AN: Hey guys :) Late I know but I must now warn you this has NOT been beta-ed... any mistakes present are mine XD I'm sorry x

Slightly longer chapter for you x enjoy :) (warning, the Martin whumping begins here!)

The first day of the month had them flying cargo to Australia. It was a posh dining room set, and the familiarity of delivery alongside flying had Martin in a relatively calm mood. Or was it the fact that Douglas had just walked in, allowing Martin to remember what he'd said just two days before?

"Good morning, Martin." Douglas said as he entered the flight desk.

"Morning… You're late again." Martin berated. Douglas shrugged slightly, before he collapsed into his seat with a distinct lack of grace. For all his smooth talking, and posh voice, Douglas was spectacularly undignified.. Maybe it was because it was only Martin, which Martin found just a little offensive (although he really shouldn't; it meant Douglas was relaxed around him, but of course Martin didn't do a course on understanding people in Ipswich so he didn't see it that way…) He sighed. "Any excuses to list this time?" he asked, although his voice lacked the dripping sarcasm Douglas always seemed to achieve.

"I don't believe it is compulsory for me to have an explanation for my delayed arrival, sir." Douglas retorted, putting extra emphasis on the work 'sir', as usual. Martin rolled his eyes. "If you must know… I overslept." He said, and Martin could almost hear a hint of a sheepish tone in his voice.

"Oh, the great sky god overslept…" Martin murmured with a light chuckle. Douglas scowled.

Twenty minutes later, and they were in the air.

"Post take-off checks complete, Captain." Douglas said. Martin nodded, and reclined in his chair as he turned on the auto-pilot. "So… Thought of anything yet?" Douglas asked. Martin turned his head to him in order to frown in confusion. "Your money problem." Douglas prompted. Martin sighed a little. Trust Douglas to bring it up.

"No. Nothing." He said, as though it was obvious.

"Don't worry." Douglas said, and Martin frowned a little at the apparent sincerity in his voice. "You'll think of something eventually."

"Are you ill?" Martin asked, before he could stop himself. Douglas stared at him. "You're being sincere…"

"I'm not heartless, Martin…" Douglas muttered; did he actually sound… hurt? Martin looked down, and muttered a quick apology.

A while was spent in silence, Martin focusing a little too much on the controls in front of him, and Douglas staring out at the sun reflecting on the sea below them. Eventually, Martin suggested a game of 'songs that sound more interesting with the last letter knocked off'. Of course, Douglas commented sarcastically on the originality of the game, but suggested 'My heart will go o', immediately making Martin laugh.

Their game continued at a languid pace; their reactions weren't exactly lightning quick, but the flight-deck was rarely silent. Arthur tried (and failed) to koin in when he brought lunch, the cheese tray, or coffee. Douglas was shocked to find that Arthur was actually a lot worse at the game than Martin… Martin seemed to have a whole array of songs in his brain. This was certainly shocking given his lack of hobbies.

"Well I don't drive my van in silence." Martin snapped when questioned. "I sometimes have the radio on… Or a CD." He elaborated. "Just because I haven't got any real… hobbies… doesn't mean I'm immediately exempt from anything recreational!" he rambled, a defensive tone poisoning his words with a desperation to prove himself. His ears had gone pink, and his face red, whether with anger or embarrassment, Douglas couldn't tell. He reasoned it was likely both.

By the half-way point, they were bored of that game… Instead, their conversation turned casual. However, Martin noted that it was rather a conversation usually had when initially getting to know someone, as they quizzed each other on their tastes in music. You'd expect to know at least a little about your friend's music tastes after two years working with him… But evidently this wasn't the case.

Of course, Douglas was a fan of Opera, but Martin was fascinated by his interest in West-End musicals, or indeed Broadway. A lot of opera lovers cast musicals as a cheap rip-off of the high-classed art. Obviously, Martin was hardly surprised by Douglas' love of older songs, and classical music, but his secret passion for country was definitely a shock.

Martin, on the other hand, preferred quite a bit of modern music. He admitted this didn't include much pop; more rock and alternative. Martin did, however, also have a hidden love for country music. He also admitted to an unhealthy obsession with any song that mentioned flying, no matter the style. But then, Douglas wasn't exactly surprised by that.

When they finally landed in Sydney, they both had to stretch, having barely moved for the duration of the flight.

Their hotel was unsavoury, to be nice. The walls were plagued with damp and cracks were absent in only half of them. Spiders had made cobwebs in most of the corners, and yet the place was still infested with flies and various other insects. Martin's skin crawled, and Douglas couldn't help but curse several times, an odd occurrence to say the least. Carolyn explained that it was so they could each have their own room. But even Martin and Douglas exclaimed they'd rather share than go to another hotel like this one. Carolyn conceded it was the worst hotel they're ever been to, and promised they'd be in a nicer one on their trip to Kyoto, which was next.

Martin got hardly a wink of sleep. The room was freezing and he couldn't get above freezing point, no matter how small a ball he curled up into. The wind howled outside the window, and he couldn't block out the constant, unnerving sound of scuttling feet around him. Half-way through the night it became too much and he burst into tears. He was next door to Douglas, so he kept his sobs silent, but that just made it harder not to shake. He'd never wanted his little attic room badly in his life. The broken futon he used as a bed with the coffe stains and funny smell was more inviting than the thin layers of sheets over splintered wood that smelt of piss and cigarettes. At least he had a heater back home, minimal insulation and proper covers. He began to whimper, not caring who heard him…

Douglas…" he finally whispered. He needed the calming presence of his first officer, a sarcastic comment, anything… "Douglas…" he sobbed shakily. He hated how he was so desperate for him, but he was so scared… So alone.

AN - Poor Martin... I'm so cruel .