"Coffee chaps!" Arthur says cheerfully as he enters the cockpit. "One with everything in it for you Douglas—"

"Thank you," Douglas replies and takes a few sips.

"—And one with nothing in it for you Skip!"

"Thank you, Arthur." Martin smiles graciously, takes the warm ceramic mug and puts it aside.

"Ahh," Arthur exhales. "Isn't it nice that we have Christmas off this year?"

"That's only because," Douglas says with an edge to his voice. "we circled the date with a red permanent marker, drew arrows pointing to the makers of the wall chart's inscription indicating that it was in fact the baby Jesus' birthday and left a post-it gently reminding her that if she did accidentally book us a flight on Christmas we'd accidentally fly into a mountain."

"Yeah," Arthur responds dreamily as if he's just taken a bite of a Toblerone. "Too bad we didn't get Christmas Eve off. Or Christmas Eve Eve. Or Christmas Eve Eve Eve. Or Christmas Eve—"

"Shut up, Arthur." Douglas and Martin say simultaneously.

Arthur takes this in stride having been told this so many times throughout his life that he's lost count. He sits in the jump seat and takes off his steward hat to fiddle with it. "So what are you doing for Christmas Douglas?"

"Oh, I don't know. Sleep in a bit. Ring my daughter and wish her a merry one. Ask her if she likes all her presents. Go out and ingest a sushi for dinner."

Martin raises an eyebrow. "Isn't that basically what you wanted to do last year before we took that businessman to Hawaii and you ended up eating Santa burgers instead?"

"Yes it was, wasn't it?" Douglas sounds a bit smug. "And what about you Arthur? Are you and Carolyn having a traditional English Christmas? Crackers, stockings, pudding, the Queen's message and dare I say it? Father Christmas coming down the chimney to deliver your presents while you sleep in your bed?"

Arthur fidgets and plays with his hat. "Actually chaps… no."

Douglas and Martin share a quick glance before the first officer responses. "No?"

"Yes, I mean no." Arthur stumbles over his words. "The house is all decorated but mum's not going to be home this year."

"Prey tell where will the ice queen be spending Christmas this year?"

"Shetoldmenottotellyou!" He rushes his words together.

"Excuse me, Arthur?" Douglas cups his ear. "Didn't quite catch that."

Arthur exhales deeply and speaks slowly. "Mum told me not to tell you guys where she was going this Christmas."

"Why?" Martin inquires. "Why would Carolyn not want us to know what she's doing in her free time?"

"Is it because of who she's spending it with, Arthur?" Douglas asks, his voice hardening.

"I—" Arthur fumbles. "I— I—I-!"

Douglas growls, "Is Carolyn going to be with a certain Scottish airline God this holiday season?"

Arthur clasps his hands over his mouth. "I didn't tell you!" he says, his words muffled.

"Well good for Carolyn!" Douglas snarls. "I suppose that's why she couldn't make it for our run to Beijing? Her story being that she was deathly ill?"

"Um, yeah."

"Terrific."

They lapse into companionable silence as they make their way over Russia. The sky is a light blue, Arthur's favorite kind of blue. He wishes he could see the snow from here or catch a glimpse of some mountains or even some polar bears. He wonders if there were any polar bears in Russia. He makes a mental note to look it up on the internet when they land. Arthur sees that Douglas is holding back his fury, his face is strained. He sips on his coffee and slams it down, spilling some of the liquid over the tray each time with no apologies. Martin, on the other hand, looks relaxed although perhaps a bit peaked. It could be something he ate in Beijing. He did say before they left that he didn't like Chinese food all that much and he did order some rather odd smelling stuff at that restaurant last night. Arthur glances over to Martin's coffee and stares…

Martin breaks the silence. "Isn't anyone going to ask me what I'm doing for Christmas?"

"No," Douglas says firmly.

"Hey Skip, you haven't touched your coffee."

Martin glances between his full cup and the sky ahead. He coughs, "Um, yes. Um, I haven't, have I?"

"But you love coffee," Arthur pushes. "Is something wrong? Do you not like your coffee? I could go make you another. Only it might taste a bit rubbish because I think we're out of beans and I'll have to reuse the ones from before—"

"Arthur, please," Martin sighs. He rubs the bridge of his nose. "Yes, yes. Alright, I admit I haven't felt quite right since last night. But I'm fine. I'm fine. Really. There's no need to worry. Oi, hey!" Martin protests as Arthur feels his forehead.

"Oh Skip! You're burning up!" Arthur cries. He bites his lip and jumps from foot to foot. Suddenly, he nods to himself, bends down and starts to unbuckle Martin from his seat. "Douglas, you have control." Arthur's voice is strangely authoritative.

"Arthur, what are you doing!?" Martin protests, slapping away Arthur's hands.

"Stop it Skip, it's for your own good! You're not well!"

"If Sir is not well," Douglas purrs. "Then Sir is not fit to fly an aeroplane. Sir would be an irresponsible captain to not follow Arthur's advice." He smiles like a cat who's just licked the bowl clean of cream. "I have control."

Arthur pulls Martin out of his seat, out to the galley and into the first row of passenger seats.

"Now, I'm going to get more comfortable alright? In the meantime, I'm going to pop in this DVD that I got from a friend. Now, I know it's not Christmas-y, Skip. And has nothing to do with aeroplanes. But it is Poirot."

Martin lifts an eyebrow. "Poirot? As in Agatha Christie? You like Poirot?"

"Oh yes please! I've even read all the books and everything!" Arthur grins. "Poirot solves crimes, wears suits all the time, speaks French and has a funny little mustache! What's not to love? Besides," Arthur puts his hands on his hips. "Of course I know Agatha Christie. Remember when you were Miss. Marple, Skip?"

Martin rolls his eyes and waves him off. "Yes, yes. Don't remind me."

"Oh why? You were brilliant, Skip! You didn't check if the murderer—"

"There wasn't a murder!" Martin shrieks.

"Oh yeah," he giggles. "But you were still brilliant. You're always brilliant." Arthur gives him a big grin. He presses play on the DVD player and walks away as the first episode of Poirot starts.

Martin situates himself to get comfortable. He's takes his hat off, toes off his shoes and pulls his knees against his chest. He hasn't watched Poirot in years so he is intrigued by the storyline.

"Enjoying the show, Skip?" Arthur's voice calls from the galley before he emerges. "It's one of my favorites. Have they found the old lady in the cottage yet and that she was scammed?"

"Oh Arthur!" Martin moans. "I didn't know—" His eyes widen as he gets a full view of the steward. "A—Arthur? A—Are those Paddington Bear pajamas?"

Arthur grins broadly as he plays with the fabric of the loose pajama bottoms. "Yep! Aren't they brilliant?"

Martin crinkles his nose. "I didn't even know they made PB pjs in adult sizes…"

"You would think so, wouldn't you?" Arthur laughs. "Mum got me these last Christmas. I could get you a pair if you'd like?"

Martin smiles appreciatively. "No, thank you, Arthur."

"Oh!" the steward exclaims, pulling out a thick blanket from one of the overhead compartments. "Almost forgot! Blanket! We can get nice and cozy!"

"W—W- We?" Martin stumbles over his words and blushes furiously, his face turning a horrible shade of red, matching his ginger hair.

"Well yeah," Arthur's voice never wavers. "You don't expect me to let you watch Poirot by yourself do you? Poirot's rubbish to watch by yourself. How else are you to work out who the murderer is?"

Martin's flush deepens if that was possible; the heat of his cheeks is unbearable. "I—I—I've only watched it by myself before."

"That's terrible, Skip!" Arthur's voice was mournful. "We're going to fix that right now!" He settles down beside the pilot and lays the blanket over the two of them. "Comfortable, Skip? Need anything?"

"Um," the proximity of Arthur's body next to his own makes Martin sweat more and his throat constrict. "Yes, um, Sh- shall I have some w—water, p—please?"

"Right-o!" Arthur pulls out a bottle of own brand water from under the seat and hands it to Martin. "I was saving this for later, in case you were wondering why I magically have water under my seat. You never know when it could come in handy in an emergency, right?"

Martin thinks to himself that he must not feel all that well since Arthur is beginning to make a lot of sense.

"Oh, I like this one!" Arthur exclaims. "Isn't this the one with the pie factory and the old man—"

"Arthur!"

"Oh! Sorry!

They fall into a comfortable silence while watching Poirot, breaking it with the occasional conjecture or question. Martin lets his head rest on Arthur's shoulder, in turn Arthur strokes his ginger curls absent-mindedly, but it's soothing. Martin thinks that he doesn't mind being this close to Arthur, because he's always wanted to be.

"I thought the boy kidnapped himself." Arthur says as the credits begin to roll for the third episode.

Martin rolls his eyes. "You always think it's the wrong person. Last episode you thought it was Inspector Japp."

"Yeah, well," Arthur splutters. "I think he looks very subpicious."

Martin smiles to himself. "Do you mean suspicious, Arthur?"

"No, not at all."

They giggle uncontrollably, Arthur puts his hand over Martin's to calm him down. Once he realizes what he's done he blushes fiercely, and tries to pull his hand away, but Martin stops him.

"No," Martin teases, rubbing his fingers against the back of Arthur's hand. "I like this. I like you—"

Arthur wastes no time in covering Martin's mouth with his own. He deepens the kiss after Martin begins to moan. He slips his arms around the captain's neck drawing him in closer. After they part, Arthur nuzzles Martin's neck, and twirls his ginger curls with his fingers. Martin is breathing heavily as if he just ran a marathon.

"Arthur…"

He looks up at his captain, Martin's eyes are glazed over, face flushed. He looks so beautiful.

Bing Bong.

Douglas' rich voice comes over the speakers, "Hello ladies and gentlemen, this is First Officer Douglas Richardson speaking. Please check The Clocks because we will be arriving at the 4.50 from Paddington in just a few minutes. Please make sure all your Cards on the Table are in the upright position as we make our descent. Your Five Little Pigs may have shifted during flight so please be aware when opening the overhead compartments. If you need to transfer to the Orient Express after today's flight please note that Roger Ackroyd may be on board. Thank you for being a Dumb Witness today with us on MJN Air and I hope to see you After the Funeral."

"Wow! That was amazing! Wasn't that amazing, Skip? That was um… seven Poirots and one Miss. Marple! Wow!"

Martin is skeptical. "How did he know?"

"Know what Skip?"

"Did he know that we are watching Poirot?"

"Well, yeah. He would, wouldn't he? That's Douglas' DVD."

Martin's eyes bulge. "What? I—I thought—"

"Oh no," Arthur cheerfully explains. "You see my Poirot DVD got ruined ages ago. You see I was practicing one-handed juggling with eggs and the eggs dropped all over one of the DVDs. So I decided to give it a nice soapy bath because I read on the internet to wipe a DVD down with dish soap if it skips or something. But I thought the other DVDs would be lonely if only one of them got a bath so…"

Martin laughs and kisses Arthur's cheek. "It's fine." And he meant it.

"Are you feeling better, Skip? You seem more… happy."

"Physically I feel awful," Martin admits. "But other than that, I've never felt better." He grips Arthur's hand and holds it tight.

"Perfect! Well not perfect because you're sick and that's not nice at all. But yay, you can stay with me for Christmas now. I can take care of you and make you all better, don't you see? I can even give you my special remedy! It's a hot toddy with cinnamon and sprinkles! Hmm!"

Martin knew better than to refuse.