Because I love torturing my boys. Cabin Pressure is not mine, as it belongs to the creative genius of John Finnemore. Enjoy the fic and don't forget to review!
The Lonely Sky Over Fitton
It's more than a question. It's more than a directive. It's a plea, a desperate one, and one Martin knows he must make.
"Arthur, step away from the ledge."
For his part, Arthur obeys, taking two steps backwards before pausing, his eyes focused on nothing besides the dreary Fitton skyline, the dark roofs of identical houses, the intentionally cheerful bricks. The sky is a drab grey, the clouds looming over the town, threatening to burst. There is a sense of quiet in the air. Even the birds have stopped singing.
"Arthur," Martin says again, and though the young man doesn't turn around, he responds, his voice despondent.
"Why should I?"
Martin blinks. "Why should you what?"
"Step away from the ledge."
"Oh." Martin tries to gather his thoughts. He never really was very good at that. To be honest, Martin was never really good at anything. In the distance, thunder rumbles, low and ominous. "Um… well, it depends what you were planning on doing. I mean, if you were just looking, it's very dangerous, and, um…"
"I was planning on jumping."
Martin feels like a piece of lead has been dropped in his stomach. It rolls around in there, making him feel progressively sicker, until he places a steadying hand on Arthur's shoulder, almost more for his own benefit than his friend's.
"Oh?" he asks, his voice a pitch higher than usual. "Why would you do that?"
Arthur doesn't look at him, doesn't inject the tiniest bit of enthusiasm in his usually exuberant voice. "Why not? I'm an idiot; Mum's always said so. I could never get a proper job, and I can't do anything right. I'll just depend on her until she can't stand me anymore, and then what? People always get tired of me. They don't want me around. They say I talk about foolish things, and no one wants to hear it." He glances upwards, towards the roiling clouds. "It'd be easier to save everyone the trouble of dealing with me."
And now Martin is in full-out panic mode. Arthur's justifications sound familiar, too horribly familiar. He walks in front of Arthur, grips his shoulders firmly, and makes him sit down, right there on the grungy rooftop. "Arthur, listen," he says, and for once in his life, his voice is firm and authoritative. "You are one of the best people I have ever met. You are different from other people, but that's okay! No one who loves you will ever get tired of you or want you gone, and if you've met other who have, they clearly didn't deserve to even know you. And MJN would be much, much worse off without our steward! Sometimes things don't work out for you, but sometimes things don't work out for everyone! It happens! It's part of being human! But that certainly doesn't mean that you should end your life because of it! You're brilliant, Arthur. And you're funny and cheery and you're my friend, Arthur. There are people who need you. Me. Douglas. Your mum. We need you. We love you."
Martin is aware he's rambling, but somewhere between the hysteria and the direct thought-to-mouth translation, there's a sense of dawning realization upon him.
Arthur nods and stands, a more characteristic smile working its way onto his face. "Of course, Skip. You're right." He extends a hand to Martin, who takes it, allowing Arthur to haul him up. "But Skip?" Arthur continues, giving Martin a serious sidelong glance. "Remember all that next time you think about jumping."
The thunder rumbles one last time and the storm begins to move in the opposite direction. The sky over Fitton slowly begins to clear as Arthur takes Martin's hand and leads him down the fire escape and off the lonely rooftop. And Martin gets the distinct sense that it wasn't Arthur he was talking out of stepping off that ledge.
