Disclaimer: I do not own Cabin Pressure and am not making any profit by writing about it.

Warning: Spoilers for the whole series.

Thanks to Pholo for the review, and to the rest of you for reading!

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Cabin Pressure:

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God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen, Part 2

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Arthur hung up and disappointedly looked at his phone, willing Martin to ring back. Maybe he was out doing some last-minute shopping, or he was on his way to his family. They hadn´t talked about their plans for Christmas, it somehow hadn´t come up.

Chewing on his lip, Arthur searched through his directory under 'D'- there really were only two entries, Dirk the groundsman and Douglas Richardson, whom Arthur called now. Douglas picked up after the second ring: "Arthur! I believe we've already exchanged Season´s Greetings, so all that´s left to say is ´hello´."

"Hello, Douglas, "Arthur said, and the unusual tenseness in his voice had Douglas listen up: "What´s wrong?"

"Maybe there isn´t anything wrong," Arthur began, "though it could well be. That depends, really. I was just wondering if you knew what Martin´s doing this Christmas."

"No, I don´t. In fact, we haven´t talked much about Christmas at all, which admittedly seems strange in hindsight."

"Yeah, well- I tried to call Martin on his phone but he doesn´t pick it up. And he always picks up, even when he´s busy with something."

"That´s indeed unusual," Douglas said, pensively. Being the stickler that he was, Martin made a point of taking his phone everywhere, partially because he was afraid he might lose out on a job opportunity.

"You could drive by his house," Douglas suggested after a moment of silence, "see if his van´s there."

"Brilliant!" Arthur considerably perked up at this, "will do! Thank you, Douglas!"

"Anytime. Oh, and Arthur- keep me posted, will you?"

They rang off. Douglas put his phone down, frowning. Maybe Martin had for once forgotten to charge the batteries. Or he had accidentally left the phone at home when he had gone to visit his family. There was very likely going to be a simple explanation.

No, a small but nagging voice in his head said, you know Martin. He doesn´t forget things like that. And last you heard, he wasn´t too keen on meeting his family at all.

-But it´s Christmas.

-So?

Douglas thought about the last flight back from Taiwan. Martin had been pale and quiet, but Douglas had put it down to exhaustion and the usual van-related worries. Nothing out of the ordinary. Now that he looked at it however, Douglas felt vaguely ashamed of himself. He had begun to take Martin´s problems as normal, which in all fairness they were, sort of, because they weren´t going to change soon.

Martin still wasn´t paid by Carolyn and still ran 'Icarus Removals' with the same decrepit old van he had inherited from his father. Unless he won the lottery one day or MJN had an unexpected windfall, Martin would have to deal with being rather poor and mostly unpaid.

But how could Douglas take it for commonplace, he now asked himself. He had come to consider Martin his friend, despite his pompousness; he knew that it was part of what kept the man going. If he was living on low standards, he at least needed to hold his pride as high as he could.

The question remained how Douglas could watch his friend struggle like that, taking it for granted that nothing was going to change anyway?

He looked at his phone, hoping that Arthur was going to ring again, telling him that everything was all right.

When Arthur did ring him ten minutes later, it didn´t exactly set his mind at ease: "The van´s here," Arthur said, "I rang the doorbell, but no one answered."

"Tell you what," Douglas said, "I´ll try to ring Martin in an hour. If he doesn´t answer, I´ll drive by his house."

"Oh Douglas, would you really do that?"

"Of course. I don´t have any plans for today anyway. My daughter´s gotten sick, so I don´t get to spend Christmas with her after all."

"I´m sorry," Arthur said. "You must be very disappointed."

"A little, yes." He wouldn´t even admit to himself just how much. "So, Arthur- why did you try to call Martin in the first place?"

"Oh, I was doing the shopping the other day and there was a woman who was collecting money for the RSPCA, and she had a poster of a sad-looking dog. And I walked 'round all day wondering who the dog was reminding me of. You know, of course I thought of Snoopadoop first because she is a dog as well, but she looks nothing like the dog on the picture. He was more of a Labrador with big ears and smooth fur, but Snoopadog- well, you know what she looks like. And then I realized that the dog reminded me of Martin."

"Why?"

"Because he looked just as sad lately, so I tried to call him. To cheer him up, you know."

The worst part of this was that Douglas knew exactly what his friend meant. "You know what, Arthur," he said after another moment of stunned silence, "I´ll come by. Stay where you are, I´ll be there in ten minutes."

The house seemed abandoned when they approached the front door, and no one responded to the doorbell. Douglas looked at the van, then turned back to Arthur: "Do you know how to open a door with a credit card?"

"No!"

"Too bad, neither do I."

Arthur seemed torn between excitement and fear: "Douglas, we can´t just break in."

"But maybe Martin´s injured."

"Right..."

They went around the house and tried their luck with the back door, to no avail.

"We can either phone the janitor, who will not thank us to be called out on Christmas Eve, or we can break this small glass panel to get in. Look at the house, it will hardly make a difference." Douglas looked at Arthur, who was chewing on his lip again.

After a few minutes of weighing the pros and cons (Arthur), they finally broke the glass (Douglas). The house was cold and silent, and Douglas didn´t really expect to find anyone in there, but he was glad to be occupied, to distract himself from thinking about his daughter too much.

It was hard to believe that Martin really lived here; the whole house was run-down, and though it was relatively clean and not too messy, it clearly wasn´t made for permanent residence. Three years, fine, but nine? How did he stand it?

Slowly, they climbed the steep stairs up to Martin´s attic room. Arthur knocked before opening the door, which wasn´t locked. Up there the air seemed even colder, the roof probably wasn´t insulated well.

The room was as dingy as the rest of the house, if meticulously tidy. There were a shelf full of books and a small table, but as soon as Douglas´ gaze fell on the bed, he momentarily forgot about them. Someone was lying in said bed, and upon closer inspection, it sure enough turned out to be Martin.

Martin had been asleep; when he came to, he wished he hadn´t, for he felt as though someone had used him as a punching ball. His whole body was aching, but his head was the worst. There was an unpleasant ringing in his ears, his nose was clogged and his face hurt. He was still feeling uncomfortably hot and had sweated a lot; his shirt and pyjama pants clung to his body. He shivered in the cold air where he wasn´t covered by his blanket.

He didn´t know what had woken him; maybe the cough which had developed during the night. He had woken up a few times to drink a bit of water, and each time had been unable to find a remotely comfortable sleeping position afterwards; his body had never felt so alien before.

He jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and for a moment he was disoriented, wondering where he was, but then he recognized his First Officer.

"Douglas," he croaked, prompting another cough. "H-how- what´re you-"

"Better not speak," Douglas said, obviously worried. "Martin, for how long have you been this sick?"

"Don´t know... which day´s it?" His eyes were bright with fever, and he was ghastly pale. He flinched when Douglas pressed the back of his hand against Martin´s temple, but the other man´s skin was wonderfully cool, bringing a little relief.

"You´re burning up," Douglas murmured, then, realizing he had yet to answer Martin´s questions, made an effort to pull himself together.

Arthur was quicker than him, however: "It´s Christmas Eve," he said, but apart from that, he was uncharacteristically quiet: all the cheer had gone from him as he beheld his ill friend.

"Yesterday, I think..." Martin coughed, but before Douglas or Arthur could say anything else, their friend´s already ashen face turned rather green, and it seemed that the coughing all of a sudden was turning into retching.

Douglas shook his head in concern, while looking around for anything which might suffice as a bucket: Martin really didn´t do anything by half.

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To Be Continued

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