The next week was a terribly trying one for everyone in the team all around, heated tempers straining against leashes that were just that bit close to snapping. Martin carefully made himself as unobtrusive as possible, his chair pushed up next to the wall and keeping just a little bit of his side of the desk to himself while the team pored over data and documents and files, terse conversation going back and forth between them. Martin watched them, even as he nervously made more of his little paper creations – origami, as the book said. Someone had left a rather tattered copy of An Introduction to Basic Origami, and he had taken to it almost immediately to fill up his time when he wasn't filing this or that. Mostly basic work that wasn't necessary, but nice to have something to do with his hands.

No one paid him any attention, not even Douglas, who looked terribly serious with spectacles perched on his nose, pencil in hand and sheet and sheets of calculations and writings before him. Martin did his contributions by often making them mugs of coffee, and refilling them when they ran out, before sitting down once more in his chair, his little paper planes and animals keeping him company. There were once or twice when he tried to offer his own views, but the scathing glare that Douglas sent his way shut him up quickly enough, cringing against the wall and smiling apologetically. As a test pilot, they would gladly thank him to keep his mouth shut, since he was only hired to fly the plane and not to analyze it – that was their job, and for him not to add more trouble to what they already have, thank you very much.

Opinions were exchanged, and there were long nights spent working when it should have been spent resting, as Martin realized when he sleepily went into Douglas' office one night when he found himself wide awake and unable to sleep to find the entire team still up, and went to make them coffee again. One paper aeroplane slowly became two, and two became ten, and soon there was a good pile of them on his small bit of desk, using whatever scrap paper that he could get his hands on. He soon took to making his own variations, keeping a shy eye on the team who worked quietly and efficiently with Douglas at the head of it.

The man was efficient, and entirely focused, not allowing himself any distractions. His usual sarcasm and wit were absent when there was urgency for time, and it allowed Martin to quietly admire him from a distance, hiding behind his papers and files. Sometimes, Douglas would suddenly stand and leave the office without a word, returning hours later and settling down to look at the data once again, and no one would say a word. Martin was sure that it was something that would blow over soon, either way. They had a good team, and they always got rid and solved any problems and difficulties that came their way, as a team, and he tried his best not to think of how little of his involvement there is.

Eventually, it eased off, the sheets of papers appearing to be lesser and lesser, filed away carefully by Martin, the mood slowly easing up back into Martin's comfort zone, eventually leaving only the occasional meeting together and Douglas alone in his office nursing a mug of strong black coffee. Martin slowly moved his little paper animals and various paper plane sculptures that he had lovingly named after the models of planes that he had successfully flown back to his half of the desk, and peered carefully at Douglas to see if he minded, noticing the dark shadows beneath the man's eyes, and the weary expression and lines at the corners of his eyes, and the tired way that he sat slumped in his chair even as his eyes continuously scanned the screens before him in a fierce concentration.

"Everything alright?" the question was out of his mouth before he had even realized, and Martin pulled back immediately, smiling hesitantly at Douglas when the man's gaze slid over to him.

"Thought you had gathered too much cobwebs in the corner and had gone mute," Douglas said, after a while, returning his attentions to the screen. "Everything is fine, Captain. Fine as fine can be. You will be able to fly her soon, so you won't be a useless Captain, don't worry."

Martin flinched, and bit into his lip, before pulling on a smile that he didn't feel. "That's… right. Okay." He frowned just slightly as Douglas reached for his coffee again, a mug that he had refilled three times today so far. "Why don't you take a break? If she's fine, I mean, of course she's fine what am I saying… " Martin broke off, scratching at the back of his neck awkwardly. "You look tired, I mean. Maybe you should cut down on the coffee… take a break?" He finally suggested into the suddenly heavy silence, setting down his latest paper sculpture of the current prototype paper down next to Douglas' elbow. "She will still fly, I know you will let her fly. You can still take a break."

The silence stretched, and snapped as Douglas shoved his chair backwards, getting to his feet, slamming the mug of coffee down on the desk, causing Martin to take a step back in alarm, the dark brown liquid sloshing over onto the surface of the desk, cringing in the face of Douglas' sudden anger, his own smile frozen on his face in terror.

"Yes, take a break, why don't I?" Douglas seethed, towering over Martin, crowding him back against the wall. "Why don't the FTE take a break – or the entire team, while they're at it? Why spend time poring over pointless datas and numbers? Don't they have better things to do with their time? No, they must like staying up for countless nights and fiddling around." The engineer's voice was getting louder and louder, before turning painfully mocking, his words a sharp knife slipping between Martin's ribs and twisting. "Unlike you, there are issues that we must solve other than flying a damn plane, and relationships and life problems that we have to deal with. Unlike you, who have never had any problems inside or out of work, who cannot understand anything outside of flying a plane, who never had any relationships to deal with, or a semblance of normal life, no we normal people cannot take a break to sit and fold paper planes and ships with you because we have work to do!"

Martin was shaking, nausea twisting his stomach, looking terribly pale and feeling as though his heart was bleeding out from inside him, his fingers digging into pale flesh where he had wrapped his arms around himself defensively to protect against Douglas' anger. Douglas, who was tired, and stressed out, he told himself, and had nothing but a sandwich and too much coffee since normal. Douglas, who simply needed someone or something to vent on and Martin was the closest but Martin was his friend so-

"You know nothing about what we are doing," Douglas continued in the now terrifyingly silent room, his voice low and quiet and that made it all the more worse. "You don't have to try to pretend to understand – your pathetic attempts are laughable at most. Did you really think that you could help? Chipping in with your opinions and advice? Hovering in the corner, messing up my table, and now trying to be sympathetic and understanding. Is this my lucky day?" Douglas gave a bark of laughter, ignoring how pale Martin suddenly looked, plowing onwards ruthlessly. "Do what you're hired to do, Martin, and stick to that. We don't need your 'help', or your opinions. And in fact, I would like very much if you could just clean this mess off my desk and stay- wherever your own office is- or stay on the plane, since you love it so much, as long as I don't see you. I'm sick of your hovering around my elbows like a little timid mouse trying to prove himself to be more than what he is because we know that that is all you can be!"

The silence was thunderous, except for Douglas' panting, Martin trying his best to become one with the wall, bile in the back of his throat, the screens flickering behind them passively, a silent witness.

"I- I see," Martin's voice was soft, quavering, the ginger haired pilot looking at anywhere but Douglas, swallowing against the tears that were threatening to spill over, pulling together the shreds of his own dignity. "I w-won't bother you anymore, then," he said, gingerly moving to the desk and then scrambling to clear up his pile of origami crafts, not caring if they were crushed in the process, quickly restoring Douglas' desk to what it would have been if he weren't here at all, clutching the papers to his chest. "I- I'll be off, then. They know where t-to find me if… " He bit off the last of his sentence viciously, turning to the door instead, Douglas still standing where he was, unmoving. "D-do rest a little, Douglas," he said softly, and fled.

Douglas waited until the door hissed shut behind him, before throwing himself down upon his chair, rubbing at his face with a hand, the anger draining out of him as quickly as it had come, and shoving away any guilt that he had for MRTN-10. It had been a stressful and tiring week, and all he wanted was some silence. He tried not to think about the hurt expression on MRTN-10's face, or the way he fled from him, or the words that he had said to him. It was all truth, either way. Androids were androids, and androids should stick to what they do. They were made pretty realistic, nowadays, Douglas thought, cleaning up the coffee on his desk, feeling the beginnings of a headache nagging at him. Perhaps he really should take a break. Nothing would break or disappear while he rested, probably.

The plane MRTN-10 set down on his desk lay lopsidedly, one of its wings irreparably crushed, and he picked it up, glancing once at its delicate workmanship and the painful creases of paper where he had squashed it, before tossing it into the paper bin.

He didn't see MRTN-10 for the rest of the week, left alone by the android as he was told to.

Two weeks later, the crash happened.