Thank you everyone for your comments - they are a great motivation, and make my day
Douglas inhaled deeply, steadying himself as best he could without alerting Martin or Arthur to the tumult that was taking place half-way between his gut and his head; he gripped the controls underneath his palms, focusing all of his energies on the clacking of his knuckles as he tensed his fingers.
On the one hand, Douglas was now experiencing a peculiar thrill at the realisation that Martin – Martin- had asked him on a date – a date – and that he had accepted –accepted . It was not something that he had ever considered, but there was something…exciting about it. He genuinely liked Martin, he really did…but the fact that if their efforts went according to the traditional purpose of a date, they could end up being…intimate…that was strange…but not terrible.
On the other hand, there was a high chance that the machine resting ominously in the jump-seat could kill them instantly, or spit them into their own universe and make it impossible for them to safely land without dying in the process.
So Douglas and Martin had prepared GERTI for take-off; the damage that the previous journey had caused had not completely healed, but it was enough that there was a chance, a slim chance, that the two of them could regain control should anything go wrong. Douglas had never been nervous before a flight, save for the first time he had been allowed to take off on his own, but that did nothing to hinder the tendrils of dreadful anticipation that snaked up his arteries.
Martin, it seemed, was feeling much the same; Douglas observed him from the corner of his eye, watching the Captain as he sat ramrod straight in his chair, sucking in slow and measured breaths that made his chest expand in tandem, and curling his fingers around the raised controls on the panel. His face was set, pale cheeks making the freckles stand out, and save for the moments when he snuck furtive glances as Douglas (which Douglas studiously pretended to ignore), he wavered between tense determination and misgiving.
He wanted to offer some form of mutual comfort, but nothing came to mind, so Douglas sighed and peered over his shoulder. In the rear end of the flight-deck, which was still somewhat shrouded on shadows, which laced together just over the humming and flashing metal device, Arthur was shuffling about, rubbing his hands together and doing his best to remain cheerful in the face of adversity. He had been encouraged, so it seemed, by the combined achievement that was figuring out more or less how to get home, and had fallen into a quiet trust of his pilots to keep things together so long as he didn't try to be too helpful. He had attempted it, of course, but Douglas was anything but shy with sharp instructions when they were required.
Douglas cleared his throat; Martin turned his head ever so slightly to pay attention to the proceedings, but it was Arthur that Douglas was focused on. The steward's eyes lit up as he was addressed, and he stood to attention immediately.
"Arthur, do you remember the plan?" Douglas asked sternly, making sure to impress upon him with the expression on his face how vital it was that he do exactly as he was told.
Arthur nodded swiftly, pursing his lips decidedly before he replied.
"Yes Douglas." He answered, sounding inordinately proud of himself considering that no action had yet been performed, "I press the button to turn on the space machine, and then I run as fast as I can into the cabin and strap myself down."
"Good lad!" Douglas praised him, smirking at the warm smile that encapsulated the steward's face; he looked directly at Martin then, furrowing his brow and waiting for confirmation that he was ready; Martin met Douglas' gaze, and after swallowing to such an extent that Douglas could see his throat bob, the Captain nodded, his eyes severe, "Now Arthur, on the count of three…one…two…three!"
The moment that words left Douglas' lips, Arthur's hand shot out and thrust into the side of the device; Douglas watched, tense and ready to leap into action, as Arthur retracted his hand as if afraid a scorpion might snatch it. He stumbled away from the jump-seat, and then with a clumsy gracefulness that only he could achieve, Arthur sprinted towards the galley, catching the door to the flight-deck as he passed and causing it to slam shut.
It was for the best, Douglas mused, at least if something did go wrong, there would be a few inches of protection between the danger and Arthur.
As he turned back to the front of the flight-deck, settling stiffly in his seat, the machine's rhythmic hum began to grow and roll into a thrumming whirr, whining like a car engine fighting a stall, or a one man jet engine screeching in a too low manoeuvre.
Douglas turned to look at Martin, to properly survey the expression on his face; it had long been a method of his to gauge his own confidence based on Martin's. If Martin was panicking, depending upon which type of panic he was experiencing, the Douglas could choose the appropriate mood to match; now, the Captain was visibly anxious, but he was keeping it together, so although it was an unsteady measure, Douglas felt a genuine flood of relief and certainty. He was Douglas Richardson, and he was always at least four marks more in control than Martin; those were the rules.
As if sensing eyes on him, Martin's shoulders sagged and he turned his head, meeting Douglas' gaze once again; this made the jitters even more visible, and Douglas' heart went out to him, even if he wasn't sure how to comfort the man. Thankfully, Martin did as he always did, and filled the silence, even as the whirring increased behind them.
"Are you alright?" Martin asked; his voice wavered, but he was making an admirable effort at remaining cool. It was only years together that allowed Douglas to pick out the fractures in his cracked composure.
He wasn't alright, but he damn well wasn't going to tell him that.
"You've asked me that a lot in the past day." Douglas remarked dryly; this was easy, this was how they worked, "Are you alright?"
To Douglas' relief, Martin let out a spluttered chuckle, which sounded more like a gasp, stumbling, as if he had been holding in his nerves for longer than medically advisable.
"No – you know what, no I'm not." Martin replied, a strained smile twisting his lips; this strange mixture of complete bemusement and nerves was hardly a new feature, and Douglas, despite his misgivings about the ascending whine behind them, "God knows this could go so wrong."
"Maybe…but we'll be fine." Douglas assured him, pulling out his most charming smile, and feeling as if he only managed half of his highest standard.
Martin nodded, dragging his bottom lip through his teeth, and turning to stare out of the window. Nobody would have thought that he was fine. Before he could mentally talk himself out of it, which he was certain he was capable of, Douglas slid his hand across the gap between their seats, and grasped Martin's hand in his.
Martin's eyes flickered up to his, his face bleached with surprise as Douglas gave his hand a comforting squeeze, curling his fingers around the Captain's for a brief moment before pulling them away, returning to their own position. For a moment, Douglas couldn't meet Martin's gaze, couldn't stir up the courage, and stared instead at the way that Martin's fingers twitched and flexed as if trying to recreate the sensation. The moment passed, and Douglas met Martin's blue eyes with his usual nonchalant suavity.
"We're going to be fine, Martin." He repeated, and this time the clouds in Martin's eyes lifted just a fraction, and he nodded resolutely.
They didn't say anything else as they looked away from each other; there wasn't anything to say, and there wasn't time, as the whirring reached a screaming crescendo. Like before, the readings began to ripple, the altimeters and the artificial horizon shifted erratically despite them being on the ground. Douglas gripped the arms on his seat, his nails digging into the cheap plastic, and he saw Martin do the same. There was a sudden flash, searing enough that Douglas slammed his eyes shut, wincing from the heat it produced. Without further warning, the undetectable sensation of gravity keeping them down flipped on its head, and Douglas forced himself not to cry out as GERTI lurched forward, and he was thrown into a free-fall, losing all extraneous details, save for the incessant hope that Martin and Arthur were alright.
OoOoOoO
Douglas was thrust back into awareness; it was as if the world had ended, for a fraction of a second, and in the next second he was trying to wake from a dream where no matter how fast he ran, he could neither outrun nor be caught by the dragging presence in his wake.
First was the noise, the piercing, ringing in his ears that was swiftly fading and replaced by frantic beeping. Then came the flashing lights, the groggily focusing façade of the control panel, the clumsy, disorientated movement to his left that was very probably the Captain.
Finally, Douglas became aware of the view from the window, and was hit with a sense of miserable foreboding, increased by the dreary performance of his senses, as he saw that they were in the sky. He could see the lower edges of clouds, white, frothy, climbing up the glass as the plane tipped downwards towards the ground.
Which is when his pilot's instinct kicked in; GERTI was operational – they were high enough that they could save her.
Martin was breathing heavily, hands moving hastily over the controls as he addressed Douglas without turning to look at him.
"Douglas! Are you awake – conscious – can you fly?" Martin demanded, spitting the words out; Douglas had enough peripheral attention left to note that he was slamming down the same cool and collected air that he had adopted the last time they had been on the verge of disaster, over St Petersburg, using it to mask the complete panic that he was otherwise experiencing.
"Yes, Captain, and I recommend using all of the emergency procedure." Douglas replied quickly, moving to try and correct their downward path before the thought had properly passed through his mind.
"Agreed." Martin gulped as he mirrored Douglas' actions, "You have control."
Douglas nodded, jaw clenched. There wasn't time to argue, or question, or even tease.
The next few minutes passed in a blur, a combination of lasting disorientation and single-minded action. It was so easy to choke down whatever anxieties and musings that had been haunting him over the last two days, and Douglas found himself focused on the one singular desire not to collide painfully with the ground.
And then it was over…the coils around his chest disappeared and it was suddenly possible to breathe again as the horizon levelled out. They weren't at cruising altitude, or anywhere near the clouds, but they were flying without the risk of dying, so that was something.
Beside him, Douglas heard Martin release a wavering, almost hysterical breath, and when he looked, the Captain had dropped his head against the back of his seat, closing his eyes and pressing one hand over his mouth.
"Did we do it? Did we actually do it?" Martin asked raggedly, sliding his hand away from his face and opening his eyes to meet Douglas' gaze, a tired and hopeful glint in them.
Douglas nodded, slowly, and then he felt his face split into a grin, which Martin met watt for watt; he hadn't experienced true homesickness since he had first to become a medical student, but if this was what it felt like when it was over, like a symphonic orchestra playing its first notes after the lifting of a gagging order, then maybe it was worth feeling it just a little more often.
And for once he couldn't find a single reason to tease or mock Martin, or even a negative thought; it was simply the best thing in the world to share the moment of relief, and if he stared a fraction too long at Martin's face, then he could blame it on the sublime expression of complete liberation that the Captain exuded.
Martin's forehead crinkled, and his eyebrows met in the middle as a thought occurred.
"Where are we?" he inquired, peering out of the window. There were no markers that might shed some light on the question, but Douglas thought back to the rush to prevent an untimely end.
"I think we're over Dover…they definitely looked like White Cliffs." Douglas answered; he sighed. The weight of events were beginning to realign themselves on his shoulders.
There was a low cough as Martin cleared his throat awkwardly.
"So…we're alive…" Martin remarked, feigning nonchalance, though Douglas could see him tapping a faint tune on the controls.
"Yes…" Douglas replied; he then realised what Martin was hinting at, and didn't refrain from rolling his eyes before continuing, "and going on a date, it seems."
"Yeah-" Martin interjected; he refused to make eye-contact, "I'm – I'm still up for that, you know, unless-"
"So am I." Douglas said quickly, cutting Martin off before he could talk himself into a corner; the Captain's face split into relief, and he sagged, running a hand through his ginger hair, "But…perhaps we should give it a few days before we do, and allow ourselves some time to sleep off the peculiarities that we've viewed."
"Absolutely." Martin agreed, and Douglas thought that in that moment, Martin would have agreed to anything; and if that wasn't endearing, then Douglas didn't know what was.
Before they had time to communicate further, Arthur burst through the flight-deck door, booming about how 'that was brilliant chaps!', just as the sat-com began to blare.
Douglas swivelled in his seat to usher Arthur towards them (he scooted around the jump-seat, which was now eerily silent), as Martin's hand shot out to answer the sat-com.
"Hello! Douglas, Martin, are you there?" Carolyn's voice, tense and worried sounded from the control panel, and as Arthur's face lit up, Douglas felt the final edge of uncertainty blunt, as it was confirmed that they were home.
"Yes, yes Carolyn, we're here." Martin answered, his tone light and laced with joviality as he beamed at both of his colleagues in turn.
"And doing beautifully I might add." Douglas chimed in, unable to fight off the smile that pulled at his lips.
"Mum, you don't have to worry anymore!" Arthur called, managing to sound more relieved than the pilots, which Douglas thought was quite a feat, "We're back – and we missed you!"
There was a pause, in which nobody spoke, and then Carolyn's harsh trill returned with a vengeance.
"Where the HELL have you been?" she demanded, and Martin winced slightly at the sound, "You've been out of radio contact for 3 HOURS! For all I knew you could have drowned in the Atlantic!"
"Three hours?" Martin whispered, but Douglas batted a hand in his direction, shutting him up.
"Carolyn, as lovely as it is to know that you care, we're fine, and we're very sorry." Douglas emphasised each word, hoping that the message would make its way down to Earth, "The…package…that our client wanted moving was interfering with GERTI; it seems we've been flying in circles and are still over Dover."
"Dover?" Carolyn's tone drifted between righteous indignation and badly masked acceptance on the basis that they weren't dead, "Well, come back then – if it's endangering the aircraft, the client can have his crate back."
"Ok, will do." Martin replied hastily; as he was about to switch off the sat-com, Carolyn continued.
"One last thing…Arthur, what has been going on? And don't try to lie to me, I will know." She inquired suspiciously.
Arthur's eye widened, put on the spot as he was, and he looked to Douglas for support; Douglas just shrugged. Arthur couldn't lie properly, so there was really no point in trying; he just hoped that the steward would catch onto their lack of accurate details, and go along with their ploy of omission.
"It's like Douglas said…the machine messed up GERTI…nothing else at all happened, not at all." Arthur answered tentatively; Douglas sighed, meeting Martin's gaze across the flight-deck as a similar sigh sounded from the sat-com.
"Whatever you say dear, just bring my plane back." Carolyn said, and Douglas actually felt a pang of guilt at the exhaustion in her tone; it may have only been three hours for her (god only knew how that worked), but if he knew her as well as he thought he did, she had spent every moment that she couldn't reach them on the verge of an anxious explosion.
Martin switched the sat-com off, and once again, nobody spoke.
"Back to Fitton?" Martin suggested, clearing his throat and adopting an unconcerned façade. Douglas nodded, settling back in his seat, allowing himself to believe for a moment that they had been on a normal flight, and were returning after a normal day of word games and mockery.
"Back to Fitton."
oOoOoOo
The landing was as smooth as they could have hoped, considering that they were all still somewhat rattled. Douglas was certain that if they didn't vacate the plane immediately, Carolyn would come and find them, so the moment that Martin finished the post-landing checks that he had insisted upon, Douglas raised his hand to catch the attention of the other men.
"Right, when we see Carolyn, not a word about what happened – understand?" Douglas instructed, making sure to impress upon them the seriousness of his request.
"Yes – I just won't say anything." Arthur replied, nodding obediently; he didn't look certain, but he had given his word, and that was all that Douglas could hope for.
"I'd rather not spend the rest of my life in a mental hospital, so no, I won't be saying anything." Martin assured them, shrugging his uniform more comfortably onto his shoulders as he stood, shuffling around his seat, "Besides, once the client finds out his 'package' didn't arrive in Philadelphia, he'll be the one answering difficult questions, and I might have a few choice words to say to him."
Douglas allowed himself to chuckle lowly and then groan as he heaved himself onto his feet. Martin gave him a concerned glance, but Douglas waved him away.
"Go and intercept Carolyn, the both of you." He instructed, nodding towards the galley. Arthur agreed and wandered swiftly from the room, obviously eager to see his mother again, not that Douglas could blame him. Martin lingered for a moment.
"Martin, I'm fine, just give me a minute, and I'll follow you out." Douglas insisted; Martin didn't look convinced, but he smiled nonetheless and respected Douglas' request, exiting the flight-deck without another word.
The moment that he was gone, Douglas dropped his pretence of solidity; he exhaled raggedly, allowing himself a few seconds to mentally reel, to relish being home. Three hours. Three hours, and they couldn't even talk about it – he wasn't sure he wanted to talk about it.
There was no sense in clinging to things that were gone though, so Douglas collected himself, and began striding towards the galley. He eyed the machine, still and silent now, though the lights still flashed, and couldn't help the ripple of disgust he felt at the sight of it. In one last act of defiance, Douglas extended his hand, and tapped roughly at the metal exterior.
That was a mistake, as a sensation reminiscent of being shocked after sliding from bed, more like being struck by lightning, shot up his arm, and Douglas felt reality flash out from around him.
OoOoOoOoO
OoOoO
O
Douglas could see, he could hear, but he couldn't feel. It was as if he wasn't there at all. He realised numbly, that he wasn't. It was as if he was watching from a distance events in a different life.
It was his flat, except he knew that it couldn't be, as the inhabitants of the green sofa proved. The lights were dimmed, and it was obviously late at night. Lying on the sofa, propped up on one of the arms, was Martin Crieff, in casual wear – old jeans and a worn shirt, much like he would adorn for a van job. Sitting between his legs, her back against his chest, was Deborah Richardson, her hair loose around her shoulders, her head tucked into the crevice between his neck and his chin.
Martin had one arm wrapped around her waist, hugging her gently to him, and her fingers intertwined with the fingers of that hand. In the other hand, Martin held a book, which he was reading with a furrow between his eyebrows, while his cheek rested against the top of Deborah's head, and she tapped thoughtfully at her phone.
"Martin?" Deborah asked nonchalantly, never taking her eyes off of her phone.
"Hmmm?" Martin hummed in response, closing his book and tucking it into the space beside him so that he could peer down at the woman in his arms. Deborah glanced upwards, shifting so that she could face him eye to eye; she wore a mask of feigned unconcern, though it was obvious to a practiced observer that she was extremely concerned.
"Have you thought much about the…other ones that came here?" she inquired, picking at the buttons of Martin's shirt so that she wouldn't have to meet his gaze, which was framed by a curious frown, "It's just that I've been wondering lately if they reached home."
Martin sighed and his hand curled around hers, squeezing encouragingly.
"That was two months ago – I'm sure they're fine, and even if they're not – which I'm sure they are, there's nothing we can do, so worrying won't achieve anything." Martin assured her, badly; Deborah rolled her eyes, but chose not to comment.
"I realise that…it's just that as far as events go, it was a rather big one, and yet it was over so quickly that it sometimes feels as if it didn't happen at all." Deborah explained, still refusing to meet his gaze; in terms of honesty, she was doing well, but it would be a long time before she felt properly comfortable behaving as such.
"Well, it did happen, because we wouldn't be like this if it hadn't." Martin remarked, letting out an awkward chuckle. Deborah's expression turned cloudy, and she pursed her lips as she replied.
"Oh, would you not have taken me to dinner if they hadn't arrived?" she inquired, her tone adopting the teasing drawl with which it was so familiar.
"Of course I would have!" Martin insisted, in the throaty voice that came with defensiveness, "It would have just taken me a bit longer…I was edging towards it, I just-"
"If you'd edged any slower, we'd have been in nursing homes before anything happened." Deborah drawled; she settled further into Martin's embrace nonetheless, shifting more onto her side.
"No I wouldn't!" Martin retorted, mirroring the movement to finally look her in the eye, a petulant glint in his eyes.
Deborah chuckled, a smirk curling her lips, as her fingers continued to play with his buttons.
"Yes you would – you said it yourself, you edge." She insisted, visibly battling a wider smile from overtaking her cheeks.
Martin's expression took on the challenging shade that came with one-upping her, and shifted so that his spare arm boxed Deborah in on the sofa, and brought them closer together.
"I'm not edging now, am I?" he stated, as if he were making a point. Deborah laughed again, unable to formulate a response as Martin snuggled closer, other things on his mind, and her hand came up to glide up his arm.
Then Douglas was hit by a wave of deafness, and then blindness, and the scene vaporised, and he was surrounded once again by the cold harshness of the ground.
O
OoOoO
OoOoOoOoO
With a strange sense of Deja-Vu, Douglas awoke to the sensation of the flight-deck floor digging into his back, and warm hands on his shoulders. He wasn't sure what he had just seen, whether it had even been real, but Douglas had no idea how to process it. It was insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but it was unsettling…and nice to know that their other halves were okay, he supposed.
Douglas' eyes snapped open, and he was met with the anxious face of Martin, ginger and freckled, inspecting him for injuries.
"Martin – Martin, I'm okay, just help me up." Douglas groaned, acknowledging the relief that flooded Martin's features. In truth, his arm was aching; it was as if a million prickles of electricity were still dancing in his nerves, and occasionally flittering to the rest of his body, but Martin didn't need to know that.
Martin's strong hand gripped his own, and Douglas' head momentarily blurred as the blood rushed to and from his skull, and the flight-deck righted itself around him.
"Douglas, what happened? You were fine when I left you." Martin asked, taking a moment to brush the lint from Douglas' uniform, which Douglas studiously ignored.
"I just felt a little dizzy." Douglas brushed him off; the flitter of guilt in his chest at the droop in Martin's face made him smile faintly to negate the upset, "Never mind about me, we should go and see Carolyn."
"Yes, of course." Martin agreed, sounding unsure of himself.
It was with a little more bustling, and Martin fussing over the still dented areas of GERTI's interior, that they finally made it out of the cabin and into the almost fresh air of Fitton airfield. As the murky sunlight hit his skin, Douglas mused, he had never been so glad to inhale stagnant aviation fumes.
oOoOoOo
The regroup went as well as could have been expected. Carolyn, who had been deep in conversation with Arthur, her hands reaching out every now and then to touch his arms, broke off the moment her eyes fell on her pilots. Douglas liked to think that a thankful expression had taken over her face at seeing them alive and well, but this was swiftly replaced by a stern, yet somehow forced, fury as she bore down on them.
"If you do anything like that again there won't be a job for you to come back to!" she snapped, pointing her finger accusingly between Douglas and Martin, who exchanged a glance and tried to suffocate the beginnings of covert smiles, "I had to send the CAA officials away when Karl told me they couldn't' reach you – honestly, the trouble you two caused by dropping off the map-"
Douglas drowned out the rest of the tirade; he couldn't even be too angry in retaliation, it was just nice to so shamelessly criticised. It had never occurred to him that he might miss it.
"Was it your doing Douglas?" Carolyn demanded; Douglas looked up in surprise, catching Martin's eye as the Captain prepared to jump in as his defence. Douglas shook his head; that would have been too suspicious. That didn't prevent the bemused chuckle that bubbled up in his chest.
"For once Carolyn I had nothing to do with it." Douglas assured her, though she didn't look convinced, "I recommend you wait until the mysterious client arrives to find out why we never delivered his package – I'm sure he'll have a charming story up his sleeve."
The afternoon carried on in much the same way. Carolyn rushed about, inspecting GERTI for damage with Arthur at her heels, visibly dying to tell her everything by resisting with all of his power, while Douglas was sentenced to the Porta-Cabin with Martin, and forced to endure hours rifling through the paperwork that needed amending after their failed trip.
And at the end of the day, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, Douglas found himself squeezing past Martin's van to get to his Lexus. He looked over the top of the car, meeting Martin's weary smile with pursed lips.
"Is this is then?" Martin asked, rubbing a hand over his face, "Do we just act like nothing happened?"
Douglas thought for a moment, rolling the idea over in his head; it wasn't as if they had much of a choice. Then again…
"Well, if we act like nothing happened, then that sort of puts a spanner in our plans for later in the week." Douglas pointed out; he felt a rush of pride when Martin flushed ever so slightly, dipping his head so that his cheeks were less on display.
"I suppose it would…so…later in the week then?" Martin replied; for all of his efforts, his expression still verged on imploring. Douglas couldn't find it in himself to tease.
"Of course Captain- a promise is a promise after all." Douglas assured him; it was so much easier to act like he was the confident one in this situation.
Then, they said goodbye, promised to see each other tomorrow, though there was no point, as they had to come into work regardless of promises, and once Martin had disappeared into his van, Douglas found himself sitting in the driver's seat of his car, gripping the steering wheel and lowering his head onto it.
One deep breath, then another. It was over. He could go home. That was good…Douglas just couldn't shake the feeling that his life had taken a huge turn, and dragged him along in its wake. But that could be dealt with in the morning.
Collecting himself, Douglas put the car into gear and pulled away from the car park, ignoring the residual tingling that still snaked up his arm, and leaving the entire mess behind (but keeping the good parts tucked away in his mind).
So this is the penultimate chapter. From here, there's only the epilogue
I hope this turned out the way people wanted it to - there's very few ways to straighten out events after something as monumental as interdimensional travel, and these guys are doing it the stiff upper lip way