FIC: Delights Not Me [2/5]
Title: Delights Not Me
Pairings: None
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Cabin Pressure is written by John Finnemore, and is a Pozzitive Production for the BBC! I am, in no way, shape, or form, associated with any of these people.
Summary: Martin is asexual, but he doesn't really know what that is. He thinks he is somehow broken. Carolyn and Douglas, seeing his inability to begin a relationship, try to help. It doesn't go exactly to plan.
Beta by the lovely lady_t_220
Chapter One
Chapter Two
“I can't watch any more,” Carolyn muttered, setting down her gin-and-tonic. “It's just too painful.”
“How can someone fail so continually and in so many different ways?” Douglas mused, watching Martin with amusement writ large across his features. “Someone should make a documentary about him; there are probably entire textbooks on human behaviour that could be written based on Martin Crieff.”
“He is the most hopeless human being on the planet. And I say this as the mother of Arthur.”
“Yes, so you're an expert in the subject of hopeless humanity.”
They lapsed into silence, watching Martin attempt to talk to a woman. He had been getting progressively redder in the face, and had run his fingers through his hair so often that it was standing on end. He looked really quite manic. The woman, to her credit, was looking at him with something resembling concern and pity rather than horror, which Carolyn imagined would have been the sensible reaction. It was certainly how she tended to view her captain, at any rate.
“He's got a uniform,” Douglas muttered. “A uniform. It's a sure fire way of masking incompetence! It can make even the ugliest of chaps into a sex god!”
“Martin's incompetence overpowers even the wonders of a uniform.”
The CEO and first officer heaved twin sighs of despair, and ordered more drinks.
“We should help him,” said Douglas.
“Well I'm not wading over there to extract him from this. He can suffer it alone, as far as I'm concerned.”
“Oh, not with this particular situation. I'm looking forward to seeing just how long the poor girl pities him for. No, I mean, we should help him in future. Give him a leg-up in the world of romance, so to speak.”
Carolyn eyed him shrewdly. “Douglas, this sort of charitable feeling is out-of-character. Are you feeling all right?”
“Perfectly all right. And I wouldn't exactly call it charitable. How do you feel about a little light-hearted contest?”
Carolyn took a sip of her drink, watching Martin on the other side of the bar. The woman patted him awkwardly on the arm and gave him a sympathetic smile before walking away. His shoulders seemed to slump in defeat as she left. She turned back to Douglas, who was watching her with a knowing look in his eyes.
“Tell me more.”
The rules were simple. Martin could not know that Douglas and Carolyn were in any way involved - no setting him up on blind dates. No overtly introducing him to people. No giving him phone numbers. Everything had to seem to happen by chance. The first person who found Martin a successful date won: if it was Douglas, he got an extra month's salary. If it was Carolyn, Douglas would work for free for a month.
Carolyn wrote the rules on a napkin, accompanied by her signature. Douglas added his own with a flourish, and they clinked their drinks together.
“No cheating, First Officer Richardson.”
“I wouldn't dream of it. May the best man win.”
Carolyn raised one eyebrow.
“May the best person win,” he amended. “Which will be me.”
Carolyn swirled her drink thoughtfully. “Well, we'll just see about that.”
On the other side of the bar, Martin ordered another whisky.
***
Douglas just knew he was going to win, and straight out of the box, too. Laura was a sure-fire hit: she was thirty-two years old, a veterinary technician who tended to adopt stray, pathetic animals, and she liked uniforms. Given that Martin was a walking, talking, uniform-wearing pathetic stray, there was absolutely no way this could fail.
“This is exciting,” she said, grinning at Douglas. They were sat in an airport bar in Luton; he had managed to escape duties on GERTI early in order to meet Laura here. She had been very happy to go along with his plan. “How do I look?”
“Lovely,” he told her. It was true; she wasn't beautiful by any stretch of the imagination, but she was probably what people would call 'cute'. She was inoffensive and non-threatening and clearly very nice. “Now, remember that he's not likely to talk normally for quite a while, but give him a chance and he'll manage eventually. Okay?”
“Oh, that's fine,” she said, smiling. “I get it if he's a shy, nervous type. I'll manage. Now get lost, okay?”
“Right, I'm going. You know who you're looking for?”
“Pilot's uniform. Red hair. Freckles. Got it.”
Douglas tipped his hat to her. “Excellent. Good luck, Miss Tebbit.” She gave him a mock salute, and he meandered away to ensure that Martin would make it to the correct bar.
***
“First round's on you, captain,” Douglas said, clapping Martin's hat on his head. “Now get going.”
“First round?” Martin said, narrowing his eyes. “Douglas the layover's only a few hours.”
“Yes, plenty of time to have a couple of drinks, unless you stand there arguing with me about it. Go.”
Why Douglas insisted on this bar Martin didn't know, but he was too tired to protest over-much. Carolyn and Arthur had vanished, presumably into the depths of the duty-free, so it just left him with Douglas. His first officer had dispatched him to find seats and drinks whilst he went to the loo.
There were a couple of spare stools at Douglas' chosen bar, so Martin plonked himself down. God, he was tired. He really felt he could do with a heavy dose of caffeine since alcohol wasn't on the cards.
“Long flight?” said a voice next to him, and he nearly fell off the stool. The speaker turned out to be a woman sat nearby, watching him over her drink.
“Um. Oh. Yeah, f-fairly long. From Dubai. Th-though I suppose that's not too long, er-” he broke off and cleared his throat. “How about you?”
“Oh, I'm just waiting. My flight won't be called for hours yet.” She smiled and shifted up a couple of stools so she was sat next to him and offered her hand. “I'm Laura.”
“Martin,” he shook her hand and tried not to stare too obviously. Strange women didn't introduce themselves to him in bars. Why was she talking to him?
She was, it turned out, pleasant to talk to. She asked him lots of questions about being a pilot, and seemed genuinely fascinated in what he told her. She told him about her work, which sounded interesting (if a little gory at times), and Martin could hardly believe he was having a normal conversation with a woman he had just met.
“So where are your favourite places to fly?” she asked, leaning closer and laying her hand on his arm. She twirled a strand of hair around a finger of her other hand, and Martin stared.
She was flirting. With him.
His stomach sank. Now he needed to get out of this. He hadn't meant to imply he was interested! He was just talking!
“Um. I- well, I like a lot of places, and, er, well, when you fly you only really see airports and once you've seen one you've seen them all, unless the airfield manager turns out to the crazy and tries to trap you and uh-” he was babbling, and he tried to move his arm out from under her hand without being too obvious about it. It proved very difficult, and now she was stroking his sleeve. Why was she doing that? Where the hell was Douglas?
“Trap you?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “What on earth?”
“Well, er, it's a long story really, and-”
She smiled. She had a pleasant smile. “Well, maybe you should take me out for a drink sometime and tell me?”
“What?” he squeaked. She wanted to go on a date with him? Or maybe she didn't. Maybe she wanted to go out as friends, because they'd been talking quite normally until she touched his arm, so maybe they could go out and just talk, and that would be good because he needed some more friends.
“Sure, it would be fun,” Laura said brightly. “It could be really fun.”
Alarm bells sounded in Martin's head. He couldn't do this. He had absolutely no idea how to tell her he didn't want this. He didn't want her to know how dysfunctional he was, and he didn't want to have her touching him like that. Oh God, what should he do?
“Look,” she said, clearly not taking his stunned expression for what it was. “I'll give you my number, okay? Then you can give me a call.” She scribbled her phone number on the back of her drink receipt and tucked it into the breast pocket of his uniform.
“Um-” he said.
“Call me,” she said firmly, smiling. “It was good talking to you.” Then she kissed his cheek and walked away through the airport crowds. Martin sat where he was, feeling completely blind-sided by what had just happened.
“Cute girl,” said the tattooed woman behind the bar. “Well done.”
Martin just nodded dumbly, and slid off the stool. He'd better go and make sure GERTI was all ready for take-off.
***
“Bad luck,” said Carolyn a few days later, not even bothering to hide the glee in her voice. They were sat in her office-cum-cupboard, supposedly discussing Douglas' incomplete log book.
“It relied too much on Martin picking up a phone and calling her,” Douglas muttered. “But don't gloat too much Carolyn - you haven't even found anyone yet.”
“Don't be so sure, fellow Cupid. Soon you will see exactly how it's supposed to be done.”
Privately, Douglas doubted that. True, the plot with Laura had not worked as he had hoped, but she had given him some valuable information he was going to keep from Carolyn. On giving Douglas a run-down of what had happened, Laura had let slip something very interesting:
“To be honest, Douglas,” she had said thoughtfully, tapping her lower-lip, “I'm not entirely sure women are his area.”
“Hm. What gave you that idea?”
“Call it a hunch. I've got a pretty good success rate with working these things out, and I am pretty certain your captain isn't exactly straight.”
Douglas had wondered, briefly, whether Martin might be gay. It seemed a possibility worth exploring, and if it were true then he had one-up on Carolyn. Now he just needed to find a man who might possibly be interested in Martin.
***
Carolyn watched Douglas go, chewing her biro thoughtfully. On paper, the girl Douglas had found should have been a good catch for Martin: kind, confident without being overbearing, sympathetic to the plight of socially awkward pilots... and yet it hadn't worked. Of course, this was excellent news for Carolyn, but it meant she would have to think very hard about how to introduce her prospective young lady to her captain.
She had to find some way of taking all responsibility for the date out of Martin's hands. He could not be relied on to call someone, or to make arrangements, or possibly even to show up. This was going to require a lot more thought than she had previously anticipated.
Of course, Carolyn was a remarkably intelligent woman. She would think of something.
***
“Let me get this straight,” Douglas was saying later. “You want us at your party?”
“Well, want is a strong word,” Carolyn replied, “but you have been invited, so I suggest you take it as the honour it is, and say you'll come.”
“It might be a trap,” said Martin, sharing a significant glance with Douglas. “She'll cook us and serve our flesh as hors d'oeuvres.”
“You'd make terrible hors d'oeuvres. She'd have to use your bones for cocktail sticks.”
“Shut up, both of you. You're coming, and that's that.”
“Gosh, Carolyn, anyone would think you were eager for us to be there.”
“I simply don't appreciate this attempt to turn down my rare hospitality. You should be grovelling at my feet for giving you this opportunity, snivelling underlings. Now, go and get GERTI ready. Snap to it.”
***
Martin was actually looking forward to Carolyn's birthday party. Admittedly this mostly stemmed from the fact that there would be a great deal of food, so he would be able to enjoy a solid, non-aeroplane meal for the first time in days. Also, there would probably be wine which meant he could get tipsy and therefore get rid of many of his crippling insecurities for an evening. He might even be able to enjoy himself. If nothing else, he could have some fun with Arthur.
What actually seemed to happen was that women kept on talking to him. He had absolutely no idea where all these women came from: did Carolyn really make friends with groups of thirty-somethings? It seemed she did. And a lot of them were inexplicably going out of their way to talk to him.
Most of them were perfectly nice, and he was able to have decent conversations with them - helped along by the alcohol, since most of them didn't seem to mind how giggly it made him - though some where rather too... suggestive for his liking. He finally extricated himself from a very awkward conversation with a doctor called Tanya, who kept pressing her leg against his, and set out to find Douglas or Arthur.
Arthur, unfortunately, was sitting with a group of three women. They were everywhere. It would be fine, except that a lot of them appeared to have made it their personal mission to make Martin as uncomfortable as possible. He was about to beat a hasty retreat, when Arthur hailed him loudly, and he had no choice but to go over.
“Hey Skip! This is Merry, Tin Tin, and Freya. Guys, this is Skipper!”
“Martin,” he corrected, sitting down with them. “Hi.” He only just stopped himself from asking what sort of parents named their child Merry or Tin Tin, but it was a close thing.
One thing about Arthur being in this group was that Martin did not have to be anywhere near the centre of attention. Arthur told all the stories, with Martin chipping in now and again. The girls seemed to know each other through their interest in horses, and told stories of their own. It was fun. None of them were trying to touch Martin or press against him or anything, and were just good company.
Later in the evening, he found himself talking to Merry as they helped themselves to more wine.
“Do you know anyone here?” she asked.
“Apart from my colleagues, no.”
“Yeah, I only know Arthur and the other girls. I get a bit overwhelmed by all these people.”
“You don't seem overwhelmed.”
“Yeah, alcohol helps with that,” she laughed, raising her glass. Martin grinned, and mimicked her.
“Here's to combating shyness with wine.”
They edged their way through the crowded living room, trying to find somewhere to sit. He wasn't sure if it was the alcohol talking, but Martin felt quite comfortable in Merry's company; she wasn't pushy, and seemed to genuinely want to talk to him. They eventually ended up on the stairs, which wasn't exactly comfortable, but it was better than nothing with the amount of alcohol currently coursing through Martin's system.
Martin introduced Merry to some of MJN's word games, and she turned out to be very fun to play with. After a few rounds of Rhyming Journeys and a quick go at Film Titles That Sound Better With One More Word, they began to make up back-stories for the other people at the party.
“How about him?” Martin asked, pointing at a man with salt-and-pepper hair who was drinking alone.
“Oh, I think he's trying to get up the courage to ask out her there,” Merry pointed at a woman with blond ringlets. “He's trying to work out whether she'll put out tonight. Unfortunately for Mr Tinting-His-Hair, she's got her eye on the guy in the blue shirt over there.” She gestured extravagantly with her wine glass, slopping some over Martin's leg. “Oops, sorry!”
“It's okay,” Martin assured her. “Don't worry. They're old.”
“Are you sure? I'm so clumsy, I didn't-”
“ Really, it's fine, don't panic.”
“Okay, okay, sorry,” she smiled uncertainly. “You're really nice, you know. Most people would be mad.”
“I'm sure they wouldn't.”
“Well, maybe not. But you're still really nice. I know nice is a horrible way to describe someone, but still.”
“I don't mind. It's a good change from 'dolt'.”
Merry laughed. “Aw, that's mean. I wouldn't call you a dolt.” She patted his shoulder. He didn't mind that. Shoulder was fine. He patted her shoulder too, so she knew it was fine.
“You're fuzzy,” he told her.
“Fuzzy?”
“Yeah. Well no, not you, you're not hairy or anything. Except on your- your head. I mean you look fuzzy. To me.”
“I think that's a sign of being drunk, Martin.”
“Mm. Yes. Drunk.”
“You're an adorable drunk.”
Martin frowned. “Am not. Why do people insist on telling me I'm adorable? 'm not a- a- a baby cat.”
Merry leant her head on his shoulder, giggling. “You are. A ginger, baby cat.” She reached up and petted his curls. It was quite nice, having her warm weight against him without it being suggestive of anything. He wasn't sure how much he'd like it were he sober, but right now he was willing to let it happen. He closed his eyes.
“Martin?” Merry mumbled.
“Mm?”
“You're a really nice guy.”
“Thanks.”
He was never entirely able to piece together what exactly happened. At some point, Merry went from leaning against his side to being pressed against his front, and her hands were on either side of his face so he couldn't turn away, and then she was pressing her mouth wetly against his lips, and then all over his face and then on his mouth again.
“Merry,” he managed to gasp out once she had moved away from his lips. “Merry, don't.”
“Oh God,” she groaned. “Oh God, you're right. I'm sorry. You're drunk, I'm drunk. Bad timing.” She put her face in his shoulder. “Would it help if I told you I am entirely consenting here so you don't have to feel bad?”
“No. This is a bad idea.”
“I'm sorry.”
“Don't be,” Martin muttered, trying to extricate himself from her. “Really, Merry, don't be sorry. Just... don't.”
“Okay.” She finally sat up and moved away from him, and he breathed out in relief. “Would... I mean, if we were sober, would it have been okay?”
No, he thought. No, never, no. But he couldn't tell her that, because it would upset her: she'd think it was because of her. But it was him, all him, and he had no idea how to explain this properly. Any attempt at explaining would involve admitting that he'd never had sex, never wanted to have sex, and that was a humiliation he never wanted to face, especially not whilst drunk. She was watching him expectantly.
“I'm not expecting anything,” she said. “No strings-attached fun, that's all, Martin. We're adults, we can do that. It's just fun, you know?”
It didn't sound fun. The very idea sent a creeping dread down his spine. He wished he were at home, in bed, alone. Her hand was on his thigh. Why were all these people touching him all of a sudden? Was he giving out some sort of signal?
“No,” he said, shaking his head violently. “No, Merry, thanks, but- no.” He stood up, his head swimming. “I've got to- sorry.”
He left her sitting on the stairs and locked himself in the bathroom, feeling panicked and guilty and utterly humiliated.
***
“I am going to give you the benefit of the doubt here,” Douglas said, “and presume that your master plan wasn't for Martin to get drunk and leave a girl sat on the stairs?”
“Of course it wasn't,” Carolyn snapped peevishly. She handed Douglas a scouring sponge and dragged him to the sink. “If you're going to gloat, at least make yourself useful. If you absolutely must know, the young lady Martin was going to meet tonight couldn't make it. Her father got taken into hospital.” Her tone said exactly what she thought of that excuse. “Do you really imagine I would have planned for Martin to get drunk with one of Arthur's Pony Clubbers?”
“Far be it from me to judge your matchmaking techniques,” Douglas drawled, somehow still managing to be smug whilst wearing a pair of marigolds.
“This isn't over, Douglas,” Carolyn warned. “You will be working for free before you know it.”
“Your optimism is beautiful to see. I shall very much enjoy crushing it.”
“Shut up and get these dishes clean, you cretin.”
Chapter Three
Pairings: None
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Cabin Pressure is written by John Finnemore, and is a Pozzitive Production for the BBC! I am, in no way, shape, or form, associated with any of these people.
Summary: Martin is asexual, but he doesn't really know what that is. He thinks he is somehow broken. Carolyn and Douglas, seeing his inability to begin a relationship, try to help. It doesn't go exactly to plan.
Beta by the lovely lady_t_220
Chapter One
Chapter Two
“I can't watch any more,” Carolyn muttered, setting down her gin-and-tonic. “It's just too painful.”
“How can someone fail so continually and in so many different ways?” Douglas mused, watching Martin with amusement writ large across his features. “Someone should make a documentary about him; there are probably entire textbooks on human behaviour that could be written based on Martin Crieff.”
“He is the most hopeless human being on the planet. And I say this as the mother of Arthur.”
“Yes, so you're an expert in the subject of hopeless humanity.”
They lapsed into silence, watching Martin attempt to talk to a woman. He had been getting progressively redder in the face, and had run his fingers through his hair so often that it was standing on end. He looked really quite manic. The woman, to her credit, was looking at him with something resembling concern and pity rather than horror, which Carolyn imagined would have been the sensible reaction. It was certainly how she tended to view her captain, at any rate.
“He's got a uniform,” Douglas muttered. “A uniform. It's a sure fire way of masking incompetence! It can make even the ugliest of chaps into a sex god!”
“Martin's incompetence overpowers even the wonders of a uniform.”
The CEO and first officer heaved twin sighs of despair, and ordered more drinks.
“We should help him,” said Douglas.
“Well I'm not wading over there to extract him from this. He can suffer it alone, as far as I'm concerned.”
“Oh, not with this particular situation. I'm looking forward to seeing just how long the poor girl pities him for. No, I mean, we should help him in future. Give him a leg-up in the world of romance, so to speak.”
Carolyn eyed him shrewdly. “Douglas, this sort of charitable feeling is out-of-character. Are you feeling all right?”
“Perfectly all right. And I wouldn't exactly call it charitable. How do you feel about a little light-hearted contest?”
Carolyn took a sip of her drink, watching Martin on the other side of the bar. The woman patted him awkwardly on the arm and gave him a sympathetic smile before walking away. His shoulders seemed to slump in defeat as she left. She turned back to Douglas, who was watching her with a knowing look in his eyes.
“Tell me more.”
The rules were simple. Martin could not know that Douglas and Carolyn were in any way involved - no setting him up on blind dates. No overtly introducing him to people. No giving him phone numbers. Everything had to seem to happen by chance. The first person who found Martin a successful date won: if it was Douglas, he got an extra month's salary. If it was Carolyn, Douglas would work for free for a month.
Carolyn wrote the rules on a napkin, accompanied by her signature. Douglas added his own with a flourish, and they clinked their drinks together.
“No cheating, First Officer Richardson.”
“I wouldn't dream of it. May the best man win.”
Carolyn raised one eyebrow.
“May the best person win,” he amended. “Which will be me.”
Carolyn swirled her drink thoughtfully. “Well, we'll just see about that.”
On the other side of the bar, Martin ordered another whisky.
***
Douglas just knew he was going to win, and straight out of the box, too. Laura was a sure-fire hit: she was thirty-two years old, a veterinary technician who tended to adopt stray, pathetic animals, and she liked uniforms. Given that Martin was a walking, talking, uniform-wearing pathetic stray, there was absolutely no way this could fail.
“This is exciting,” she said, grinning at Douglas. They were sat in an airport bar in Luton; he had managed to escape duties on GERTI early in order to meet Laura here. She had been very happy to go along with his plan. “How do I look?”
“Lovely,” he told her. It was true; she wasn't beautiful by any stretch of the imagination, but she was probably what people would call 'cute'. She was inoffensive and non-threatening and clearly very nice. “Now, remember that he's not likely to talk normally for quite a while, but give him a chance and he'll manage eventually. Okay?”
“Oh, that's fine,” she said, smiling. “I get it if he's a shy, nervous type. I'll manage. Now get lost, okay?”
“Right, I'm going. You know who you're looking for?”
“Pilot's uniform. Red hair. Freckles. Got it.”
Douglas tipped his hat to her. “Excellent. Good luck, Miss Tebbit.” She gave him a mock salute, and he meandered away to ensure that Martin would make it to the correct bar.
***
“First round's on you, captain,” Douglas said, clapping Martin's hat on his head. “Now get going.”
“First round?” Martin said, narrowing his eyes. “Douglas the layover's only a few hours.”
“Yes, plenty of time to have a couple of drinks, unless you stand there arguing with me about it. Go.”
Why Douglas insisted on this bar Martin didn't know, but he was too tired to protest over-much. Carolyn and Arthur had vanished, presumably into the depths of the duty-free, so it just left him with Douglas. His first officer had dispatched him to find seats and drinks whilst he went to the loo.
There were a couple of spare stools at Douglas' chosen bar, so Martin plonked himself down. God, he was tired. He really felt he could do with a heavy dose of caffeine since alcohol wasn't on the cards.
“Long flight?” said a voice next to him, and he nearly fell off the stool. The speaker turned out to be a woman sat nearby, watching him over her drink.
“Um. Oh. Yeah, f-fairly long. From Dubai. Th-though I suppose that's not too long, er-” he broke off and cleared his throat. “How about you?”
“Oh, I'm just waiting. My flight won't be called for hours yet.” She smiled and shifted up a couple of stools so she was sat next to him and offered her hand. “I'm Laura.”
“Martin,” he shook her hand and tried not to stare too obviously. Strange women didn't introduce themselves to him in bars. Why was she talking to him?
She was, it turned out, pleasant to talk to. She asked him lots of questions about being a pilot, and seemed genuinely fascinated in what he told her. She told him about her work, which sounded interesting (if a little gory at times), and Martin could hardly believe he was having a normal conversation with a woman he had just met.
“So where are your favourite places to fly?” she asked, leaning closer and laying her hand on his arm. She twirled a strand of hair around a finger of her other hand, and Martin stared.
She was flirting. With him.
His stomach sank. Now he needed to get out of this. He hadn't meant to imply he was interested! He was just talking!
“Um. I- well, I like a lot of places, and, er, well, when you fly you only really see airports and once you've seen one you've seen them all, unless the airfield manager turns out to the crazy and tries to trap you and uh-” he was babbling, and he tried to move his arm out from under her hand without being too obvious about it. It proved very difficult, and now she was stroking his sleeve. Why was she doing that? Where the hell was Douglas?
“Trap you?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “What on earth?”
“Well, er, it's a long story really, and-”
She smiled. She had a pleasant smile. “Well, maybe you should take me out for a drink sometime and tell me?”
“What?” he squeaked. She wanted to go on a date with him? Or maybe she didn't. Maybe she wanted to go out as friends, because they'd been talking quite normally until she touched his arm, so maybe they could go out and just talk, and that would be good because he needed some more friends.
“Sure, it would be fun,” Laura said brightly. “It could be really fun.”
Alarm bells sounded in Martin's head. He couldn't do this. He had absolutely no idea how to tell her he didn't want this. He didn't want her to know how dysfunctional he was, and he didn't want to have her touching him like that. Oh God, what should he do?
“Look,” she said, clearly not taking his stunned expression for what it was. “I'll give you my number, okay? Then you can give me a call.” She scribbled her phone number on the back of her drink receipt and tucked it into the breast pocket of his uniform.
“Um-” he said.
“Call me,” she said firmly, smiling. “It was good talking to you.” Then she kissed his cheek and walked away through the airport crowds. Martin sat where he was, feeling completely blind-sided by what had just happened.
“Cute girl,” said the tattooed woman behind the bar. “Well done.”
Martin just nodded dumbly, and slid off the stool. He'd better go and make sure GERTI was all ready for take-off.
***
“Bad luck,” said Carolyn a few days later, not even bothering to hide the glee in her voice. They were sat in her office-cum-cupboard, supposedly discussing Douglas' incomplete log book.
“It relied too much on Martin picking up a phone and calling her,” Douglas muttered. “But don't gloat too much Carolyn - you haven't even found anyone yet.”
“Don't be so sure, fellow Cupid. Soon you will see exactly how it's supposed to be done.”
Privately, Douglas doubted that. True, the plot with Laura had not worked as he had hoped, but she had given him some valuable information he was going to keep from Carolyn. On giving Douglas a run-down of what had happened, Laura had let slip something very interesting:
“To be honest, Douglas,” she had said thoughtfully, tapping her lower-lip, “I'm not entirely sure women are his area.”
“Hm. What gave you that idea?”
“Call it a hunch. I've got a pretty good success rate with working these things out, and I am pretty certain your captain isn't exactly straight.”
Douglas had wondered, briefly, whether Martin might be gay. It seemed a possibility worth exploring, and if it were true then he had one-up on Carolyn. Now he just needed to find a man who might possibly be interested in Martin.
***
Carolyn watched Douglas go, chewing her biro thoughtfully. On paper, the girl Douglas had found should have been a good catch for Martin: kind, confident without being overbearing, sympathetic to the plight of socially awkward pilots... and yet it hadn't worked. Of course, this was excellent news for Carolyn, but it meant she would have to think very hard about how to introduce her prospective young lady to her captain.
She had to find some way of taking all responsibility for the date out of Martin's hands. He could not be relied on to call someone, or to make arrangements, or possibly even to show up. This was going to require a lot more thought than she had previously anticipated.
Of course, Carolyn was a remarkably intelligent woman. She would think of something.
***
“Let me get this straight,” Douglas was saying later. “You want us at your party?”
“Well, want is a strong word,” Carolyn replied, “but you have been invited, so I suggest you take it as the honour it is, and say you'll come.”
“It might be a trap,” said Martin, sharing a significant glance with Douglas. “She'll cook us and serve our flesh as hors d'oeuvres.”
“You'd make terrible hors d'oeuvres. She'd have to use your bones for cocktail sticks.”
“Shut up, both of you. You're coming, and that's that.”
“Gosh, Carolyn, anyone would think you were eager for us to be there.”
“I simply don't appreciate this attempt to turn down my rare hospitality. You should be grovelling at my feet for giving you this opportunity, snivelling underlings. Now, go and get GERTI ready. Snap to it.”
***
Martin was actually looking forward to Carolyn's birthday party. Admittedly this mostly stemmed from the fact that there would be a great deal of food, so he would be able to enjoy a solid, non-aeroplane meal for the first time in days. Also, there would probably be wine which meant he could get tipsy and therefore get rid of many of his crippling insecurities for an evening. He might even be able to enjoy himself. If nothing else, he could have some fun with Arthur.
What actually seemed to happen was that women kept on talking to him. He had absolutely no idea where all these women came from: did Carolyn really make friends with groups of thirty-somethings? It seemed she did. And a lot of them were inexplicably going out of their way to talk to him.
Most of them were perfectly nice, and he was able to have decent conversations with them - helped along by the alcohol, since most of them didn't seem to mind how giggly it made him - though some where rather too... suggestive for his liking. He finally extricated himself from a very awkward conversation with a doctor called Tanya, who kept pressing her leg against his, and set out to find Douglas or Arthur.
Arthur, unfortunately, was sitting with a group of three women. They were everywhere. It would be fine, except that a lot of them appeared to have made it their personal mission to make Martin as uncomfortable as possible. He was about to beat a hasty retreat, when Arthur hailed him loudly, and he had no choice but to go over.
“Hey Skip! This is Merry, Tin Tin, and Freya. Guys, this is Skipper!”
“Martin,” he corrected, sitting down with them. “Hi.” He only just stopped himself from asking what sort of parents named their child Merry or Tin Tin, but it was a close thing.
One thing about Arthur being in this group was that Martin did not have to be anywhere near the centre of attention. Arthur told all the stories, with Martin chipping in now and again. The girls seemed to know each other through their interest in horses, and told stories of their own. It was fun. None of them were trying to touch Martin or press against him or anything, and were just good company.
Later in the evening, he found himself talking to Merry as they helped themselves to more wine.
“Do you know anyone here?” she asked.
“Apart from my colleagues, no.”
“Yeah, I only know Arthur and the other girls. I get a bit overwhelmed by all these people.”
“You don't seem overwhelmed.”
“Yeah, alcohol helps with that,” she laughed, raising her glass. Martin grinned, and mimicked her.
“Here's to combating shyness with wine.”
They edged their way through the crowded living room, trying to find somewhere to sit. He wasn't sure if it was the alcohol talking, but Martin felt quite comfortable in Merry's company; she wasn't pushy, and seemed to genuinely want to talk to him. They eventually ended up on the stairs, which wasn't exactly comfortable, but it was better than nothing with the amount of alcohol currently coursing through Martin's system.
Martin introduced Merry to some of MJN's word games, and she turned out to be very fun to play with. After a few rounds of Rhyming Journeys and a quick go at Film Titles That Sound Better With One More Word, they began to make up back-stories for the other people at the party.
“How about him?” Martin asked, pointing at a man with salt-and-pepper hair who was drinking alone.
“Oh, I think he's trying to get up the courage to ask out her there,” Merry pointed at a woman with blond ringlets. “He's trying to work out whether she'll put out tonight. Unfortunately for Mr Tinting-His-Hair, she's got her eye on the guy in the blue shirt over there.” She gestured extravagantly with her wine glass, slopping some over Martin's leg. “Oops, sorry!”
“It's okay,” Martin assured her. “Don't worry. They're old.”
“Are you sure? I'm so clumsy, I didn't-”
“ Really, it's fine, don't panic.”
“Okay, okay, sorry,” she smiled uncertainly. “You're really nice, you know. Most people would be mad.”
“I'm sure they wouldn't.”
“Well, maybe not. But you're still really nice. I know nice is a horrible way to describe someone, but still.”
“I don't mind. It's a good change from 'dolt'.”
Merry laughed. “Aw, that's mean. I wouldn't call you a dolt.” She patted his shoulder. He didn't mind that. Shoulder was fine. He patted her shoulder too, so she knew it was fine.
“You're fuzzy,” he told her.
“Fuzzy?”
“Yeah. Well no, not you, you're not hairy or anything. Except on your- your head. I mean you look fuzzy. To me.”
“I think that's a sign of being drunk, Martin.”
“Mm. Yes. Drunk.”
“You're an adorable drunk.”
Martin frowned. “Am not. Why do people insist on telling me I'm adorable? 'm not a- a- a baby cat.”
Merry leant her head on his shoulder, giggling. “You are. A ginger, baby cat.” She reached up and petted his curls. It was quite nice, having her warm weight against him without it being suggestive of anything. He wasn't sure how much he'd like it were he sober, but right now he was willing to let it happen. He closed his eyes.
“Martin?” Merry mumbled.
“Mm?”
“You're a really nice guy.”
“Thanks.”
He was never entirely able to piece together what exactly happened. At some point, Merry went from leaning against his side to being pressed against his front, and her hands were on either side of his face so he couldn't turn away, and then she was pressing her mouth wetly against his lips, and then all over his face and then on his mouth again.
“Merry,” he managed to gasp out once she had moved away from his lips. “Merry, don't.”
“Oh God,” she groaned. “Oh God, you're right. I'm sorry. You're drunk, I'm drunk. Bad timing.” She put her face in his shoulder. “Would it help if I told you I am entirely consenting here so you don't have to feel bad?”
“No. This is a bad idea.”
“I'm sorry.”
“Don't be,” Martin muttered, trying to extricate himself from her. “Really, Merry, don't be sorry. Just... don't.”
“Okay.” She finally sat up and moved away from him, and he breathed out in relief. “Would... I mean, if we were sober, would it have been okay?”
No, he thought. No, never, no. But he couldn't tell her that, because it would upset her: she'd think it was because of her. But it was him, all him, and he had no idea how to explain this properly. Any attempt at explaining would involve admitting that he'd never had sex, never wanted to have sex, and that was a humiliation he never wanted to face, especially not whilst drunk. She was watching him expectantly.
“I'm not expecting anything,” she said. “No strings-attached fun, that's all, Martin. We're adults, we can do that. It's just fun, you know?”
It didn't sound fun. The very idea sent a creeping dread down his spine. He wished he were at home, in bed, alone. Her hand was on his thigh. Why were all these people touching him all of a sudden? Was he giving out some sort of signal?
“No,” he said, shaking his head violently. “No, Merry, thanks, but- no.” He stood up, his head swimming. “I've got to- sorry.”
He left her sitting on the stairs and locked himself in the bathroom, feeling panicked and guilty and utterly humiliated.
***
“I am going to give you the benefit of the doubt here,” Douglas said, “and presume that your master plan wasn't for Martin to get drunk and leave a girl sat on the stairs?”
“Of course it wasn't,” Carolyn snapped peevishly. She handed Douglas a scouring sponge and dragged him to the sink. “If you're going to gloat, at least make yourself useful. If you absolutely must know, the young lady Martin was going to meet tonight couldn't make it. Her father got taken into hospital.” Her tone said exactly what she thought of that excuse. “Do you really imagine I would have planned for Martin to get drunk with one of Arthur's Pony Clubbers?”
“Far be it from me to judge your matchmaking techniques,” Douglas drawled, somehow still managing to be smug whilst wearing a pair of marigolds.
“This isn't over, Douglas,” Carolyn warned. “You will be working for free before you know it.”
“Your optimism is beautiful to see. I shall very much enjoy crushing it.”
“Shut up and get these dishes clean, you cretin.”
Chapter Three