Chapter Twenty-Five

As the weather improved, Douglas made a habit of going outside to watch GERTI land after the end of a long trip. A part of him wished that he could go with them, but it was crowded on board and the porta-cabin was peaceful. Today, however, Douglas was glad that he was on the ground – the screeching of the wheels as GERTI was slammed into the tarmac, arriving safely but with the force of a comet.

Douglas hurried back into the porta-cabin before the others could arrive. Hastily taking a seat behind the desk and bringing the phone to his ear, he waited until the door slammed open before putting the phone down. He opened his mouth to speak, but was shocked to see that it was only Nigel – the others were nowhere in sight. He didn't even get a chance to find his voice before the First Officer stormed to his desk, tipped his in-tray into his bag, and then snatched up his coat.

"Interesting flight, was it?" Douglas asked, glancing towards the door.

Still, the others didn't appear.

"I don't get paid enough for this," Nigel growled, huffing and puffing as he collected his things. His pilot's hat was tossed onto the now empty desk, and his tie was tugged out of place. "You tell Carolyn I'm handing in my resignation."

"A verbal resignation?"

"I'm not hanging around any longer," Nigel replied. "I'll have my uniform sent back."

With that, Nigel was gone, not looking nearly as impressive as he must have thought he did. Douglas watched him go, wondering whether he should follow him, but knowing that he wouldn't. It wasn't worth the effort. He fiddled with the computer until the door swung open again, and Carolyn marched in, with Martin, Arthur, and Herc in tow.

"Is he gone then?" Carolyn demanded as she tossed her coat over the back of a chair. Douglas nodded and she scowled. "Good riddance."

"Not all that good, Carolyn," Herc remarked as he sighed and retreated behind his own desk. Although he set out the post-flight paperwork, he made no move to complete it as he shared surreptitious glances with Martin and Arthur, who were huddling down on the tattered sofa. "We can't fly outside Europe with only one pilot. If you don't find someone to replace him soon, you're going to lose money."

"So Nigel's really gone then?" Douglas asked. Martin tried to catch his eye, hastily shaking his head, but Douglas ignored him as he fixed his slouch and caught Carolyn's attention. "I thought he was just throwing a tantrum."

"He's gone alright," Carolyn said. "If I get my hands on him..."

Eager not to endure her wrath, Douglas vacated his seat and let her have her desk back. Dropping down onto the arm of the sofa, bringing his feet up onto the cushions, he squeezed in with Martin and Arthur, ducking down so that they wouldn't be overheard.

"What happened?"

"It was a nightmare," Martin groaned, dragging his hands down his face. He pushed back the sleeves of his shirt and looked up at Douglas with so much misery that Douglas actually felt sorry for him. "I-I've never been on a flight like that."

"It wasn't that bad," Arthur said. "It was just... messy..."

"No, i-it was horrible," Martin insisted. He leaned against Douglas' leg and sagged, for once defeated by the toils of his job. "There were musicians, a-and they were all shouting , and they all wanted different things, a-and then the pilots..."

"They didn't like us hiding in the flight-deck, did they?" Arthur remarked.

"Nigel didn't," Martin agreed. "He especially didn't like having to come out and deal with the... w-with the... god..."

Douglas snorted, and shook his head, hiding his grin behind his hand. He didn't think Martin would appreciate how funny he found the whole thing. He had never like Nigel – he was dull and he never turned up for work just for the fun of it. Getting his amusement under control, Douglas dropped his arm down behind Martin and trailed his fingers along the back of his neck, where his hair met his nape. Martin relaxed into his touch, rolling his eyes at the sheer awfulness of the situation.

In spite of himself, Douglas smiled as he thought of the sudden vacancy in the flight-deck. If things went well, it would still be years until he got any kind of license to fly, and yet... the thought of an opening at MJN spurred on the hopeful heat in his chest, making him all the more determined. This was the right decision, he convinced himself – he hadn't told anyone yet, but... yes... Douglas wanted to be a pilot.

Obviously, MJN wasn't a proper airline, but it was familiar and homely, and nothing like what he imagined a big airline to be like – he would be with friends.

No... Douglas took a deep breath and removed his hand from Martin's hair. He was getting ahead of himself. Nothing was set in stone yet. He hadn't even heard back from every school yet. Clearing his throat, Douglas looked over Martin's head, to Arthur.

"So what exactly triggered Nigel's fit then?"

Arthur smiled guiltily – then not guiltily at all – beamed at the memory.

"It really wasn't that bad," he said, picking at his sleeve and glancing towards his mother. "I don't understand why everyone made such a fuss."

"You wouldn't," Martin muttered.

"They were only a bit loud," Arthur said. "And they wouldn't stay in their seats. And one woman kept panicking about everything – but the rest were really nice. I got to eat loads of cheesecake as well, but that's a whole other story."

While Arthur told the story, and Martin chipped in to declare his irritation with the whole flight – none of which made him want to stop flying, only to move on to a better, more professional company – Carolyn raged and Herc dutifully tried to placate her whilst filling out the paperwork. Douglas watched them all, only half listening, and wondered just how he was going to cope without them... again.

Looking around the Knapp-Shappey guest room, Martin found it impossible to tell that Douglas hadn't lived there his whole life. It was a mess – clothes hung over every horizontal surface, books half-read and abandoned on the floor, and his laptop the only thing at right angles to the desk, open and lit up, plugged into a socket that was already overflowing with an adaptor that let him charge all of his devices at once.

Douglas was still sprawled on his bed, recovering from a fumble that hadn't descended into anything more intimate – maybe later, he had said. Martin was happy enough to leave him to his reading, slow as it was, and decided to check his emails. It was a peaceful process – he took far too long gazing back at his boyfriend, wondering how he had become so lucky. Things had just sort of fallen into place, and he had no idea how.

Forcing himself to focus, Martin turned back to the computer and waggled his finger on the touchpad. He went to log in, only to find that Douglas hadn't logged out. He was just about to do so for him, muttering fondly under his breath, when the top entry – bold and embossed – caught his eye.

The word 'Admissions' piqued his interest, and Martin clicked through. He knew that he shouldn't have, but he couldn't help it. If Douglas was trying to get his life back in gear, that was a good thing. He shot Douglas a glance and a smirk over his shoulder – he was probably embarrassed after dropping out of Oxford and eager not to make a fuss.

Martin's heart stopped when his eyes met the screen again. The email had opened, and the words were laid out before him. His finger froze over the keyboard.

Oxford Aviation Academy.

Douglas had applied to Oxford Aviation Academy. If this email was telling the truth, he had applied, attended an interview, and been accepted – all in the past few months, without telling him. They had spent so many days together – but then again, Martin remembered, there had been long jobs in the van and Douglas had had time to go wherever he wanted – he had even disappeared for a few days, here and there, to visit his brother.

Martin's head span.

Then the reality of what he was seeing fell upon his shoulders. Sinking back into the comfortable desk-chair, Martin turned slowly. Douglas still lay there, oblivious to the tension that had crept into life underneath Martin's skin – he wanted to snap at him, to bite at the acid on the tip of his tongue and demand to know what was going on.

Instead, he tapped the touchpad on the laptop to make sure the screen didn't turn black.

"Douglas..."

"Hmmm?"

Douglas didn't look up from his book. He was calm and comfortable and Martin had to fight the urge to storm over to him. Taking a deep breath, Martin cleared his throat and pointed to the screen.

"What's this?"

"That?" Douglas replied, and this time he looked up. Seeing the expression on Martin's face, he ambled to his feet and crossed the room, ducking down to see the email. Martin watched his eyes flicker back and forth as realisation dawned. For a moment he looked like he was about to tell him off for reading his emails – then Douglas paled and tugged at his collar, pulling the button from its hole. "Oh... Ah, about that..."

"You applied to flight-schools?" Martin asked, arms folded, glaring up at him. He wasn't sure whether he was angry or aghast. All he knew was that he was fighting not to stand up and encroach on Douglas' space.

"Yes," Douglas said, sheepishly looking to the floor. "I did do that."

"Why?"

"I've decided - with quite a lot of thought behind that decision - that I want to become a pilot," Douglas explained. He took a step back, out of reach, hands wringing together before he tucked them behind his back and swayed even further back.

Martin scoffed dryly, eyes wide as he stared across the room. His palm was pressed flat against the desk – as flat as it could go with pens and papers strewn everywhere – and only the painful ache in his wrist kept him from going dizzy with confusion.

"S-since when?"

"Since I need a career, Martin," Douglas shot back, and this time there was a bite in his tone that hadn't been there before. Harsh lines appeared at the bridge of his nose and his stubborn pout became a hard line.

And yet, Martin couldn't take him seriously. There was no spinning in his ears or heat in his head – just frustration gnawing at the base of his throat, making his fingers flex where they lay against his knee.

"Wh-what? Your dream falls through so you'll have mine?" he muttered, biting his tongue at the last moment.

"That's not what this is-"

"Y-you did this all behind my back," Martin exclaimed. "What did you think I-I'd - I'd be jealous?"

"Martin-"

"B-because I can't think of any reason why you might keep this a secret," Martin continued. Douglas was rooted to the spot, pale and staring, chest heaving as he held back, but Martin couldn't feel any sympathy. He jabbed at the computer screen, wishing he could figure out whether he was upset or furious. "It's only everything I've ever wanted. I-it's only all my hopes and dreams, my whole future - they've rejected me twice but Douglas Richardson signs up a-and they're practically dragging you through the door."

"Martin, it's not like that," Douglas said, voice clipped and curt but raised just loud enough to be heard as he took a step towards him, hands pressed together as if in prayer.

"Th-then what is it like?" Martin demanded, launching himself to his feet.

Douglas ground to a halt the moment Martin was level with him – he was taller but that didn't matter. His eyes were still wide, his lips trembling as his thoughts raced across his face too fast to read. Swallowing so hard that Martin saw his throat bob, Douglas gave a half-hearted shrug and pushed a hand through his hair.

"I didn't want to tell you until I was sure."

"Because you knew I'd be upset," Martin shot back.

"I wanted you to be proud of me," Douglas insisted, and his voice lost some of its heat.

Martin's retort died on his tongue as the meaning of that struck him, but the anger didn't fade. Clenching his hands at his sides, he paced back and forth – no more than two feet in either direction – before fixing Douglas with a stern glare and pointing across the space, directly over his heart.

"S-since when do you want to be a pilot?"

"I've spent years listening to you go on and on about it..." Douglas replied weakly, almost immediately. He shrugged again, as if genuinely guilty, and for a moment his lips twitched into a hopeful smile. "Martin, it's perfect for me."

"Of course it is," Martin spat, even as a bitter part of him knew that he was right. Douglas would be good at whatever he did – once he had his mind set on something, he got there eventually. That didn't make it easier to face him instead of glaring daggers at the clutter – the mess of his room instead of Douglas' face. It just wasn't fair. "Y-you mean you're perfect at everything."

"You know that's not true," Douglas gritted out, smile fading instantly. He looked towards the window, fidgeting as Douglas never did, not coming any closer. "And I've spent years at the airfield - on GERTI - I don't know why I ever thought I belonged anywhere else. I can do it, Martin. I really want to."

In spite of himself, Martin felt a pang of sympathy. Douglas really did look miserable – and he was making more sense than he usually did. It would be just as easy to cross the space and hug him as it would be to shake some sense into him. Closing his eyes to cast away the effect Douglas' face had on him, Martin dug his nails into his palms and tried to decide what he was most upset about. Slowly but surely, the reality of the situation settled over him like a cloak – Douglas had applied, he had got in, he was probably going to flight-school to become a pilot... and this was the first he was hearing of it.

"Wh-why didn't you tell me?" Martin asked. There was a moment of silence, and Martin opened his eyes. Holding Douglas' gaze was hard, but he managed it, even as he pointed again to the damned screen. "This application – th-this is going to get you into flight-school this year."

Douglas looked away again, going even paler. His hand went to his hair and his eyes went to the floor. It was very clear in that moment that Douglas had had no intention of telling him, and hadn't thought about what would happen if he needed to.

Martin actually felt sorry for him. His heart lurched in his chest as he watched the other boy's hands wind together, and he wanted to reach out to him. By the time Douglas opened his mouth, Martin's anger had fizzled into something damp and uncomfortable under his skin, leaving him exhausted.

"I..."

"D-did you think I wouldn't miss you?" Martin asked, harshly, wishing that he didn't have to hear the answer.

Giving in, he moved to drop onto the edge of the bed, hands folded over his knees.

Douglas sank down beside him.

"I didn't want to hurt you," he said. He placed a hand on Martin's knee and Martin didn't shake him off. That seemed to spur him on. "It's not fair that you didn't get in."

"No it's bloody well not," Martin muttered.

"Exactly," Douglas agreed, squeezing more confidently. "And I didn't want to hurt you by saying I was going if I didn't get in."

"B-but you did get in, a-and you are going away," Martin replied, fighting the urge to snap as it crept up his throat. He hated himself for it, but he was starting to come around – he could picture Douglas in a gleaming uniform, sitting in the flight-deck like he always had, so much more clearly than he could picture himself. It wasn't fair. Martin dropped his head into his hands and scrubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. "This is like medical school all over – y-you're leaving again."

"I have to," Douglas insisted, and when Martin's head shot up he looked him in the eye, big brown eyes serious and unwavering.

"W-when I wanted to move away, I-I asked you to come with me," Martin said, working through the lump in his throat. Suddenly, he didn't care that Douglas was going to fly through flight-school without a care – realisation dawned on him with the weight of a storm, and a familiar clot of bitter resentment twisted in his chest. "I-I asked you to move in with me - but you're just running away."

"Don't tell me you wouldn't have done the same thing if you'd gotten into flight-school instead of having to fund it all yourself," Douglas shot back.

He didn't understand, Martin thought. This was bigger than just their careers.

"M-maybe, years ago, when I wasn't having to scrimp a-and save and find my own damned instructor," Martin said, voice low and hard. Jerking out of Douglas' reach, missing the warm weight on his knee immediately, Martin rose to his feet and paced, dragging his hand across the back of his neck. "B-but Douglas... My priorities have changed since then. Getting my career isn't the most important thing anymore."

Douglas rolled his eyes.

"Oh really."

"R-really. I'm not willing to just throw everything overboard for a pilot's license - my future isn't just flying anymore," Martin explained, hating that he had to explain at all. "It's us... I-it's us, together, having a future... I don't know what that involves, but... I-I want us."

Grinding to a halt, Martin turned back to Douglas, hoping for an end to the discussion. Instead, he found Douglas staring up at him, brow furrowed like he had made a decision – there was sadness in his expression and he was no longer fidgeting. Martin's heart sank and he sniffed, shaking his head as Douglas spoke.

"Martin..." Douglas paused, swallowed hard, and then continued. He stood, came closer, and tried to take Martin's hands. When Martin didn't let him, he frowned but didn't look away. "It could take years for you to get the money together. There's no way of knowing you'd even end up in the same corner of the country as me - you'll have to move to go wherever the instructor lives. I can get into flight-school now... I don't want to wait."

There was such finality in Douglas' voice – more than he had ever heard before – that Martin felt his eyes burn. A part of him knew that there was no use in fighting it. In opening that email, he had irreversibly altered the course of things.

"Wh-what about our future together?"

"I want that-"

"Th-then why would you keep this from me?"

"Because it's not as easy as you-"

"I-it is easy," Martin replied sharply. "I want to be a pilot. I want to be your boyfriend too."

"I can't just be your boyfriend, Martin," Douglas sighed, just as firmly.

Martin froze – he hadn't realised he was moving.

"Wh-what?"

Douglas stammered for a moment – mouth flapping as his eyes darted everywhere but Martin's face. Eventually, he brought his hands together- then he reached out and Martin refused to let him take his hands again.

"I can't..." Douglas sniffed and covered his eyes with his hand before ploughing onwards, as if he were steeling himself. "I can't not do this so that we can stay together." He saw Martin shake his head and scowl, more hurt than angry, and he hurried forwards. It didn't matter that Martin tried to step out of his way – Douglas grasped his arms, not hard enough to keep him there, but Martin didn't pull away and Douglas almost smiled as he looked Martin dead in the eye. "Listen - I have spent so much time doing what everyone else wants - now I want to be a pilot. I want this, for me. I love you so much but I can't be... I'm only your boyfriend as long as you're around. Maybe years ago that would have been okay but it's not now. I need to concentrate on what I want and what I want is to go to flight-school, even if that means leaving you here, or wherever you go to get your license."

If Douglas were upset for any other reason, Martin would have pulled him closer. Instead, he placed one hand over the fingers on his arm, squeezing and not sure what he wanted to do with them – they were solid and straining beneath his, and Martin nearly choked on the lump in his throat.

The worst thing was how much sense Douglas was making.

"Douglas..."

"You're enough for me, Martin. You are," Douglas said. They were so close now that it took a moment to realise that Douglas was whispering, so softly, trying his hardest to maintain eye contact. "This isn't about you. But me - this version of me - it's not enough."

"Nobody's asking you to be perfect," Martin murmured, wrapping Douglas' fingers more securely against his palm.

Douglas sighed, and leaned back, holding him at arm's length. Martin had no choice but to go with the motion, allowing him to tip back his chin and look Douglas in the face – a face that was stiff and firmly fixed in an expression of self-assured determination.

"I am."

There was no point even fighting it, Martin knew.

"I-I love you," he said, as if that had ever been enough to change things.

"Would you give up trying to be a pilot if I asked?" Douglas asked sadly.

"No."

"There we go then."

Douglas made no effort to stop Martin when he tore himself away and stormed from the room, and Martin didn't hear him following when he thundered from the house. There was nothing he could do to change things. That didn't mean he had to be happy about it.

Although Martin certainly wasn't happy about Douglas' decision to go to flight-school, Douglas was glad when within the week, matters were settled between them. There were kisses, embraces, more sharp words – and it was decided. Douglas was going to flight-school when the school year started. There would be no break-up, and no promises that they stay together forever – they would just go on as they were until they couldn't anymore. It wasn't a solution, but it was better than letting animosity linger between them.

That was what made Douglas absolutely certain that what they had was love – the kind that would endure even the worst of times. Talking might have been the more conventional way of doing things, but Douglas was glad to just spend time with Martin and get on with his life without having the same horrible conversations over and over again.

They were only young, after all.

Douglas wasn't sure how he found himself sneaking into his old secondary school – well, sneaking was probably a generous word. He walked through the front door, asked for the Headmistress, was told to wait for her to get back from assembly, then went to her office anyway and left a bouquet of flowers on her desk before hastily running away.

If anyone deserved flowers, it was good old Mrs Smith. Douglas knew that he wouldn't be anywhere near to where he was if she hadn't forced Martin to tutor him. So, flowers it was. Douglas left the school feeling as light as a cloud.

There was a skip in his step when he ran into Martin halfway through Fitton.

It turned out Martin had been heading towards Arthur's house in the hopes of finding him. Rolling his eyes at Douglas' antics, blushing with embarrassment at the thought of what Mrs Smith would say when she found the flowers, Martin walked arm in arm with him back to Arthur's house, and neither of them said a word about the future.

There was no need to – although nobody said it out loud, their gathering that night was as close to a goodbye party as Douglas was going to get.

The party took place at the airfield. Arthur's enthusiasm touched not only the decorations and the music, but the food as well... which meant that nobody else touched the food more than necessary. Everyone was there. Theresa had even come back from Cambridge for the weekend to throw her arms around them all, say how much she had missed them, and wish Douglas luck – all while making it clear just how jealous she was with a smile and a pinch. Carolyn came very close to getting teary, and when Douglas tried to play the keyboard that Arthur had dug out from a charity shop, Herc butted in to serenade them all, which rather took the fun out of it as Carolyn went even more dewy eyed.

When the sky outside the window turned an inky shade of black, Douglas slipped outside. Martin was right behind him, slipping his hand into his and winding their fingers together without prompting, staying close as if he didn't dare breathe air that hadn't been shared – he had been quiet, and Douglas was starting to miss his voice.

They ended their walk at the foot of the ATC tower, where they could see any incoming aircraft if they so wished. For once, there were none, and Douglas couldn't help feeling like that was an omen of some sort.

Martin's hand never left his, but he pulled his knees to his chest and sighed.

"Th-this was never permanent, was it?"

"How d'you mean?" Douglas replied, although the heaviness in his heart understood perfectly.

"I-I mean us," Martin explained. "W-we started out sneaking around for crying out loud... a-as much as we... as much as I feel about you, a-and vice versa... th-this was never meant to last, n-not as a relationship."

Douglas wanted to argue. He couldn't.

"The feelings are real," he said gently. "I love you."

"Y-yeah, I know," Martin said. He sighed again, resting his chin against his knees. He turned his head so that Douglas could see his face. "W-when you think about the future – a-about your life, a-and your love, what do you imagine? W-what did you imagine before you met me?"

Douglas shifted, wishing he was wearing a thicker coat. It wasn't that cold out, but the chills were there. Martin's hand was there too, still there.

"I suppose... I wanted to settle down. Still do, actually," Douglas answered honestly. The light from ATC illuminated a small patch of ground in front of them, but the rest of the airfield – the rest of Fitton – was hidden from sight. "You know... a significant other, a house, a job... children maybe. Putting down roots and settling down."

"Me too," Martin said, barely a breath. He frowned and then sat back, head touching the tower. "W-we were never that, were we?"

"There's no reason we couldn't be."

"E-except there is," Martin sighed. "Wh-why do I always feel like I'm watching you go off somewhere?"

"Maybe because when we first met, I thought I'd be sending you off to become a pilot while I sat at home with my failed exams and my disappointed parents," Douglas replied.

Martin laughed – a short, light sound – and Douglas smiled into his arms as he mirrored Martin's slouch of before. One hand remained in Martin's and he squeezed. The tight squeeze he earned in return eased some of the worries that buzzed around his ears like gnats.

As he lifted the last of Douglas' bags into the back of a taxi, Martin felt a pang of finality – like the clang of a gong. The boot slammed shut and he faced Douglas across the sheet of dusty metal.

"Third time's a charm," Douglas said, missing the sparkle that he wore so well.

"I-it better be," Martin replied, fighting a wobbling lip with an even wobblier smile. He rounded the back of the car until he stood in front of Douglas. Not caring what he looked like, Martin pulled him into a hug – arms around his shoulders and his back, clutching at him like a lifeline. When he pulled back, he tried to look in Douglas' eyes but Douglas still gripped his arms, holding him so close that their foreheads touched. That was nicer, he thought, as he spluttered, "I-I mean it. If you don't do this right, I-I'm giving up on you. This is your last chance."

"Sounds fair," Douglas murmured.

He kissed him, hands on his cheeks, aching not to pull away.

In the end they had no choice.

Martin had to breathe, and then he had to extricate himself, because nothing would happen if they stay in the street – night would fall and then they'd just be two idiots standing around in the dark. Douglas seemed to feel the same, as he buried his hands in his pockets. There was no point in drawing it out.

"You'll keep in touch?" Douglas asked.

"T-try and keep me away," Martin replied. "N-not literally away... I-I can't..."

"You can't keep running after me," Douglas concluded with an assured nod. It had been his plan anyway that had got them into this mess. Martin watched patiently as he composed himself, hand under his nose, nodding to himself. "Let me know where you end up studying," he said. "You will get there eventually. And you won't give up."

"Y-you sure about that?"

"I know you, Martin. You won't give up."

They didn't say goodbye in so many words. Martin sort of stopped thinking until Douglas was in the taxi, and only then did he wave, teary eyed but resigned, until the car was out of sight. He followed it into the street, and wondered once again just what exactly had happened to his life to bring him here again.