"Coffee, please. Black, no sugar," the new Captain says, and Arthur realises he's been staring at him for longer than he's supposed to. (To be fair it's not entirely his fault, given that the man is the cutest thing Arthur has seen in a while – with his ginger curls, bluish-grey eyes, and his slender, nervous fingers like a pianist's.)
Still he puts an extra effort in making the coffees, because that's what he's good at and if Martin likes his coffee then maybe he will look Arthur in the eyes the next time he asks for some.
(Though it's also okay if he doesn't. Arthur just thinks it would feel nice, that's all.)
That's why it's not fair when he ends up colliding with the object of his musings, thus spilling the hot drinks all over the man's pristine uniform. Stupid, silly Arthur, he chides himself, all the while babbling his apologies to the flustered Captain.
"I'm so sorry, Skip," that's all he keeps saying, dabbing at the ruined shirt with his own handkerchief. He's going to buy him a new one, of course he is, but that doesn't change the fact that Martin now has to fly with a stained shirt and a mild scald to his chest – and all Arthur wishes right now is for the floor to open and swallow him up.
"It's – fine, Arthur. I'm fine," Martin mutters in an undertone, and it's obvious that he's trying to put on a brave face in spite of everything. He excuses himself and steps out of the flight deck, and Arthur feels so miserable he barely notices that Douglas is talking.
"It's not your fault, you know," Douglas says quietly, and Arthur is silently grateful for the lack of sarcasm to his tone. "He's the one who tripped over his own two feet, not the other way round."
"Yeah. Maybe," he agrees, mostly because he's too unhappy to do anything else. Perhaps he should go and sit in the galley for a while, it wouldn't do for him to cry in front of Douglas after all. (Not because he doesn't trust Douglas, but because he's supposed to be an adult, and adults don't cry – well, except when something really bad happens, but he's not sure other people would think of what just happened as a bad thing, even if it is to Arthur.)
He's so busy trying his hardest not to cry that he forgets Martin has to come through the galley to get back to the flight deck. "Arthur?" the man calls softly, and he has to blink a couple of times before looking up, just to make sure there are no tears in his eyes.
"Are you – okay?" Martin asks at length, and the best Arthur can do is giving him a sheepish smile.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Brilliant. I can make you another coffee if you like. But maybe you don't, and that's fine. It's all fine."
For a moment Martin looks as if he wants to comfort Arthur but doesn't know how to do it. "I – sorry, I've just realised – what did you call me?"
Arthur frowns, struggling to remember. "Hum – 'Skip', I suppose? That's just short for Skipper, but I can stop saying it if you don't like it."
"No, I – quite liked it, as a matter of fact," Martin admits, and there's a new warmth in his eyes, like he didn't realise he was the Skipper until Arthur actually came out and said it. "Thank you."
With that he hurries back to the flight deck, but Arthur doesn't feel like crying anymore. He makes the coffees again, and if his heart skips a beat at the tentative smile Martin offers him when he's handed his own, well, that's a story for another time.