Chapter Seven

Three bars down, four hours gone, and they still hadn't found the keys.

Douglas remained securely cuffed to Martin and, as ridiculous as it seemed, he was beginning to think that they would be stuck together until the end of time. As they stood in the barrel store of the latest bar, watching the proprietor kindly peer into each newly delivered crate, Douglas was sure that he could feel his mind lapsing into a trance-like state. She was a busy woman, so he supposed that they should have been incredibly grateful that she had left a building full of customers without their host… but he couldn't muster the energy.

With another sigh, Douglas righted his ever-present lean so that he wasn't resting against Martin's side. The other man hadn't said a word, as he was just as exasperated as he had been on the bus ride over, but it felt pertinent not to doze off when there was still such a prickling sense of unease between them.

It was something that Martin was constantly scolding him for. His constant tilt 'wasn't professional' and 'gave the clients a stilted view of what sort of airline we are'. Still, Martin never scolded too hard; it was more of the same sideways glances and half-fond smiles that came with harmless jokes.

Now, however, Douglas paid closer attention to the bar's owner.

"I'm sorry, boys. There's nothing in here," she said as she rose to her full height and placed her hands on her waist. "Apart from what I ordered, that is. You'll have to look elsewhere."

"Fine… fine – that's fine," Martin sighed. He dragged a hand down his face and sagged as he forced a smile that turned into more of a grimace. "Thank you for your help. We're, ah… we're sorry to have wasted your time."

Every word Martin said was bitten out. Each time he made a disgruntled movement, Douglas took care to move with him, growing more accustomed to manoeuvring so that neither of them felt the sting of the handcuff against their wrist. Mercifully, the woman didn't seem to notice. If she did, then she was polite enough to acknowledge their poor position without drawing attention to it.

Even if she had, Douglas wasn't sure he had the energy to say something smooth and witty in return. His mind was far too clogged with thoughts of the evening that would never happen.

"No worries," the woman assured them as she led them out of the bar. "I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help. Well… Have a pleasant evening."

They left without the minimum amount of fuss.

Martin got caught in the door and as Douglas tried to extricate the both of them, they bowled straight into the midst of a particularly raucous hen party. By the time they reached the street, Martin was red in the face and Douglas was sure that his hair was out of place. There was no grace to the proceedings.

The day simply kept going, and now nothing could make it worse. For all he cared, they might as well hang around and listen to the metallic sounds of the city around them. Maybe if they waited long enough, his own good luck would drop a chainsaw from the sky and hack the handcuffs in two… unlikely, but it wasn't the worst thing that could happen.

Before he could hail a taxi, ignoring Martin's throaty noises of indignation as a bus sped past them, Douglas felt his phone vibrate against his thigh. His movements were sluggish as he retrieved it. He was almost dreading speaking to whoever had called.

"Who is it?" Martin hissed in his ear before he had even answered the phone.

"I am many things, Captain, but I'm not a Seer," Douglas replied, his languid tone frosting over as he glanced at the screen. He sighed. "It's Arthur – hold on." He pressed the phone to his ear. "Arthur, what is it?"

"Douglas, hi! Um, are you nearly done searching the bars?"

"Not yet, Arthur. Just a few more to go and we'll be back."

"Oh, brilliant. You don't need to go to the last ones – I found the keys!"

"You did?"

Douglas's eyebrows rose to his hairline. Pressing the phone closer to his ear, he turned to Martin and mouthed 'he found them'. The way that Martin's eyes lit up as he tipped his head back with relief sent the ghosts of warmth twinging through Douglas' chest. It was a sour glow though.

"Yeah, they were at the bottom of a crate full of bright blue liquid. I think some of the bottles were actually glowing-"

"That's great, Arthur," Douglas interrupted. "Where are you now?"

"I'm heading back to the hotel," Arthur replied. "Shall I meet you there?"

"Yes, alright. We'll see you in about an hour."

Douglas sighed again as he tucked his phone away. He seemed to have nothing but sigh since he and Martin had called off their dinner. It wasn't quite the birthday celebration that he had had planned. He was jolted from his wallowing by Martin's hand on his shoulder – the other tried to grasp the other, but as Martin span him around, their arms knocked together and intercepted his path.

"Was that it? Where are we going?"

"The hotel," Douglas replied. His breath caught in his throat as his vision was filled from top to bottom with Martin's face, lined with desperation but charged with frantic excitement as he squeezed the other man's shoulder. Eventually he found something to say. "Anyone would think you were pleased."

"Oh, I am," Martin beamed. He practically groaned with relief. "Sweet, sweet freedom."

"I really am sorry."

"I know, Arthur," Douglas reassured him. He used his free hand to pat the steward's shoulder and plastered on a weary smile. Now that they were in the hotel lobby, each holding out their bound wrist for Carolyn's inspection, both he and Martin had calmed considerable. There was still a certain discomfort between them, wriggling in the air, but that didn't mean he was going to take it out on Arthur. "Although, might I suggest you perform magic tricks that don't involve audience participation?"

"Oh, yeah, of course," Arthur said as he pushed a hand through his hair. "I was thinking about that actually-"

"I didn't mean give up," Douglas hastily amended. "Just tone it down."

"Oh? Really?"

Surprise softened the lines of Arthur's face and pulled his voice a little higher.

"Of course I mean it," Douglas replied. "A little more practice and you could entertain the passengers on those long-haul treks across Asia."

"Let's wait and see before we start giving Arthur any more duties," Carolyn cut in before they could continue. She was working the mechanism on the cuff around Douglas' wrist, shuffling key into the stiff lock. "Nothing takes place on my plane until I've had time to veto it."

"Perish the thought."

While Douglas waited for Carolyn to release him, he watched Martin from the corner of his eye. The Captain had remained stonily silent from the moment they had stepped foot in the hotel. It wasn't the miserable quiet of a wounded man, nor the grumbling that came with repressed anger. Instead, there was something contemplative in the hush and Douglas wasn't sure what to make of it.

Well, he did. He wanted to ask what was wrong.

Douglas did nothing of the sort.

"There," Carolyn announced as the cuffs clicked open. She stood back, taking the chain with her as both pilots shook their hands out. "Now that you've been released from each other's clutches you're free to do what you like with the evening. I would recommend getting the prescribed amount of rest so that we can actually leave on time in the morning."

"Ten o'clock start, is it?" Douglas remarked distractedly. Although he addressed her, he didn't look away from where Martin was flexing his fingers and huffing ever so slightly.

"Eight – thirty," Carolyn replied. "And not a moment later. Martin – I expect you to get your First Officer onto the tarmac on time even if you have to drag him out of bed."

Instead of a waspish reply, there was only silence. Martin was staring into space, rocking slightly on his heels.

"Martin," Carolyn repeated. She seemed to be one action away from prodding him.

"Hmm? What?" Martin jerked back into alertness, blinking between them. In seconds, his frown was firmly back in place. Whether he knew what had been said to him or not was a mystery, but he stammered out his excuses. "Y-yes, yes… sure. Of course. I'll be sure to get on that."

"You're not even listening, are you?" Carolyn sighed. Thankfully, she was as eager to leave as Douglas was beginning to feel. "Oh, go to bed, the lot of you."

With that, she turned her back on them and strode from the lobby. Arthur followed in her wake, lingering long enough to bid both pilots their goodbyes. Once they were gone, Douglas and Martin were left alone.

Still, Martin didn't seem entirely in touch with the world around him. He was still rubbing at his wrist, although there wasn't a mark of any sort.

"Well… I suppose I'll bid you adieu, Captain," Douglas remarked. When he didn't receive an immediate response, Douglas shifted closer and leaned into Martin's line of sight. It wasn't that he was itching for attention. He just needed acknowledgement. "For what it's worth, the day hasn't been an absolute loss. You're still a year older… I haven't had an awful time, all things considered…"

Martin still didn't respond.

With a frustrated huff, Douglas reached out to lightly touch Martin's arm. The other man didn't recoil, but he did startle and blink as if stunned. There was no apathy in his gaze as he met Douglas' eye.

"Wh-what?" he stammered. "Did you say something?"

"I… I said Happy Birthday," Douglas replied. With one final pat on the shoulder, he left Martin standing in the lobby and headed towards his room.

With nothing else to do, Douglas was genuinely considering going to bed early. His hotel room was good enough, sans fluffy dressing gowns but with plenty of wardrobe space and a little en suite with even smaller soaps, and yet he couldn't find a single thing to do. Television didn't offer any solace and his book wasn't holding his interest. It was late enough that his daughters were fast asleep in England, so there wasn't even any point calling them for a quick chat.

Douglas was lying with his head on the pillows when he heard the knock at the door.

It was soft, cautious, barely a knock at all. A moment later, a louder, sharper, more confident pounding rang out across the room.

Rising slowly to his feet, Douglas tried not to be too agitated by the disturbance as he answered the door. So dedicated was he to his air of nonchalance that it took a second for the surprise to set in when he was met by Martin, dressed in casual clothes, cheeks flushed faintly pink with a sheepish sort of embarrassment that he had grown far too accustomed to.

"Martin?"

"Douglas –yes, hello," Martin replied. He awkwardly cleared his throat but didn't continue.

"Was there something in particular that you needed?" Douglas inquired, resisting the urge to bite his tongue even as he gripped the hard edge of the door.

As pleased as he was to see the other man, caught despicably in his thrall as warmth curled and wafted from his chest out into his limbs thanks to nothing but his presence, he couldn't help but be confused. If it was another argument that Martin wanted, he wasn't in the mood.

"Oh, no, nothing important," Martin assured him. He managed a weak smile and a lop-sided shrug, but neither inspired much confidence. He rubbed at the back of his neck before continuing. "Well, I… I-I wondered, seeing as it's still my birthday and we've, ah… we've had a bit of a rotten day-"

"A bit of a rotten day?"

"Alright, it was mostly… I'll admit that I wasn't exactly at my best today," Martin continued. "B-but I'm willing to put that behind us. That's why I'm here actually. I wondered if you wanted to do dinner after all."

"Oh… you…?"

To his shame, Douglas couldn't quite think of what he was meant to say. Of course, he thought, yes. He definitely wanted to do dinner. Anything was better than sitting alone, even more so if the company was a dear friend. By the time he regained his senses, Martin hadn't quite gathered his nerve enough to be smug or too arrogant. He was still red-faced though, and shuffling his feet as he bracing himself for sharp words.

"Of course I'd like to," Douglas said. "Just give me a moment to prepare. Most restaurants aren't fans of their customers turning up in nightwear."

"Oh, god, no – I mean, yes, sure. I'll wait," Martin exclaimed. Still, he smiled, more of a blushing smirk actually, as Douglas pulled the door not-quite closed and didn't-really hurry to change into something more appropriate for the outdoors.

As Douglas sorted himself out, he tried not to raise his hopes too high – still, reconciliation was always nice, and dinner was sure to be even nicer.