arthur could see sweat standing out on his pale face, running down into his collar. Sullenly, Martin folded the jacket as neatly as his shaking hands would allow and collapsed into the first class seat cushions freshly polished by Arthur that morning.

"Good." Arthur thought, ignoring the stricken look on Martin's face. "He could use a good lie down."

He came running back up excitedly waving the tea towel. He'd also brought a bottle of spring water and a few small foil packets.

"Here you go mum! I found a few Temperature-Be-Gone pills in the supply."

"Well done Arthur. Except these are all outdated antacid tablets." Carolyn put them aside. Opening her purse, she took out a silver pill box and shook a few paracetamol into her hand.

"Here. Now that's to knock your temperature down. Try to get the closest thing towards rest! I'll brief you if and whenever we land." Carolyn doused the tea towel with the water and wrung it out before dropping the pills into Martin's hot palm. Martin swallowed the medicine with a heavy swallow of water, draining the bottle in another few gulps. Carolyn neatly patted the sweat from his face and neck with the tea towel, before resting the damp cloth over his eyes. Sighing, he sagged into the reclined passenger's seat and let unconsciousness take him. Frowning, Carolyn took his hand and stroked it, feeling out his pulse.

She waited until his breathing slowed and he seemed more relaxed, snoring labored but steadily in his chair. Arthur felt something odd and cold in the pit of his stomach. Like when he was watching an insurance ad on TV and someone's home was being wrecked by a fire. He didn't like that feeling at all. His mum was in a state too. She was gnawing her bottom lip the way she did whenever he himself felt ill.

With Martin safely asleep, his mum stood up and marched into the cockpit, no doubt to have words with Douglas. Arthur listened in, anxiously, hoping for a halfway entertaining brawl to ease the knot in his belly.

"Always did feel this seat fit my grandeur better, don't you agree?" Douglas commented as she entered. "We'll arrive somewhere without incidence for once!"

"This is not an exercise for your ego, Douglas! We have quite a serious problem here!"

"Martin? A serious problem? Do tell." Douglas quipped.

"He's burning up with fever, Douglas! And his heart is positively racing! Why didn't you inform me before we left the ground he was this ill?"

"I believe I tried to warn madam earlier—"

"Well, we're airborne now so I suppose the fault is mine. Why don't men take better care of themselves, I'd like to know?"

"Because we prefer to entrust our well being to tender souls like yours, Carolyn."

Carolyn wrung her hands, pacing back and forth through the tiny cockpit.

"What are we to do?" She fretted. "I hate to think of poor Martin alone out there with no one but Arthur."

Douglas nodded in solemn agreement. "Poor chap. You did give him something to keep him truly knackered out first didn't you?"

"That hadn't occurred to me."

"Devil mistress."

"I'll just go check on him."

She hastened her footsteps even in the brief walk from cockpit to cabin. Arthur was making a panicked din outside, as though he'd confused the can opener with the safety hatch lock again.

"Mum!"

Martin was shifting under the thin complimentary blanket Arthur had thrown over him, tossing is head fitfully. Arthur cautiously touched Martin's cheek, looking troubled when the pilot flinched and shivered away from his touch.

"But I was sure he looked cold!" Arthur whined.

"That's the fever, dear. I assure you, he'd melt Formica if we set it beneath him." Carolyn assured her son.

"Mum, I think something's really really off with Skip!" For the first time since Martin's under the weather business, he was starting to act scary.

"We know, dear. That is exactly what Douglas and I were attempting to discuss." Carolyn crouched beside Martin and tried to soothe him, rubbing his arm over the blanket and shushing his moans.

Douglas's voice suddenly boomed over the PA. "I'm still up for that discussion, Carolyn. "

"And what does our great deliverer suggest?"

"Keep calm and carry on."

"How long until we land in JFK?"

"At least four hours. The closest airfield to us at the moment is…" Douglas checked. "The Atlantic."

"Don't the Atlantic have a doctor?" Arthur asked.

"He means the ocean, dearest." Said Carolyn, for once, forgetting to call him a clot.

"I'm afraid I also mean the closest we are to getting any kind of medical help would be our destination. Martin's just going to have to man up until we arrive."

Arthur was suddenly hit with a wave of brilliance so big he had to shout it.

"I'VE GOT IT!"

"Shhhh!" Carolyn hissed. "Softly! You'll wake Martin!"

"Sorry mum! Hey Douglas, you were a med student once! Couldn't you have a look at him?"

"Certainly Arthur, and while I'm diagnosing our Captain, I'm sure you'll have no trouble at all flying the plane?"

"Oh...right." Arthur's face fell but only for a fraction of a moment. So what if Douglas was always right? He was full of ideas!

"I'll look after Skip, mum! Don't worry!"

"All our fears are assuaged thank you Arthur." Carolyn suddenly sounded as tired and worried as she felt. "But Martin isn't playing a game. He's ill. Do you understand?"

Arthur didn't really but he was determined to.

"No worries, know all about it. Keep giving him liquids and check his temperature every um…every….two minutes?"

"Every two hours, dear. And by that time, hopefully, he shall be delivered into the capable hands of professionals paid far better than we."

"I get to serve drinks to the captain all day! How's that for professional?" He crowed, flying to his beverage trolley to select only the finest in concentrated fruit juice and fizzy water. This trip was just getting better and better! They were on their way to meet King Kong, he finally had a job to do and mum was putting her trust in him! It was like Christmas morning and his birthday combined!

"Just keep it down, Arthur." Carolyn begged. "I'll be in the back explaining to our client the delicate nature of our circumstances."

"I'll do my very best, mum! Like I always do!"

"That's what I'm afraid of."

Arthur did try, he really did. But despite his most ardent efforts, Martin grew more and more restless yet oddly, could not be roused. He refused the complimentary water, juice and tea Arthur offered him, mindlessly pushing it aside or spilling it on the floor for Arthur to wipe up. Arthur was happy to do it, mopping the floor busily and chatting with him though he suspected Martin was hardly aware.

Sometimes Martin woke a little and accepted the cup but mostly he just dribbled.

Desperate, Arthur began luring Martin the same way his mum used to—well, still did sometimes whenever he got stroppy about his food.

"Alright Skip, here comes the airplane!" Arthur hovered the plastic cup of apple juice in the air in front of Martin's nose in what he hoped was an enticing manner. Martin coughed and turned his face away.

"Aw c'mon, Skip! You've got to drink something!" Arthur pressed cheerily. "You'll dry up like a—like a very dried up thing!"

"Leave him be, Arthur." Carolyn was not amused. "Run along and freshen up his towel, that one's gone lukewarm."

"Okay, mum! You wait right there, Skip! Don't go all twitchy!" Arthur gently peeled the damp hand towel away from Martin's burning forehead and rushed to the galley to soak it in ice water. He felt some relief when Douglas turned on the announcement.

"Good afternoon to the Living and Nearly Departed. We are now approaching our thirty minute mark for arrival into JFK. The skies look clear and promising and I'm sure I'll be getting a bonus for this. TA!"

"In your wildest dreams, Douglas…" Carolyn muttered, distracted by the sound of Martin stirring in his seat. He was sitting up, hair mussed, somehow managing to look both dazed and alarmed.

"Martin, lie back down at once if you know what's good for you." Carolyn ordered.

Martin acted as though he didn't hear. "What..?" His voice was hoarse and thick as he swallowed, blinking rapidly. "…what's going on?"

"You've a very high temperature, Martin."

Martin seemed to have difficulty processing. He raised his fingers to his forehead, as though searching for something that was missing. An unsettling look of panic washed across his features.

"My hat!" He cried sharply, stiffening in his seat. The blankets were tossed violently aside. "Good god, who's flying the plane?"

"Oh dear…." Standing up, Carolyn laid a restraining hand on Martin's shoulder. His skin was blazing through his damp cotton shirt, his breathing hectic and far too fast.

"Calmly now, Martin." Carolyn did her best to sound as though she were coaxing a kitten out of a tree. "It's alright. You're just tired-"

With uncharacteristic force, he shook her off and shot up out of his seat, ambling his way frantically towards the cockpit.

"Oh!" Carolyn shouted in alarm. "Martin! Stop! Get back here this instant!"

"Oi Skipper, feeling better?" Arthur was just stepping out of the galley when he was shoved brutally aside, slamming back into the coffee machine and spilling the fresh glass of juice in his hands over his uniform.

"He's gone mad!" Carolyn called after him. "Arthur, stop him! Do NOT let him into the cockpit."

Arthur could do little more than quake with fear at first. He'd never seen Skip behave like that before. He gathered himself, rushing to follow but Martin was already forcing the door to the cockpit open.

"Skip! Wait, stop, you can't!"

"I'm the captain." Martin swung a hard gaze at Arthur. "And YOU are to stand down, steward."

Not only was Martin's voice all funny but his eyes, his mouth, everything about him that made him Skip had seemed to disappear somehow. Arthur would have thought this brilliant if only Martin weren't frightening him so. It didn't take much for Martin to shove him aside and force his way into the cockpit, slamming the door behind him.

Arthur peeked inside timidly. He knew he shouldn't but...he had to.

"Douglas!" Martin seethed. Arthur didn't breathe. Douglas remained very still in his seat, his voice low and terrible.

"Take one step nearer and I'll have you restrained, Sir."

Martin was a wreck, still panting and acting all barmy like. Sweat poured from his forehead, into his eyes. He swiped roughly at his face. "I. am. the. captain." He said harshly. "You are not authorized to command this vessel! And you are not to call me anything else but…but SIR!"

"And you are in no state to give orders...sir." Douglas countered quietly. "You're delirious."

"I am perfectly right in my mind!" Martin snapped. "Your present seat and office, Douglas, belong to me! This is mutiny!" He was trembling so hard with anger Arthur feared (and almost hoped) he would collapse.

For what felt to Arthur like forever plus one and one, Douglas said nothing. Arthur could feel his heart thudding wildly in his chest. What were they to do? What if Martin and Douglas came to blows? Oh, that would be...that would be so less than brilliant! He agonized, wracking his already stressed brain for something useful to say when Douglas saved him the effort.

"I beg sir not to report me." Douglas said at last, his voice completely no different than if he were playing a word game. "I was merely taking temporary leave over the control board while sir was indisposed. I shall be more than happy to relinquish it back to sir's capable hands but for now, I should like to remind all that we are about to begin our descent and someone is not wearing his seat belt."

It didn't even occur to Arthur that this included him. Martin, however, blinked in surprise. He shook his head as though to clear it, dazed and unsure.

"Oh God! You're right!" Martin groaned, suddenly clutching his head. "My head! Lord, I-I can't think!"

"Sir." Douglas purred with well practiced compassion. "At the risk of imposing, may I suggest sitting down, here beside me? Direct me from the officer's chair. Everything will be fine once we've touched down."

"Are we cleared for runway landing?" Martin gripped the co-pilot seat tightly as though he were about to faint, lowering himself into it carefully.

"Crystal clear, sir. Just as you've written on the agenda."

"Good...Yes that's...very good." Martin sighed, finally seeming to relax a little. "Follow protocol up until we arrive. Notify the tower and report to me our landing number. That is all."

"Right away, Sir." Douglas clicked on the communication link with control. "Anything else?"

"Will you…will you ring Arthur for a glass of water? God, it's so hot." He lowered his head into his hands.

"Of course." Douglas switched Gertie to autopilot. "Arthur? Bring the captain a tall glass of mineral water…and you know that little orange bag with the pretty red cross on it? Fetch me that as well."

Arthur turned on his heels and fled, thinking to himself. Maybe Douglas really was a retired deity after all?

It took Arthur some time but with Carolyn's help he managed to procure the ship's medical kit. He watched, fascinated, as Douglas began to examine Martin in every way sounding and looking like a real doctor.

"Nice deep breath, there we go Martin." Douglas was listening to Martin's back, brows drawn in concern. "I must say sir's heart is doing quite the energetic quadrille!" He pressed the stethoscope against Martin's side. "Which means you must be feeling much sicker than you're letting on."

"Got that right." Martin groaned. "I feel bloody awful."

"Well, finally you admit it." Douglas took up Martin's wrist.

"Shouldn't have come in today."

"Well thank god you did, Martin." Douglas draped the stethoscope over his shoulders and began palpitating Martin's throat. "I could never have flown Gertie all by myself."

"D'you mean it?" Martin asked. Douglas smiled.

"Not a word." He promised.

"Well, what's the verdict, Douglas?" Carolyn voiced buzzed in on the intercom.

"Our captain is severely dehydrated with a rabbit's heart rate but is expected to survive. Still a bit peaky, though. Going to need intravenous once we get to port."

"Wow Douglas, you sound just like a real doctor you do!" Arthur marveled.

"I didn't go to medical school just for the prescription rights."

"Bollocks." Martin huffed tiredly.

"Alright, yes. I did go for the prescription rights. However, I did have the good sense to retain some basic diagnostic skills along the way." He leaned forward and pressed the back of his hand to Martin's forehead. "Martin, when was your last dose of paracetamol?"

"Uhm…not sure."

"Oh! I know! Just the thing!" Arthur piped up as though he'd discovered a quarter under a seat and vanished back into the galley.

Several minutes later, there was heard some loud banging throughout the vessel.

"Arthur, can you explain all that infernal racket? What on earth are you doing?" Douglas stormed over the intercom.

The clamor stopped abruptly accompanied by the sound of a struggle, like something being pried. With an exultant yelp, Arthur emerged from the galley clutching a wet brightly colored box.

"I rummaged about in the freezer and found some old ice lollies from the Canadian promotion to give to Skip! They were all frozen solid and wouldn't budge so I beat at them with a hammer until out they popped!"

"Yes, and did anything else lose its life during your heroic rampage?"

Arthur looked guilty. "Well, um, I think I might have busted the little light thingy in the freezer."

"And what, pray tell, do you think will be accomplished by giving Martin an ice lolly?"

"Dunno. He just looks like he could use one. "

Four green, two red and one purple ice lolly later and Martin was looking a bit less like death. His eyes weren't as funny anymore and his color seemed to be evening out.

"Looks like Arthur's ice lollies have brought down Martin's temperature remarkably." Douglas smoothly taxied Gertie on the ground, pulling up to the gate.

"Thanks Douglas! Told you it would be a good idea." Arthur beamed. "How ya feeling, Skip?"

"A mite better, thank you Arthur." Martin replied, chewing on the purplish end of a wooden popsicle stick.

"Maybe they're magic!" Arthur said. "We've still got some orange ones left! Maybe they'll do something for mum's gout?"

"Or Douglas's ego?" Martin suggested.

"Because you've only now just dog-paddled your way across the shores of Styx, I will forget I ever heard that." Douglas leaned back in the chair as the engine slowed, humming to a stop. "We've arrived at last. New York City."

The sun was just beginning to set over the iconic landscape of Manhattan. Martin's eyes shone taking in the tall skyscrapers glowing hot pink in the fading light and the swiftly darkening harbor.

"Wow! Isn't that ripping, Skip? At last we're in New York!" Arthur could hardly contain his excitement. "It's where all the movies come from!"

"Yes." Martin sighed dreamily. "Yes, here we are."

"New York New York, it's a helluva town…" Douglas sang. "What say we get Martin here to a hotel room and you and I go have a banana milkshake?"

"Will we see King Kong?" Arthur asked hopefully. "I've always wanted to ask him what the world looks like from the top of that tall building!"

"God, I'm a mess." Martin took in his disheveled state, running his fingers through his messy damp hair in an attempt to tame it. He then flitted agitatedly about the cabin, searching for his tie. "What will the airline reps think when they see me? I must look like some sort of lunatic!"

"They'll say there's a pilot who gets where he's going, no matter what." Douglas replied, donning a false American accent. He took Martin's cap off his head and placed it back on Martin's head with a firm tap. "Or just welcome to New York."