The next morning dawned over the city of London bright and harsh, and far hotter than it had any right to be before noon. It was clear from the crystal blue sky and the sun that was already blazing down at nine in the morning that this day was going to be just as painfully hot as the one before, if not possibly more so, and so in these early hours before the temperature skyrocketed the city as one took in a deep breath to prepare for the oppressive heat that was to come. For life in a city like London must inexorably go on even when its people wish for nothing more than to sleep the day away to escape the boiling sun, and so throughout the city people braced themselves for yet another day of overheated misery. Just one more day, surely, just one more day of air too thick to breathe, frazzled nerves stretched to the breaking point, and endless hours spent waiting for nightfall for even the slightest reprieve from the sun. Just one more day, the city whispered in communal, desperate prayer, please only one more day of this.

But even amidst the collective misery of millions of souls crowded together in a space not meant for such soaring temperatures, there were a few bright spots of happiness to be found. A picnic in the park shared by a young couple before the true heat of the day set in, complete with chilled fruit and carefree laughter in the cool shade of a friendly tree. A small boy, gifted with the rare treat of an ice cream cone to soothe the heat of the day, delighting in every messy bite. And a man, sitting in a small corner café across the street from a hotel that was far nicer than he ever dared to dream of, drinking a cup of coffee that did not scald his mouth and reflecting quietly the monumental upheavals that had come into his life suddenly and with no warning whatsoever. It was not much – a simple cup of coffee, a sunny morning, a breath of quiet in a bustling city – but it was enough.

This moment of peace and solitude before the trek out to the airport for a day of sitting on standby was a blessing that Martin planned on savoring every second of. Just being able to sit alone and enjoy a cup of coffee in silence was a rare treat, not to mention coffee that was neither burned nor watery nor so bitter that it made him gag slightly. Oh, he did not mind Arthur and his friendly chatter most days, in fact far from it as it was nice to know that at least one person genuinely enjoyed speaking to him, but there were times when even Martin desired solitude that was free of the incessant babble that Arthur so loved. On days like today, in the morning light that was a brief respite before the heat of the afternoon set in, it was a blessing to simply sit and sip at a cup of coffee while reflecting on the unexpected madness that had befallen him not twenty four hours earlier.

Of all the outcomes for this extended series of flights that Martin had expected before leaving Fitton earlier this week, reuniting with his believed-to-be-lost friend John Watson as a result of nearly fainting from heat stroke in his own flight deck was quite possibly the last. It had certainly not crossed his mind that they would get stuck in London for any period of time, and never in his wildest dreams had he dared hope that he would not only meet with John once more but rekindle the friendship that Martin had long given up for over. It was, quite frankly, a miracle, and Martin had learned long ago not to look for miracles in a life that seemed to be one set back after another. Even now, after a reunion that ended with tentative forgiveness and happiness, Martin found himself off-handedly wondering where it would all go so very wrong like every good turn in his life managed no matter the circumstance.

But, for now, things were good. He and John had talked, had cleared the air, had possibly even moved past the issues and the hurt and the betrayal that Martin had not even known were still a burden on his life. The great unresolved question of what had happened to John and why their friendship had seemingly dissolved into silence had been a dark presence lurking in the back of his mind, coming out to surprise him at the worst of times and bring unhappy memories roaring back to the surface. But that question was unresolved no longer. Martin no longer needed to wonder what he had done to drive John away from him, no longer needed to question whether or not John had purposefully left him behind, no longer would be kept up at night by the persistent worry that John had been killed in action half a world away. Their friendship would need some serious work to repair itself and recover from years of separation and hurt feelings, but it was work that they were both willing to put in. Even before they had left the pub last night, John had insisted that they make plans to meet up again after work and standby had been finished to continue with their catching up. Martin smiled into his coffee, warm happiness and gentle content spreading through him.

But the moment could not last forever, of course. There was apparently only so much quiet time that Martin could claim for himself before the universe decided to right itself once more, and not long into his peaceful contemplation of the curls of steam rising from his coffee Martin was shaken back into reality. The sound of the door of the café opening stirred him out of his reverie, and the sound of approaching footsteps and a familiar voice caused him to look up, startled.

"Well, well, if it isn't our mysterious vanishing captain, safe and sound. We'd just about given you up for dead before you showed up at the hotel last night, Martin." Douglas sat down heavily in the chair across the small table from Martin, wiping at his brow and unbuttoning his jacket with a grateful sigh. "Bloody hell it's hot out there already. Do you think Carolyn is going to force us to sit in an actual oven today, or will GERTI do the trick again?"

"Good morning, Douglas," Martin sighed, not sure whether or not to be annoyed that Douglas had interrupted his quiet morning or relieved that he was still speaking to him. If Martin had learned anything about Douglas Richardson in the two years they had worked together it was the man did not forgive slights easily, and the way that Martin had spoken to, no, snapped at him yesterday was certainly grounds for anger. But Douglas did not appear to be angry, or annoyed, or even plotting any form of subtle and incredibly irritating revenge, and so Martin decided to press on with the conversation and hope for the best.

"Did everything go alright with Carolyn and Mr. Fredrickson yesterday? Has she murdered him yet, or are we waiting for the check to clear first?"

Douglas snorted slightly, rolling his eyes. "You know Carolyn – if there's even a whiff of money in the air she'll track it down through hell itself to find where it's coming from. As far as we're concerned for now, the fantastic Mr. Fredrickson can do no wrong just as long as he keeps paying us to be here." His eyes narrowed suddenly, and he looked across the table at Martin with a look all too questioning for comfort. "Of course, you would know that if you had bothered to come back at a decent hour yesterday instead of vanishing off into the blue. What did happen to you yesterday?"

Blood rushed to Martin's cheeks, and he looked down into his coffee and hoped against hope that Douglas would not notice his attempt to brush by the subject as he mumbled, "Right, sorry about um, disappearing like that yesterday. It took me longer than I thought to get to the clinic and well, I suppose I got a bit caught up in something once I got there."

"Of course, I assumed as much. Well, I also assumed that you had possibly wandered off of the sidewalk in a daze and met a violent and sticky end." He paused, looking off into the distance with a slight frown on his face. "Shame that Arthur believed me when I mentioned it."

Brought out of his embarrassment Martin snorted, all too familiar with Arthur's trusting nature. "You really must learn not to muse aloud in front of Arthur when you don't mean it, Douglas. It never goes well for anyone, especially when Carolyn finds out."

"Of course, of course. How absurdly silly of me to forget that we work with a grown man who takes whatever he hears as gospel, I shall do my best to remedy that."

Astonishingly, it really did seem as though Douglas did not bear him any ill will after what had happened yesterday. Martin was not quite sure how that was possible after the way he had acted, but he was grateful beyond measure that Douglas had not decided to not bring up his performance in the flight deck as a subject for needling or teasing. But even still, even though he had apparently earned himself a pass by some grace he did not quite understand, Martin could not bring himself to let the incident go unmentioned. Shame for his actions and guilt for not yet apologizing were both nagging away at his brain and setting him ever so slightly on edge, and he knew that the longer this went unaddressed the worse they would become. Better to end it now, even if he would not enjoy it one bit.

Collecting himself with a deep breath, he began reluctantly, "Listen, Douglas. I – I just wanted to say that, well, I'm sorry. For yesterday, for the way I snapped at you on the plane. I know you were just trying to help, but it was rather a personal thing and, while that doesn't excuse the way I acted, it meant that I got a bit…defensive." Douglas was staring at him impassively, and Martin could feel the blush returning to his face as the silence continued. Hurriedly, he continued on, "Anyway, I just wanted to say that you won't have to, to worry about me or anything like that. I'm fine, and I'm fit to fly, so you don't have to –"

Douglas interrupted him, asking quietly, "Martin, did I ever tell you how I got fired from Air England?"

Martin blinked in surprise. Of all of the possible things for Douglas to have asked him, that was very nearly the last of them all and it seemed to have nothing to do with the conversation he had thought they were having. Frowning slightly, he thought back on the nearly two years he had known Douglas and the hours of conversation that they had shared on endless flights together.

"Not…not as such, I don't think so. I mean, I know that it was because of the, er, smuggling, right?"

A small smile that contained multitudes crossed Douglas's face. "Yes, in a fashion. That was the ultimate cause, the final straw so to speak, that allowed them to drop the axe and let me go after nearly twenty years of working there. One time, being caught just once with some damned silk kimonos, and I was out without so much as a goodbye or a thank you. Just goes to show, doesn't it?"

Silence descended, leaving Martin struggling to fill it with anything at all. What did one say when their coworker suddenly started divulging painful details for apparently no reason? Did Douglas expect some sort of comfort from Martin? No, surely not. Hesitating slightly and hoping that he wasn't making the wrong choice, Martin asked uncertainly, "Why did you do it, Douglas? The smuggling, I mean? It's not like you needed the money, not with the Captain's salaries there. So why?"

"Difficult to say, really. The thrill of it all, I suppose, that was a big part of it, the thrill of being able to successfully pull one over on everyone." Douglas paused, his eyes going off into the distance as his voice went quiet and thoughtful. "It's hard to describe the feeling you get when you know that you've fooled them: your coworkers, your bosses, even the national authorities of whatever country you're flying into and out of. It's the headiest feeling in the world – well, almost the headiest. And the fact that they knew, that they knew all along what I was doing and couldn't do a damn thing to prove it, oh that made it even sweeter."

Martin looked at Douglas though the steam rising from his mug of coffee, dumbstruck. He had never heard his coworker speak so openly and frankly before, not even when they had been sitting alone in a darkened flight deck musing on the perfidy of whoever had been selfish enough to invent Tai Chi.

But suddenly Douglas snapped back to the present, eyes focusing once more as he shook his head with another small, bitter smile. "But, if I am to be perfectly honest with you even if I don't know why I am, it wasn't even that. The rush was nice, the rush was lovely, but the rush was just…filling in for something else I suppose. Something I'd given up three years before, and something I'd been missing that entire time. I'd been sober for three years, three bloody long years at that point, but the wanting never really goes away no matter how long it's been. Even now, I still miss it. Every time I have a long day, or I see one of you knocking back a pint or a glass of wine to celebrate a job not so very well done, I want to drink."

Oh. It had never really occurred to Martin that Douglas still struggled with his drinking, not after so many years of being sober. Of course, it was a topic that never really came up between the two of them, not outside of sly remarks and sideways quips that were somehow involved in getting them out of some new disaster. Neither Martin nor Douglas were the most expansive of people when it came to discussing their emotions, figuring in true stoic British fashion that it was best to let sleeping dogs lie and leave well enough alone. But for whatever reason Douglas appeared to be in an unusually chatty mood this morning, and Martin was not about to stop him once he had started.

Taking a deep , steadying breath Douglas continued speaking, still not looking Martin in the face as he did so. "But anyway, that's not the point. The point was that I was telling you how I got fired. I'd been getting away with the smuggling for so long, right under the nose of Air England and God himself without a care in the world. Everyone knew I was doing it, and nobody could prove a damn thing. And so every time, on every trip, I had to go even bigger just to prove that I could. What started out as some food that you couldn't get through customs eventually turned into hundreds of pounds worth of goods, just for the thrill of being able to do something that I shouldn't. It was those damn kimonos that did me in. I should never have taken them, but how could I possibly resist? Fifteen pure silk kimonos, each worth at least five hundred pounds or more to the right buyer – I would have made a fortune. Well, needless to say I was caught, red bloody handed, and I was out without so much as a thank you or a goodbye. Just my things in a box, then so long and thanks for all the work."

"It didn't feel real, any of it. I'd been going so long thinking that I'd never be caught, and then one afternoon it all goes up in smoke and there I am without a job. I dreaded going home to tell Elizabeth – that's the second wife, by the way, and the mother of my daughter – she'd been on me for ages to give up the smuggling, just like she'd helped me give up the drinking, and the thought of telling her that it was all over was unbearable. But still, I thought that she would understand at least a little. That I'd get even just a touch of sympathy and understanding from my wife, the one who promised to stand by me in good times and bad." He laughed shortly, the sound as bitter as anything Martin had ever heard. "Just goes to show what I knew."

"She left. That night, once I told her, she grabbed Sophie and she left. She'd had enough, she said, enough of me and enough of my stupidity. I couldn't even get a word in to ask her to stay, there was no reasoning with her at that point. Just yelling, and slamming doors, and she was gone, leaving me alone in the house we'd shared for so many years. There was nothing I could do to stop it, just like before, but this time it wasn't just my job that I was losing. It was everything."

Martin hardly dared to breathe lest he shatter the moment forever. Douglas wasn't looking him in the face, instead staring down at the tabletop with an expression so solemn that he hardly even looked like himself anymore. It was as though he were an entirely different person from the carefree, garrulous man that Martin knew so well, the man who always had a ready quip and snide remark ready to save the day or lighten the mood. When he finally spoke again, his voice was barely audible amidst the chatter of the bustling café, and Martin had to lean in to catch his murmured words.

"It'd been three years since I touched a drop of liquor, but that didn't mean there wasn't any in the house. Elizabeth hadn't a clue, of course, I'd hidden it too well for her to ever find it. I never intended to drink it, but it was a comfort to know that it was there. To know that I had the option. So I grabbed that bottle of cheap whiskey, poured myself a glass, and stayed up the whole night staring at it. To this day I don't even know why I did it – I don't know why I tormented myself like that after being sober for so long. It was almost as though if I drank it, I would prove her right and prove that all of this had happened for a reason, because I was a failure after all. I wanted it so badly, I wanted nothing more than to grab it and drink it, and to keep drinking until I blacked out and forgot all about my miserable stupid life. And I very nearly did, several times. But I sat and I stared at that damn glass until the sun rose, and then when it did I poured it all down the drain and got on with my life. Well, as best I could, of course. There are some things you just can't fix."

He fell silent, and for the briefest of moments it felt as though the world had disappeared around them to leave only a small table with two men who suddenly no longer knew how to speak to one another. Martin felt as though everything he had known about Douglas before this morning had been a lie, a clever sham built on bluff and ready quips that had taken in everyone around them. And yet, it made perfect sense. The brief glimpses of Douglas's life that Martin had been granted before, the honest ones that had been gleaned so carefully from amidst the tall tales and gleeful bragging, they all seemed to fall perfectly into place now that the truth had been laid bare before him. Oh, it was true that Douglas was enormously confident and suave and all of the other things that he so openly showed to the world at large. But a perfect, unflappable sky god he was not. But there was one question that still remained, one question that Martin kept circling back to as he tried to reconcile the startling new facts that he had learned.

"Why are you telling me this?"

Douglas looked Martin in the eye for the first time since he had begun his story, face devoid of any irony or humor, voice low with honest sincerity. "So that you know, Martin, that you are not the only one with demons in his head."

Silence fell in the tiny café, all sounds of both customers and the outside world slipping away. Martin stared at Douglas, utterly at a loss for words, completely taken aback by the unbelievable revelation he had just heard. In all of their time together, all of the hours of conversation they had shared, Martin had never dreamed that Douglas would ever share something so deeply personal with him. That was simply not the way that their relationship functioned, an yet here they were, not even trapped in the confines of a tiny flight deck and without any form of prompting or goading whatsoever, and Douglas had just shared what was very likely one of the most painful parts of his past with him. It was perhaps one of the most surprising things that Martin had ever experienced, something that he never would have guessed would come out of this morning.

Why the hell did he just tell me that? But even as Martin's mind spun in place trying to pick apart the motivation for the story he had just heard, a tiny part of him knew the answer already. Douglas had seen the scar on Martin's wrist, had understood what it meant, and he was trying to tell Martin that it was…fine. That whatever Martin had endured years ago, that whatever demons plagued him still, Douglas did not care. Because Douglas, calm, cool, collected Douglas, had his own demons to fight. He understood, and his story had been his way of saying without speaking it aloud that if Martin ever felt the need to share his story in return, he could.

You are not the only one with demons in your head. You are not alone.

A weight seemed to lift itself from Martin's shoulders. He looked up at Douglas in wonder, meeting the older man's friendly smile with one of his own. Never before had he considered that he might be able to share his past with anyone at all, much less with Douglas, the man who seemed to have such perfect control and calm composure in every aspect of his life. But Douglas had suffered too, had endured pain and loss and heartbreak like Martin had never imagined a man as seemingly happy and carefree as Douglas could live through. Martin could feel his whole world shake, set on edge as long-held assumptions crumbled into dust. And in a split second that he prayed that he would not regret, he made a decision that he knew would change everything.

"I think we'd better be getting to the airfield soon. Wouldn't want Carolyn yelling at us for being late as well as lazy and whatever else she's decided we've done wrong today." Martin stood, reaching for the hat that was resting on the table and tucking it under his arm. "It's going to be a long day, but I think I have a story that might pass the time."

The smile that Douglas sent him was the most genuine that Martin had ever seen.