Emily had insisted she wanted to be there when he officially moved in; and there she was now, helping him unpack the few boxes that contained all of his belongings – as well as figure out how to fit them amongst Douglas' stuff.
"I've never seen so many manuals about aviation before," she said as Martin tucked the last one on the shelf. "Dad says you've memorised them all."
"Just the flight manual and the operations manual, actually. Took me ages though," he added wistfully. "Seven goes to get my licence – not all that impressive, is it?"
The girl, however, merely waved the matter aside. "I for one think you're terrific. And I'll let you in to a secret – Dad thinks the same too."
The familiar pull of his self-doubt dissolved into a warm smile. "I'm not sure he does, but thanks for your faith in the likes of me."
Emily shook her head. "You're good for him. He doesn't have to pretend when you're around, and I haven't seen him this happy in ages."
Since before Helena, Martin belatedly realised she was about to say. All of his life he'd been trying so hard to live up to other people's expectations – only to fail them each and every time – and yet he still found it difficult to adjust to the notion of Douglas struggling just the same way.
That, and the fact that his overbearing First Officer could make for an unexpectedly affectionate partner as well as a terrific father for his young daughter.
"What's that?" Emily asked, snapping him out of his musings. She had picked the battered copy of The Little Prince that had been resting underneath the pile of manuals, and he felt his cheeks turn an embarrassing shade of pink.
"Childhood memory," he muttered at length. "Couldn't quite bring himself to throw it away."
"I'm glad you didn't," Emily smiled, holding the book reverently. "Dad used to read it to me as a bedside story, and I still love it."
Martin barely caught himself before he gave in to the urge of ruffling the kid's hair in a fond gesture. The truth was that he already loved her as much as he imagined he would if she were his own daughter, but he wasn't quite sure whether she would appreciate such familiarity on his part.
"My grandmother gave it to me for my sixth birthday," he told her instead. "That was the first time I realised I wanted to be a pilot when I grew up."
Emily stared at him with sudden gravity. "You think you're the aviator, don't you?"
He blinked, slightly taken aback by her question. As a boy he'd seen a lot of himself in the lonely man who'd watched his dreams crash along with his plane in the middle of the Sahara desert; he'd fought so hard to get the metaphorical plane of his dreams back in the air, regardless of the fact that there had been no friend to talk him through the near-desperation of his failures. And yet...
"You're more like the little prince," Emily filled in, as if she'd been following his train of thought. "A dreamer and a good friend. As I said, Dad's lucky to have you."
That made Douglas the rose – which was quite appropriate, given how self-centred the man could be at times – and the idea filled Martin with an odd mixture of amusement and some deeper emotion.
It was only when Emily dropped a quick peck on his cheek that he realised his vision had got somewhat blurred, even if he couldn't place the blame on any semblance of smoke this time around.
