Captain Martin Crieff was the last person Douglas was expecting to show up at his door that evening, but his customary teasing quip died on his lips as soon as he caught a glimpse of the forlorn look on his friend's face.

Martin turned a blank stare around the living room before slumping onto the sofa, his knees huddled to his chest. Silence stretched between them until Douglas sat down beside him and nudged him gently. "Whatever it is, I promise I won't make fun of you."

The young captain stared at him for a silent moment, then handed over a crumpled sheet of paper. Douglas unfolded it, smoothing its edges as he started to read.

My dearest Martin,

I know I have no right to intrude into your life, though I hope you'll excuse a dying woman for indulging in one last whim.

I've been watching you from afar for the past thirty-six years, and I just wanted to let you know how proud I am of what you've become. I may have been young and foolish when it all happened, but don't think for one second I regret bringing you into this world.

Under different circumstances I would have been overjoyed to be able to call you my son. As it was, adoption was the better option for everyone involved – Mr and Mrs Crieff gave you a warm home to call your own, something I will always be grateful for.

This is goodbye, darling. Keep fighting for your dreams, they're always worth it.

Love,

Gladys Tyler

He blinked a couple of times before handing back the letter. "I take it that you confronted your mother about this."

"I did," Martin confirmed hollowly. "She couldn't deny any of it. Apparently this woman made them promise not to tell me the truth, ever."

"Being faced with one's own mortality does change people's perspectives sometimes."

"What am I supposed to do about it?" his friend started helplessly. "This is so sudden, and I just can't – I don't even know her, Douglas."

You don't, but I may, he thought but didn't say. The name rang a faint bell with him, though surely that wasn't the time or place to dwell on it.

"Do whatever feels right to you. Judging from her letter, I assume that all she really wanted was to get the chance to say goodbye. If you're up to go and see her, do it; otherwise, give yourself the time to adjust to the notion and get on with your life."

Martin nodded wearily, a weak smile lighting up his features for a moment. "Mind if I stay here tonight?"

"Not at all. Make yourself at home, mon capitaine."

Douglas couldn't help but notice how young his friend looked in his sleep; and vulnerable, so vulnerable it caused an odd lurch somewhere in his chest.

He shook his head as he tiptoed out of the room. There was a call he had to make, an old friend from university that could hopefully provide him with some much needed answers.

As for the rest, he would think about it tomorrow.

xxx

A couple of days later he was standing at the bedside of Ms Tyler, a sinking feeling clutching at his stomach as soon as the woman opened her eyes and stared back at him.

"Douglas. It's been a while, isn't it? You look good."

"I wish I could return the compliment," he replied somewhat wistfully. Gone was the magnificent head of ginger curls that had made a younger Douglas Richardson fall for his fellow medical student, and yet her quicksilver eyes were just the same – eyes that bore a striking resemblance to a certain airline captain's.

"I guess you're not here for old times' sake, are you?"

"I'm afraid not. Is there anything you ought to tell me, by any chance?"

She let out a soft sigh. "I hoped that Martin wouldn't choose you of all people as his confidant."

"Why wouldn't he? He's my captain, Gladys – and my friend, for goodness' sake. Don't you think I had the right to know?"

"I'm sorry," she murmured wearily, her eyes fluttering shut out of grief and exhaustion.

Douglas stormed out of the hospital and into his Lexus, only stopping on his way home in order to purchase an item he'd previously vowed not to ever touch again.

Too bad that he couldn't care less at this moment in time.

xxx

It was Martin who found him slumped over the kitchen table, his friend's concerned voice cutting through the haze that currently shrouded his brain.

"Douglas, can you hear me? I'm taking you to the hospital."

"I'm fine," he slurred, his hand shaking painfully as he tried to reached for the half-empty glass.

Martin promptly snatched it out of his reach, his hand resting firmly on his shoulder. "You've had more than enough, especially for someone who hasn't drunk for a decade."

"Needed it," he muttered bitterly; apparently the alcohol had done nothing to chase away the aching feeling in his chest.

"Oh, you clot," Martin exclaimed, and all of a sudden he found himself in the fiery grip of two strong arms. "Gladys told me everything last night, before she passed away."

Douglas stiffened in something dangerously close to panic, but the other simply refused to let him go.

"I'm sorry, Martin," he sobbed in spite of himself. "I'm so sorry, I had no idea…"

"Shush, we'll talk when you've sobered up."

And he did shut up, allowing his friend – his son – to guide him to his bedroom where he collapsed onto the bed. The last thing his mind registered was a gentle hand running through his hair, the soothing touch lulling him to a peaceful sleep.