Fanfiction: Cabin Pressure
"Final Straw" has been renamed "Little Lion Man"
Summary: Why is it that even though this whole thing is very much Douglas’s fault, he desperately wants to turn around and just say sorry so it can be over? -- Martin and Douglas aren't speaking. It's Arthur's responsibility to resolve matters.
Chapters 4 & 5
Really, really sorry for the long wait; I hope two chapters at once can make up for it?
Chapter 4
Carolyn is at a loss.
Really, it’s none of her business. Martin and Douglas can speak or not speak, play their stupid games or ignore each other completely; it really doesn’t matter to her. Why should it? They are doing their jobs, and probably more professionally than usual now they are no longer distracted by their silly word games.
So why does she find herself wishing so hard that they would just forget about whatever nonsense they’re arguing over and move on? Arthur has been struggling for a fortnight with increasingly desperate attempts to force them back on the same page, and with each failed plan her own disappointment equals her son’s.
It’s unsettling. When did she come to care for the pilots this much? What should it matter to her whether or not Martin is smiling so long as he doesn’t crash the plane? Why should it affect her if Douglas is actually being quiet for once?
And yet it does affect her, more the longer it goes on. It’s just unnatural that the two of them should go for so much time without speaking to each other - and she really can’t afford to lose Martin as Captain, quite literally. What can she do though? She has tried telling the pair of them to grow up, but Douglas just ignored her and Martin’s face had only cracked her own resolve a little bit more. She has tried threatening them, asking them, ordering them - everything short of pleading with them, and nothing has worked.
If she finds herself crossing her fingers a little tighter with each new attempt of Arthur’s, she gives up telling herself it’s only because she’s afraid he might bankrupt her in the process. Eventually she accepts the fact that maybe, somehow, the happiness of her pilots has managed to connect itself to her own peace of mind. Not that she would ever admit that to them.
0000
The reality of Martin’s situation hits him at the strangest of times. Often, he actually forgets about the argument and has his mouth half open to tell Douglas something or suggest a new game before he realises.
Seventeen days after the fight, twelve after the bee debacle and seven after Arthur stopped making their drinks, Martin is passing by the entertainment aisle of the supermarket when it happens again.
There’s a shelf full of cheap books aimed mostly at teenage girls, stacked haphazardly and lopsided. One has been put back so it partly conceals the one behind it, and Martin can’t make out the whole title. What he can see reads New Moo.
He has laughed, moved the foremost book to see the rest of the title and resolved to tell Douglas that he’s found another contender for a book that sounds better with the final letter removed by the time he remembers that the pair of them aren’t speaking.
He leaves the shop with a heavier heart and a lighter wallet than when he entered it, seriously considering just giving in and saying sorry. He’s half forgotten most of what was said anyway, and he misses Douglas, he really does miss the jokes and the competitions and the bets that he always loses. He misses the sound of Douglas’s voice, he wants to hear his co-pilot laugh again, he wants to be the one to cause it, and he doesn’t even much matter whether it’s deliberate or just at his expense. He just wants to go back to how things were.
He doesn’t want to leave MJN. The thought, even now, makes his heart twist painfully, but it’s difficult to trace just when this attachment grew to be so strong. He can’t bring himself to actually make any applications because he can’t stomach the thought of working anywhere else, but at the same time he knows perfectly well that he can’t keep going how things are.
0000
Douglas has never done well with silence. It is perhaps the one thing he isn’t very good at, and of course it had to be Martin who proved it to him.
And he can’t even tell him. Because he will not be the first one to speak. He is not going to apologise, he has nothing to apologise for, he’s been through this a million and one times, he is not the one in the wrong here!
The more indignant his protests become, the more he sees how feeble they actually are.
He doesn’t realise quite how much the strain is showing until his daughter points it out to him. When he picks her up for the day he smiles and swings her into his arms with a laugh and a sweet, which she takes happily enough, until she catches sight of his face properly for the first time.
‘What’s wrong Daddy?’ she asks innocently, frowning her confusion. ‘You look all sad.’
He brushes it off and tells her it’s nothing, and she seems to forget for an hour or so.
‘Can you tell me a story?’
‘What kind of story?’ He has hundreds of stories - not all of them suitable for his daughter’s ears, but nevertheless, plenty of tales (not all exaggerations) of mischief and adventure at her age, of medical school or Air England, or -
‘One about an aeroplane!’ she exclaims, spreading her arms and running in circles, making whooshing sounds and grinning widely, showing a newly made gap in her teeth.
‘Well,’ Douglas begins proudly. ‘What about the time at Air England when -’
‘Not there, Daddy!’ she squeals, ‘one with Arthur and Carolyn and Martin! They’re funny. I like Arthur. And Martin. Carolyn is scary!’
Douglas tries to stop his face from falling, too late, as a heavy weight settles over his chest. For some reason, even though he is still determinedly furious with the man, the thought of Martin - it - well - it aches. A strange, dull, empty sort of ache that won’t go away no matter how many times he tells himself it’s ridiculous.
‘Oh, I can’t think of any of those,’ he lies,
‘But Daddy -!’ she pouts, and Douglas shakes his head firmly.
‘Not now.’
She crosses her arms and glares angrily at him.
For once, he concedes it’s maybe less than he deserves.
Chapter 5
Almost a month after the disastrous bee incident (and three weeks after Martin is finally able to put his hat on again without wincing with pain - he had tripped in his haste to get away from the offending insect), Arthur, in a fit of uncharacteristic spite, has come to a decision.
He hates Texas.
Not only is it thoroughly confusing to have a place called Paris with no French people and the conspicuous lack of an Eiffel Tower, but Flying Tigers Airport turns out to be nothing like he expected it to be either. He can’t help but feel rather let down by the whole thing.
On top of this, it seems none of the supposedly foolproof advice he has been following is quite as wise as he’s been led to believe. Martin and Douglas are still not speaking; if anything the atmosphere in the cockpit has only become chillier as the days pass by. When they have to talk to each other, during safety checks and the like, it’s in clipped, professional tones which leave no room for conversation - Douglas has not even let slip a single joke.
‘This is stupid,’ he announces loudly, tossing the crumpled list of failed ideas into the bin as he passes the reception desk of the hotel.
‘You’re stupid!’
‘Brandon, be quiet, Mommy’s trying to book us a room.’
Arthur glances around and sees a boy of no more than six, with dark hair that flops over into his eyes and a moody pout set on his face, clinging onto his mother’s hand as she speaks to the receptionist. The boy sticks his tongue out, so Arthur does the same.
‘Mommy!’ the boy shrieks, ‘Mommy that man stuck his tongue out at me!’
‘Be quiet Brandon, I’m sure he didn’t. I’m sorry about him,’ she adds, looking up at Arthur with a polite smile, ‘he’s just over-excited,’
‘But he did, Mommy, he did I saw him, he did!’ Brandon stamps his foot petulantly and glares at Arthur with renewed vigour, tugging insistently on his mother’s arm.
‘Will you stop that?’ she snaps. ‘Go over there and sit down until I’m finished will you? No - there,’ she points to the line of chairs pushed against the wall. Brandon, who had been heading towards the door, reluctantly changes course and stomps across the room, throwing himself into a chair and folding his arms. ‘Right, now be good until I’ve got this sorted, alright?’ With an exasperated sigh, she turns back to the receptionist. Brandon spots Arthur still watching him and pokes his tongue out again.
‘You did,’ he insists.
‘You did first,’ Arthur counters immediately, while Brandon scuffs the floor with his toes, scowling at Arthur through his unruly mop of hair.
‘What’s stupid anyway?’ He asks, curiosity seeming to overcome his determination to be in a bad mood.
‘You wouldn’t understand,’ Arthur replies evasively, trying to look wise.
‘Bet I would,’ Brandon argues,
‘Bet you wouldn’t,’ Arthur’s tone matches Brandon’s exactly. He glances at the boy’s mother, who is shaking her head in frustration and jabbing her finger at something on the computer screen.
‘I can read,’ Brandon says. ‘I know things,’
‘So can I; I read a whole book last year,’ Arthur responds proudly, puffing out his chest and smiling his best intelligent smile, ‘I bet you’ve never read a whole book.’
‘Bet I have,’
‘Haven’t,’
‘Have,’
‘Haven’t,’
‘Have so times infinity!’ Brandon exclaims, leaning forward as he shouts and then slumping back in his seat triumphantly, ignoring his mother’s reprimands. ‘I want to know what’s stupid.’
Arthur opens his mouth to answer, then closes it again as he thinks better of it.
‘You look like a fish,’ Brandon tells him abruptly.
‘I do not,’
‘You do so, my Daddy had a fish and it did that all the time!’ To emphasise his point, Brandon widens his eyes, opening and closing his mouth and waving his arms vaguely at the side of him in a hazy impression of a goldfish. ‘Like that! Daddy had lots of fish. But he took them all away when he left.’ Some of the childish petulance leaks away from Brandon’s face to be replaced by a sadness several years too old for his features. ‘Mommy says he’s not allowed to come back,’ he admits quietly. Arthur sits next to him, uncertain how to deal with this sudden melancholy but wanting to say something to comfort the little boy; he remembers feeling like this when his own father left.
‘Maybe he’ll come back,’ he says hopefully, but Brandon shakes his head.
‘Mommy doesn’t want him to. They shouted a lot and I think he said bad things.’
‘My Mum and Dad split up,’ Arthur offers, ‘it’s not that bad in the end. My Mum got his aeroplane.’
‘Really?’ Brandon looks astonished, ‘do you think my Mommy’ll get one too? Is it big? Does she fly it? Or do you? Can I have a go?’
‘I don’t think Skipper would let you,’ Arthur replies reasonably, ‘he’s a bit touchy on that sort of thing.’
‘Aww, but that’s not fair! Who’s Skipper?’
‘He’s the Captain,’ Arthur explains proudly, ‘he’s the one who flies the plane. Well, him and Douglas.’
‘But...what do you do? Don’t you ever get a go?’ His own family forgotten, Brandon’s eyes are shining with interest now, and Arthur grins at the six-year-old’s enthusiasm.
‘Not to fly it, but I get to go all over with them anyway, so it’s brilliant - you should get your Mum to go on holiday sometime, tell her to book MJN Air if she does and you can see Gertie!’
‘Gertie?’
‘The plane,’
‘Your plane has a name?’
‘Well it’s really Golf-Echo...something. But we just call her Gertie.’
‘Cool...’ Brandon breathes. His mother is now perusing a leaflet and drumming her fingers on the desk as she waits for the receptionist to return from wherever he’s disappeared to. Neither Brandon nor Arthur pays her much attention. ‘So do you get to watch them fly then?’
‘Oh yeah, all the time,’ Arthur enthuses, ‘and we play all sorts of games - well, normally we do anyway...not at the moment...’ Brandon’s ears perk up instantly in recognition of the miserable tone Arthur’s voice sinks into, questions about what sort of games he means fading from his mind as a sympathetic look crosses his face.
‘What happened?’ he asks seriously,
‘Skipper and Douglas are having a fight,’ Arthur says. ‘They won’t talk anymore. I’ve been trying to get them to make up, but it’s not working.’
‘Is that what’s stupid?’ Brandon’s tone is suddenly shrewd, and Arthur nods. ‘You should make them say sorry,’ he advises, ‘that’s what Mommy did when I fought with Tom. I told Mommy to say sorry to Daddy though, but she said no.’
‘I tried that,’ Arthur shakes his head,
‘What are they fighting about?’
‘Nothing,’ Arthur replies, though he doesn’t know how much of the truth that is. It’s the most he knows - after everything he’s been able to gather about it, that’s what it seems like.
‘They should kiss each other,’ Brandon advises coolly, and Arthur splutters in shock,
‘What?!’ he exclaims - Skipper and Douglas? But they - but - that’s just - Skipper and Douglas?
‘My Mommy says they should kiss each other,’ Brandon says, pointing at the muted TV mounted on a bracket in the corner of the ceiling, currently broadcasting what looks like a middle-aged man and woman shouting at one another at the tops of their voices, though what they’re saying Arthur has no idea. ‘She likes that show. She says they should kiss each other because they’re always fighting about nothing, and people who fight about nothing want to kiss each other.’
‘Oh,’ says Arthur uncertainly, frowning at the TV. Then, ‘OH!’
Summary: Why is it that even though this whole thing is very much Douglas’s fault, he desperately wants to turn around and just say sorry so it can be over? -- Martin and Douglas aren't speaking. It's Arthur's responsibility to resolve matters.
Chapters 4 & 5
Really, really sorry for the long wait; I hope two chapters at once can make up for it?
Chapter 4
Carolyn is at a loss.
Really, it’s none of her business. Martin and Douglas can speak or not speak, play their stupid games or ignore each other completely; it really doesn’t matter to her. Why should it? They are doing their jobs, and probably more professionally than usual now they are no longer distracted by their silly word games.
So why does she find herself wishing so hard that they would just forget about whatever nonsense they’re arguing over and move on? Arthur has been struggling for a fortnight with increasingly desperate attempts to force them back on the same page, and with each failed plan her own disappointment equals her son’s.
It’s unsettling. When did she come to care for the pilots this much? What should it matter to her whether or not Martin is smiling so long as he doesn’t crash the plane? Why should it affect her if Douglas is actually being quiet for once?
And yet it does affect her, more the longer it goes on. It’s just unnatural that the two of them should go for so much time without speaking to each other - and she really can’t afford to lose Martin as Captain, quite literally. What can she do though? She has tried telling the pair of them to grow up, but Douglas just ignored her and Martin’s face had only cracked her own resolve a little bit more. She has tried threatening them, asking them, ordering them - everything short of pleading with them, and nothing has worked.
If she finds herself crossing her fingers a little tighter with each new attempt of Arthur’s, she gives up telling herself it’s only because she’s afraid he might bankrupt her in the process. Eventually she accepts the fact that maybe, somehow, the happiness of her pilots has managed to connect itself to her own peace of mind. Not that she would ever admit that to them.
0000
The reality of Martin’s situation hits him at the strangest of times. Often, he actually forgets about the argument and has his mouth half open to tell Douglas something or suggest a new game before he realises.
Seventeen days after the fight, twelve after the bee debacle and seven after Arthur stopped making their drinks, Martin is passing by the entertainment aisle of the supermarket when it happens again.
There’s a shelf full of cheap books aimed mostly at teenage girls, stacked haphazardly and lopsided. One has been put back so it partly conceals the one behind it, and Martin can’t make out the whole title. What he can see reads New Moo.
He has laughed, moved the foremost book to see the rest of the title and resolved to tell Douglas that he’s found another contender for a book that sounds better with the final letter removed by the time he remembers that the pair of them aren’t speaking.
He leaves the shop with a heavier heart and a lighter wallet than when he entered it, seriously considering just giving in and saying sorry. He’s half forgotten most of what was said anyway, and he misses Douglas, he really does miss the jokes and the competitions and the bets that he always loses. He misses the sound of Douglas’s voice, he wants to hear his co-pilot laugh again, he wants to be the one to cause it, and he doesn’t even much matter whether it’s deliberate or just at his expense. He just wants to go back to how things were.
He doesn’t want to leave MJN. The thought, even now, makes his heart twist painfully, but it’s difficult to trace just when this attachment grew to be so strong. He can’t bring himself to actually make any applications because he can’t stomach the thought of working anywhere else, but at the same time he knows perfectly well that he can’t keep going how things are.
0000
Douglas has never done well with silence. It is perhaps the one thing he isn’t very good at, and of course it had to be Martin who proved it to him.
And he can’t even tell him. Because he will not be the first one to speak. He is not going to apologise, he has nothing to apologise for, he’s been through this a million and one times, he is not the one in the wrong here!
The more indignant his protests become, the more he sees how feeble they actually are.
He doesn’t realise quite how much the strain is showing until his daughter points it out to him. When he picks her up for the day he smiles and swings her into his arms with a laugh and a sweet, which she takes happily enough, until she catches sight of his face properly for the first time.
‘What’s wrong Daddy?’ she asks innocently, frowning her confusion. ‘You look all sad.’
He brushes it off and tells her it’s nothing, and she seems to forget for an hour or so.
‘Can you tell me a story?’
‘What kind of story?’ He has hundreds of stories - not all of them suitable for his daughter’s ears, but nevertheless, plenty of tales (not all exaggerations) of mischief and adventure at her age, of medical school or Air England, or -
‘One about an aeroplane!’ she exclaims, spreading her arms and running in circles, making whooshing sounds and grinning widely, showing a newly made gap in her teeth.
‘Well,’ Douglas begins proudly. ‘What about the time at Air England when -’
‘Not there, Daddy!’ she squeals, ‘one with Arthur and Carolyn and Martin! They’re funny. I like Arthur. And Martin. Carolyn is scary!’
Douglas tries to stop his face from falling, too late, as a heavy weight settles over his chest. For some reason, even though he is still determinedly furious with the man, the thought of Martin - it - well - it aches. A strange, dull, empty sort of ache that won’t go away no matter how many times he tells himself it’s ridiculous.
‘Oh, I can’t think of any of those,’ he lies,
‘But Daddy -!’ she pouts, and Douglas shakes his head firmly.
‘Not now.’
She crosses her arms and glares angrily at him.
For once, he concedes it’s maybe less than he deserves.
Chapter 5
Almost a month after the disastrous bee incident (and three weeks after Martin is finally able to put his hat on again without wincing with pain - he had tripped in his haste to get away from the offending insect), Arthur, in a fit of uncharacteristic spite, has come to a decision.
He hates Texas.
Not only is it thoroughly confusing to have a place called Paris with no French people and the conspicuous lack of an Eiffel Tower, but Flying Tigers Airport turns out to be nothing like he expected it to be either. He can’t help but feel rather let down by the whole thing.
On top of this, it seems none of the supposedly foolproof advice he has been following is quite as wise as he’s been led to believe. Martin and Douglas are still not speaking; if anything the atmosphere in the cockpit has only become chillier as the days pass by. When they have to talk to each other, during safety checks and the like, it’s in clipped, professional tones which leave no room for conversation - Douglas has not even let slip a single joke.
‘This is stupid,’ he announces loudly, tossing the crumpled list of failed ideas into the bin as he passes the reception desk of the hotel.
‘You’re stupid!’
‘Brandon, be quiet, Mommy’s trying to book us a room.’
Arthur glances around and sees a boy of no more than six, with dark hair that flops over into his eyes and a moody pout set on his face, clinging onto his mother’s hand as she speaks to the receptionist. The boy sticks his tongue out, so Arthur does the same.
‘Mommy!’ the boy shrieks, ‘Mommy that man stuck his tongue out at me!’
‘Be quiet Brandon, I’m sure he didn’t. I’m sorry about him,’ she adds, looking up at Arthur with a polite smile, ‘he’s just over-excited,’
‘But he did, Mommy, he did I saw him, he did!’ Brandon stamps his foot petulantly and glares at Arthur with renewed vigour, tugging insistently on his mother’s arm.
‘Will you stop that?’ she snaps. ‘Go over there and sit down until I’m finished will you? No - there,’ she points to the line of chairs pushed against the wall. Brandon, who had been heading towards the door, reluctantly changes course and stomps across the room, throwing himself into a chair and folding his arms. ‘Right, now be good until I’ve got this sorted, alright?’ With an exasperated sigh, she turns back to the receptionist. Brandon spots Arthur still watching him and pokes his tongue out again.
‘You did,’ he insists.
‘You did first,’ Arthur counters immediately, while Brandon scuffs the floor with his toes, scowling at Arthur through his unruly mop of hair.
‘What’s stupid anyway?’ He asks, curiosity seeming to overcome his determination to be in a bad mood.
‘You wouldn’t understand,’ Arthur replies evasively, trying to look wise.
‘Bet I would,’ Brandon argues,
‘Bet you wouldn’t,’ Arthur’s tone matches Brandon’s exactly. He glances at the boy’s mother, who is shaking her head in frustration and jabbing her finger at something on the computer screen.
‘I can read,’ Brandon says. ‘I know things,’
‘So can I; I read a whole book last year,’ Arthur responds proudly, puffing out his chest and smiling his best intelligent smile, ‘I bet you’ve never read a whole book.’
‘Bet I have,’
‘Haven’t,’
‘Have,’
‘Haven’t,’
‘Have so times infinity!’ Brandon exclaims, leaning forward as he shouts and then slumping back in his seat triumphantly, ignoring his mother’s reprimands. ‘I want to know what’s stupid.’
Arthur opens his mouth to answer, then closes it again as he thinks better of it.
‘You look like a fish,’ Brandon tells him abruptly.
‘I do not,’
‘You do so, my Daddy had a fish and it did that all the time!’ To emphasise his point, Brandon widens his eyes, opening and closing his mouth and waving his arms vaguely at the side of him in a hazy impression of a goldfish. ‘Like that! Daddy had lots of fish. But he took them all away when he left.’ Some of the childish petulance leaks away from Brandon’s face to be replaced by a sadness several years too old for his features. ‘Mommy says he’s not allowed to come back,’ he admits quietly. Arthur sits next to him, uncertain how to deal with this sudden melancholy but wanting to say something to comfort the little boy; he remembers feeling like this when his own father left.
‘Maybe he’ll come back,’ he says hopefully, but Brandon shakes his head.
‘Mommy doesn’t want him to. They shouted a lot and I think he said bad things.’
‘My Mum and Dad split up,’ Arthur offers, ‘it’s not that bad in the end. My Mum got his aeroplane.’
‘Really?’ Brandon looks astonished, ‘do you think my Mommy’ll get one too? Is it big? Does she fly it? Or do you? Can I have a go?’
‘I don’t think Skipper would let you,’ Arthur replies reasonably, ‘he’s a bit touchy on that sort of thing.’
‘Aww, but that’s not fair! Who’s Skipper?’
‘He’s the Captain,’ Arthur explains proudly, ‘he’s the one who flies the plane. Well, him and Douglas.’
‘But...what do you do? Don’t you ever get a go?’ His own family forgotten, Brandon’s eyes are shining with interest now, and Arthur grins at the six-year-old’s enthusiasm.
‘Not to fly it, but I get to go all over with them anyway, so it’s brilliant - you should get your Mum to go on holiday sometime, tell her to book MJN Air if she does and you can see Gertie!’
‘Gertie?’
‘The plane,’
‘Your plane has a name?’
‘Well it’s really Golf-Echo...something. But we just call her Gertie.’
‘Cool...’ Brandon breathes. His mother is now perusing a leaflet and drumming her fingers on the desk as she waits for the receptionist to return from wherever he’s disappeared to. Neither Brandon nor Arthur pays her much attention. ‘So do you get to watch them fly then?’
‘Oh yeah, all the time,’ Arthur enthuses, ‘and we play all sorts of games - well, normally we do anyway...not at the moment...’ Brandon’s ears perk up instantly in recognition of the miserable tone Arthur’s voice sinks into, questions about what sort of games he means fading from his mind as a sympathetic look crosses his face.
‘What happened?’ he asks seriously,
‘Skipper and Douglas are having a fight,’ Arthur says. ‘They won’t talk anymore. I’ve been trying to get them to make up, but it’s not working.’
‘Is that what’s stupid?’ Brandon’s tone is suddenly shrewd, and Arthur nods. ‘You should make them say sorry,’ he advises, ‘that’s what Mommy did when I fought with Tom. I told Mommy to say sorry to Daddy though, but she said no.’
‘I tried that,’ Arthur shakes his head,
‘What are they fighting about?’
‘Nothing,’ Arthur replies, though he doesn’t know how much of the truth that is. It’s the most he knows - after everything he’s been able to gather about it, that’s what it seems like.
‘They should kiss each other,’ Brandon advises coolly, and Arthur splutters in shock,
‘What?!’ he exclaims - Skipper and Douglas? But they - but - that’s just - Skipper and Douglas?
‘My Mommy says they should kiss each other,’ Brandon says, pointing at the muted TV mounted on a bracket in the corner of the ceiling, currently broadcasting what looks like a middle-aged man and woman shouting at one another at the tops of their voices, though what they’re saying Arthur has no idea. ‘She likes that show. She says they should kiss each other because they’re always fighting about nothing, and people who fight about nothing want to kiss each other.’
‘Oh,’ says Arthur uncertainly, frowning at the TV. Then, ‘OH!’