Hello all. Here's the next installment. They seem to be getting longer. That can only mean good things, right? I hope you all enjoy it, thank you for reading and reviewing.
Chapter Three
"Post-landing checks complete, Captain."
"Thank you, Douglas."
Martin's good mood had carried through to the day before his birthday. Throughout the flight home, he had been buoyant, letting Douglas' quick remarks bounce from him with a cheeky, slightly smug grin of his own. It helped that the sun had shone the whole day through, there had barely been any turbulence, and even Carolyn had been up for their word game as the passengers had slept through the journey.
A knock at the flight-deck door was followed by the squeak and swish, and the bustle of movement that epitomised their steward.
"Hi chaps," Arthur announced himself. "Mum says feel free to take your time. The passengers have cleared themselves already."
"Eager to get home, were they?" Douglas drawled.
"Oh yeah, they were practically ran out the door."
"Are we sure they weren't escaping?" Martin muttered.
Douglas smirked, but covered the better part of a laugh behind carefully crooked fingers.
"Anyway, they didn't make a mess, so I'll be gone soon too," Arthur continued. "Tell me if my hoovering gets too loud – or if you need anything."
With that, Arthur disappeared and a comfortable hush descended over the flight-deck, disturbed only by the click and buss of the instruments. Martin and Douglas flicked the last switches, to the side and above their heads, and put GERTI to sleep. Without the hum of the engines, the silence grew more demanding.
Stealing a sideways glance at Martin, who was preoccupied touching various levers and touching the dials to ensure that they were still in one piece, Douglas mustered his nerve. There was nothing to be afraid of really. They did this sort of thing all the time. Wringing his hands together for just a second, not long enough for Martin to see, he cleared his throat.
"Martin?"
"Hmmm?"
"After the flight tomorrow, you don't have any plans, do you?" Douglas inquired, feigning nonchalance.
At that, Martin abandoned his tasks and turned to him, blinking in not-quite-suspicion.
"No… why?"
"No reason," Douglas replied with a shrug. "I just thought you might fancy going to dinner with me – somewhere nice – away from Houdini's apprentice."
Martin's surprise made way for a sympathetic grimace as he caught Douglas' eye. The faint flush in Martin's cheeks was probably incidental as he sat back and tapped his nails once along the arm of his chair.
"Yeah – yes, you're right," he stammered, and then hastily corrected himself. "I mean, yes, that would be nice – a nice break, I mean."
"Hmm."
If the look on Martin's face was any indication, then they were both recalling Arthur's vivacious attempts to entertain them with his newly acquired talents. Arthur's magic tricks were mostly harmless; there had been one incident mid-flight in which he had triggered a small bang and flash, by accident it seemed, and they had been on the verge of calling in a mayday.
"Of course it would be nice anyway – thank you," Martin said, shaking himself out of his trance.
"Good," Douglas replied. He plastered on a smile and fought the urge to grin as they set about preparing to leave.
Dinner in a foreign country, just the two of them. It wasn't quite a date but it would be nice… special. Martin didn't look worried, so that was reassuring.
The morning of Martin's birthday, the Captain was nowhere to be seen. Apparently he had helped Arthur pack their cargo into the hold – crates full of alcohol that a company in New York would be distributing to various bars across the city.
This worked in Douglas' favour as it gave him time to corner Carolyn.
"Oh, come on, Carolyn," Douglas didn't plead. "It's Martin's birthday."
"I am aware, Douglas," Carolyn replied. She was busy sorting through her appointment book, programming the answering machine, and performing a third indescribable task. Nevertheless, she was still capable of holding a conversation. "However, I am not giving you more money. In fact, why aren't you dipping into your pockets if this is really important to you? I'm assuming it is. You don't normally grovel."
"Because as our employer you are responsible for our accommodation and dining arrangements."
Pausing to fix him with a stern glare, eyebrow arched as high as it would go, Carolyn visibly restrained a sigh.
"I will pay for your meal only if you dine with Arthur and I," she said. "Otherwise, you're on your own. Martin knows that he's welcome to join us."
"No, that won't work. You're missing the point."
"Then what, pray tell, is the point?"
Douglas inhaled sharply, but didn't speak the words on the tip of his tongue. Carolyn didn't need to know why it was so important to him that he and Martin dine alone. There was a difference between time alone in the flight-deck and time alone in a public place, where there was nothing to distract them.
Sighing, he placed his hands on the desk between them and forced himself not to sag as he implored her.
"Carolyn, please," he tried. When that produced no response, Douglas rolled his eyes and changed his tactics. "How about this? You don't pay for dinner - you just give me a company card so that it looks like you're paying. Everybody wins."
Carolyn's eyebrows rose to heights that Douglas hadn't thought possible.
"I thought you were explaining the point of all this."
"The point is that Martin can't know that I'm spending so much money on a single meal," Douglas explained through gritted teeth. It was embarrassing, for one thing – and suspicious; Martin wasn't as much of an imbecile as he sometimes appeared and was likely to realise that the posh restaurant they were visiting had cost a small fortune. Carolyn didn't need to know that either, so he quickly continued before her expression could turn shrewd. "You know what he's like. He's proud and stubborn. He'll insist that he pays half the bill and that's not fair on his birthday."
"Oh, fine," Carolyn huffed. Her eyes didn't leave Douglas' face, but he seemed to have expended what little patience she possessed so early in the morning. "I will think about it."
"You are a wise and magnanimous leader-"
"Douglas, if you do not go and do your job, and leave me to do mine, I will change my mind."
"Understood," Douglas grinned, smirking as he rocked upright and slid his hands into his pockets. The tilt of his hat matched the cock of his head as he swaggered to the door, eager not to rile her further. "I suppose I could assist my colleagues. See you in a bit."
With that, he sauntered from the office. As soon as he was out of sight, he increased his pace, heading outdoors towards the plane.
Despite his nerves, a familiar fluttering that was reminiscent of the days of his youth spent mooning over various girls and handsome lads whose blazers fit particularly well, and the anticipation of long-lost romantic entanglement, Douglas was confident. He was looking forward to dinner tonight. He had gone so far as to pack his smartest shirt into his flight-bag.
If he was lucky, Martin would be inspired and decide that he couldn't go another moment without falling madly for his First Officer.
Douglas found his esteemed colleagues in the hold, standing over a stack of waist-high crates. To his dismay, Martin was red-faced, lines pinched around his eyes as he pouted, and completely absorbed in the handcuffs that were swinging from Arthur's little finger. Arthur, for his part, was cheerful, putting both men on completely different pages, both of which were equally wrong.
"Yes, Arthur, I understand that, I-I really do, but there's a trick to it," Martin was insisting. He shot Douglas a sideways glance as the other man strode to his side, but was only distracted for a second. "Tell him, Douglas. Magicians practice. They don't just slap on some cuffs and then find a way out of them."
"Well, let's be fair, Martin," Douglas drawled. "Arthur has had a lot of practice."
"Yeah, I have," Arthur agreed. He reached out to take Martin's hand, adjusting his grip on the cuffs as he did so. "Here, I'll show you."
"W-wait, hold on – why are you putting them on me?" Martin squawked. He didn't snatch his hand away quickly enough, and the wrist that had been brushing Douglas' was bound in a ring of shining metal.
"Because all the tutorials I watched are on other people. I don't know how to do it on myself," Arthur explained. He smiled in response to Douglas' scoff and flapped his hands a little, coming to stand directly in front of the pilots. "Here, Skip. I'll show you. It's easy really, once you know what to do."
With that, Arthur reached down to cuff Martin's other hand.
What Arthur actually did was snap the empty cuff around Douglas' wrist.
As the cold metal touched his skin, Douglas jerked and let out an embarrassing noise at the back of his throat. The only saving grace was that Arthur faffed when he realised his mistake, and Martin was tugged to the side as Douglas' recoiled. His mistake was lost amongst the racket that the three of them created.
"Arthur, that's my hand-"
"I know, I know – sorry. I'll get that off, sorry. I can start again-"
"No, Arthur, don't start again! Douglas, stop pulling! I didn't want it on in the first place-"
"Yep, got it, hold on-"
"I'm not the one who's pulling, Martin-"
As if put under a spell, the three of them fell silent at once.
Martin was grumbling, grimacing as he tried to fold his arms whilst still attached to his co-pilot. Douglas was turning his arm one way and then the other in an attempt to find a flaw in the handcuffs as the foot-long chain clinked where it stretched between them.
Arthur, for his part, was searching through his voluminous pockets and dumping out the contents onto the lid of the nearest crate. Every now and then a slim item slipped through the cracks.
"Hold on, chaps, they're here somewhere," Arthur muttered.
"I hope you mean the keys," Martin snapped.
"Oh, calm down, Captain," Douglas said. "It's not as if we'll be joined forever. Even Arthur hasn't got that sort of power."
He tried to place his hand on Martin's arm in a placatory gesture, but the handcuffs constricted his movements. All that he received in return were a withering glare and another sharp tug that jarred his wrist.
"Aha!"
Beaming, Arthur threw up his hand to hold aloft a miniscule pair of keys. They glinted in the light and jangled beautifully. At the sight of them, Martin let out a sigh of sheer relief and Douglas had to admit he was relieved.
His relief lasted less than a second.
Before Arthur could even finish his triumphant exclamation, the keys slipped from his fingers. They dropped down onto the top of the crate… and then slipped through a crack, disappearing into the dark void within.
"No!"
Arthur scrambled for the keys in the same second that Martin did – both of them pulled at the top of the crate, Martin actually clawing at the wood. He moved so quickly that Douglas was yanked after him. Douglas tripped Martin's side, knocking them both off balance.
In spite of his frustration, Douglas knew that there was no hope. The crates would need prying open with a crowbar.
Before he could suggest that Arthur go and find a member of the ground's crew, the light from outside was cut off. Carolyn appeared at the open hatch.
"What are you still doing – oh, god, I can't leave you alone for twenty minutes," Carolyn exclaimed, taking stock of the situation in a flash. She strode towards them, flapping her hands to encourage them to move. "We're supposed to be leaving, not faffing around in here. Go! Start the plane!"
"Carolyn, we are slightly tied up right now," Douglas remarked, biting his tongue at the last moment. Smooth candour was difficult to maintain whilst Martin was yanking at his wrist, refusing to stay still as he shoved at the cuff around his wrist.
"Then get untied."
"We can't," Martin snapped. Under Carolyn's sharp gaze, he had the decency to look abashed, dragging his lip between his teeth, but he didn't stop struggling. "Arthur dropped the keys in the crate. We need to get the lid off and-"
"We don't have time for that," Carolyn interrupted. "Arthur, do you have another set of keys."
"No… sorry," Arthur replied, slowly burying his hands in his pockets. His expression brightened. "There is a trick though. I just can't remember what it is right now. Give me time-"
"We don't have time," Carolyn sighed. She touched her fingers to the bridge of her nose and exhaled slowly. Then she looked from Martin to Douglas and threw her hands into the air. "You'll just have to fly like this. We'll get you out of those when we land."
The cold weight of dread dropped like a stone into the amusement that had bubbled up in Douglas' stomach.
"We can't fly like this," Martin exclaimed. He raised his arm for emphasis, dragging Douglas with him as he waggled his wrist. He didn't seem to notice the inconvenience. "Not only is that completely unsafe, and unprofessional, if the CAA-"
"Martin, if you don't fly like that, we lose thousands of pounds."
"Carolyn-"
"Come on, Captain. What's the harm?" Douglas interrupted, nudging his elbow into Martin's ribs. He was treated to a furious, red-faced glare. It was just short of charming. Again, Martin tried to fold his arms and again Douglas was jerked out of place, bumping against the other man. It was rather funny actually, now that he thought about it. "It's not as though we don't sit next to each other anyway."
"This is different," Martin hissed.
"You can get to grips with it on the flight-deck, while you put us in the air," Carolyn said. With that, she headed back towards the outside, clicking her fingers as she went. "Arthur, come. Pilots – get on the plane!"
"Brilliant – just great," Martin muttered, just softly enough that Carolyn wouldn't hear. "There is literally no way that this could go well."
"Oh, now, we don't know that," Douglas drawled. He turned to his friend and offered a daring smile. Inspiration struck him and his smile was bolstered by a familiar rush of smug pride, which usually came before a scheme or a well-timed jab. "Oh, I forgot. Happy Birthday, Captain."
The look on Martin's face as he physically dragged Douglas from the hold was worth the sting around his wrist. The Captain was delightful when he was on the right side of huffy. His mutterings were colourful enough that if nothing else, they would have something to laugh about over dinner.
