Fanfiction: Cabin Pressure
Title: Little Lion Man
Summary: For a prompt. Martin and Douglas aren't speaking...it's up to Arthur to resolve matters.
Pairings: Douglas/Martin
On the journey back to Fitton, Arthur makes excuses to be in the flight deck as often as possible; Martin and Douglas are too intent on ignoring one another to really notice his presence. Or actually, to be more accurate, pretending to ignore one another, because Arthur sees Martin glance at Douglas no less than twenty three times. On each occasion he seems to be on the verge of saying something before thinking the better of it. Douglas manages an impressive twenty seven.
Carolyn almost asks Arthur what he’s doing, but she too eventually decides to keep quiet. So long as he isn’t up to anything dangerous this time, she really doesn’t want to know.
Skipper and Douglas.
Douglas and Skipper.
The more Arthur thinks about it, the more it seems to make sense. He’s never seen Skip with a girlfriend - or a boyfriend, for that matter - and every time one of Douglas’s numerous successes is brought up (none of which, Arthur notes curiously, ever seem to be dated after his now not so recent divorce), Skip blushes furiously.
Or at least, he used to. When they were talking. Now it’s just frosty silences and half-hidden glances, which Arthur still can’t really fathom the meaning of despite his new-found knowledge. If Skipper and Douglas fancy each other, why don’t they just say so? If they really want to kiss each other, then why won’t they even speak? In his experience there’s usually quite a lot of talking before the kissing stage is reached, so it seems like the only way to accomplish the pilots’ desire is to get over this inexplicable silence first.
Which means Arthur needs to get to the bottom of the original argument once and for all.
00000
Back in Fitton Arthur deliberately dawdles while cleaning up, dragging out the hoovering and lingering behind well after everyone else has left the plane, trying to find odd jobs to do to keep himself occupied. He needs to talk to one of the pilots without the other present, and since Douglas always leaves at the first opportunity it seems easiest to catch Martin alone while he stays to do the paperwork.
He waits until he is sure, absolutely sure, that Douglas has left, and then gives it another ten minutes to be on the safe side.
Carolyn is in her office. Martin, as predicted, is still at his desk. Arthur approaches him warily, clearing his throat. He has gone through this conversation so many times in his head he’s learnt it all by heart and then forgotten it again; this is his last chance. His very last chance to get the pilots back on speaking terms; after all his failed attempts and all the awkward flights of acting mediator between the two of them…this is it.
‘Umm…Skip?’ Arthur begins tentatively, edging into the room and biting his lip. Martin glances up distractedly. Arthur notices for the first time how truly tired Martin has started to look; he has dark bags under his eyes and his face looks drawn and haggard. Arthur’s sense of urgency increases.
‘What is it Arthur?’
‘I umm…I just…well I wondered if…’ he trails off. There’s a long pause, during which Martin’s gaze flickers only briefly back down to the papers in front of him, a frown finding its way absently onto his features.
‘Arthur? What’s wrong?’
‘What happened with you and Douglas?’ Arthur asks abruptly, spitting the words out slightly breathlessly. Martin sighs and puts his pen down, leaning back in his chair and dragging a hand down his face.
‘It…doesn’t matter,’ he replies eventually, trying to ignore the twisting sensation in his gut at the mere sound of his First Officer’s name. For goodness sake can’t he just forget the man and move on? It’s…this isn’t fair. It’s supposed to get easier. If he focuses on being angry it’s supposed to get easier to forget the things he likes about Douglas. He’s meant to be able to concentrate on the belittling put downs and the self-satisfied smirk and the fact that Douglas prefers Simon. Instead he’s finding those things receding into the distance while all he can think about is Douglas’s smile; his eyes glinting with something between amusement and mischief, his humour, his voice…
‘You see Skip, I think it does matter,’ Arthur replies firmly. He stands in front of Martin’s desk with his hands on his hips and assumes his very best stern expression. ‘Nobody fights for this long because it doesn’t matter.’
‘It’s complicated,’ Martin supplies hopefully. And really, it’s not all put-downs is it? What about all those times Douglas has prodded Martin in the right direction, or helped him, or…what about the Seven Dwarves and the lipstick inscription and the smoke filled fuselage and the landing in St Petersburg? What about…what about…
‘Please,’ Arthur says, the firmness leaking away to be replaced by a kind of quiet desperation, ‘please, I’m trying to help.’
‘It’s - look - it really doesn’t matter.’ He doesn’t want to discuss this with Arthur. He doesn’t want to discuss this with anyone. What does it matter if every once in a while Douglas accidently lets something halfway decent slip out of his mouth? What about the overwhelming majority of the time when it’s just ridicule and scorn? What about the lemon and the French and the betting and the deadly “I”s?
‘If it doesn’t matter then you should make up,’ Arthur announces boldly.
‘It’s not that simple,’ Martin answers before he can stop himself. ‘It’s not that - look, Arthur, I’m sorry, but it’s none of your business -’
‘It is my business Skip! I’ve been passing messages between you two for weeks and I don’t even know why! And Mum’s worried even though I know she’s not going to say anything and you look tired and Douglas looks sad and it does matter!’
Martin closes his eyes and leans forward to put his head in his hands. When did it all get this out of control? When did one stupid little argument turn into…this? Why can’t he just swallow his pride for once and accept that, so what? So Douglas likes Simon. Big deal. Martin should never have expected any different, just because he’s got proof now…
‘It was stupid,’ he mutters eventually, not looking up. He hears a chair scraping along the floor, then Arthur sitting in it. He risks one quick peek towards the steward, who has such an expression of concern on his face that a lump forms in Martin’s throat and he has to struggle to swallow it down again.
‘I know it was,’ says Arthur wisely, ‘that’s why you need to make up.’
‘The thing is…’ he stops and sighs. Speaking to the desk, he continues with his eyes squeezed shut and firmly ignoring the hot prickling sensation behind them. ‘The thing is, Douglas doesn’t want to make up,’ he finishes eventually.
‘How do you know that?’
‘He just…I know he doesn’t. Why would he?’ Martin asks miserably. He doesn’t dare speak to Douglas, he realises, because he knows Douglas doesn’t want to speak to him. After how childish he’s been is it any wonder Douglas favours his brother?
‘Aww, don’t say that! Of course he wants to talk to you. He nearly did on the flight today, I saw him.’
‘You what?’ Martin’s head snaps up. His eyes look oddly wet, which Arthur ignores, though more in favour of pressing his point than out of tact.
‘Well, you know how you kept looking at him and opening your mouth to say something?’ Martin splutters in response, ‘the thing is Skip, he was doing the same!’
‘But…but…’ Martin looks thoroughly at a loss now. ‘But why would he?’
‘Well because he likes you of course!’
Martin laughs bitterly, ‘no he doesn’t, Arthur. If he likes anyone it’s Simon.’
‘Simon - your brother Simon?’
‘Yes.’
‘But…what makes you think that? Why would he like Simon but not you?’
‘Why wouldn’t he?’ Martin scoffs.
‘What are you talking about?’ Arthur exclaims, completely nonplussed, ‘can’t he like both of you?’
‘He could, but he doesn’t.’
‘But…’ Arthur’s objection fades away before he even voices it. How can he protest if he doesn’t even know what he’s protesting about? He’s gathering his resolve for another stab at investigation when Martin speaks again.
‘You remember when my van broke down?’ he says. Arthur nods. ‘Simon gave me a lift here.’ Arthur did actually meet him, and found him a little too much like his own father for comfort, but doesn’t mention this. ‘Douglas was…nice to him, Arthur.’ He says it with the tone of a man making a terrible confession, and looks away again.
‘Shouldn’t he be?’
‘He’s never nice to me!’
‘Yeah, but…you’re his friend. He doesn’t have to be nice to you.’
‘What?’ Martin asks reluctantly, unable to follow Arthur’s logic.
‘Well Mum’s nicer to the customers than she is to the rest of us, isn’t she?’ Arthur replies, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. ‘Most of the time, anyway. Isn’t there something about first impressions that means you’re supposed to be more polite to strangers than people you know?’
For a second, treacherous hope glimmers faintly in Martin’s chest. Could Arthur, of all people…? But no. Since when does Douglas care about first impressions? It doesn’t matter what people think of him, he can charm whatever he likes out of whoever he likes, whenever he likes.
‘It wasn’t like that,’ Martin says feebly. ‘Trust me, I know what happened.’
‘But Skip -’
‘No,’ Martin interrupts. He hopes Arthur doesn’t notice how much he’s blinking. ‘Thanks, Arthur, really, but…no. I know what I saw.’ And he daren’t, he really daren’t get his hopes up. It doesn’t make a difference what Arthur says or thinks or tries. Nothing is going to change the fact that every time Martin sets eyes on Douglas it’s only going to ache a little more with the memory of what he’s lost, and the thought of what he might be able to have, if he was Simon. It doesn’t change the fact that he’s not even angry anymore, but still as incapable as ever of doing anything to change how things are. It’s his fault. It’s been his fault all along, but what does it matter anymore? The fact is the argument has only made it more obvious than ever that he’s been chasing an impossible dream.
‘But…’
‘Arthur, please.’
Arthur opens his mouth, hesitates, and then closes it. He nods decisively; the conversation hasn’t actually been a total waste. If he can just…maybe if…
He needs to talk to Douglas. One last step in his very last chance to sort this out.
Summary: For a prompt. Martin and Douglas aren't speaking...it's up to Arthur to resolve matters.
Pairings: Douglas/Martin
On the journey back to Fitton, Arthur makes excuses to be in the flight deck as often as possible; Martin and Douglas are too intent on ignoring one another to really notice his presence. Or actually, to be more accurate, pretending to ignore one another, because Arthur sees Martin glance at Douglas no less than twenty three times. On each occasion he seems to be on the verge of saying something before thinking the better of it. Douglas manages an impressive twenty seven.
Carolyn almost asks Arthur what he’s doing, but she too eventually decides to keep quiet. So long as he isn’t up to anything dangerous this time, she really doesn’t want to know.
Skipper and Douglas.
Douglas and Skipper.
The more Arthur thinks about it, the more it seems to make sense. He’s never seen Skip with a girlfriend - or a boyfriend, for that matter - and every time one of Douglas’s numerous successes is brought up (none of which, Arthur notes curiously, ever seem to be dated after his now not so recent divorce), Skip blushes furiously.
Or at least, he used to. When they were talking. Now it’s just frosty silences and half-hidden glances, which Arthur still can’t really fathom the meaning of despite his new-found knowledge. If Skipper and Douglas fancy each other, why don’t they just say so? If they really want to kiss each other, then why won’t they even speak? In his experience there’s usually quite a lot of talking before the kissing stage is reached, so it seems like the only way to accomplish the pilots’ desire is to get over this inexplicable silence first.
Which means Arthur needs to get to the bottom of the original argument once and for all.
00000
Back in Fitton Arthur deliberately dawdles while cleaning up, dragging out the hoovering and lingering behind well after everyone else has left the plane, trying to find odd jobs to do to keep himself occupied. He needs to talk to one of the pilots without the other present, and since Douglas always leaves at the first opportunity it seems easiest to catch Martin alone while he stays to do the paperwork.
He waits until he is sure, absolutely sure, that Douglas has left, and then gives it another ten minutes to be on the safe side.
Carolyn is in her office. Martin, as predicted, is still at his desk. Arthur approaches him warily, clearing his throat. He has gone through this conversation so many times in his head he’s learnt it all by heart and then forgotten it again; this is his last chance. His very last chance to get the pilots back on speaking terms; after all his failed attempts and all the awkward flights of acting mediator between the two of them…this is it.
‘Umm…Skip?’ Arthur begins tentatively, edging into the room and biting his lip. Martin glances up distractedly. Arthur notices for the first time how truly tired Martin has started to look; he has dark bags under his eyes and his face looks drawn and haggard. Arthur’s sense of urgency increases.
‘What is it Arthur?’
‘I umm…I just…well I wondered if…’ he trails off. There’s a long pause, during which Martin’s gaze flickers only briefly back down to the papers in front of him, a frown finding its way absently onto his features.
‘Arthur? What’s wrong?’
‘What happened with you and Douglas?’ Arthur asks abruptly, spitting the words out slightly breathlessly. Martin sighs and puts his pen down, leaning back in his chair and dragging a hand down his face.
‘It…doesn’t matter,’ he replies eventually, trying to ignore the twisting sensation in his gut at the mere sound of his First Officer’s name. For goodness sake can’t he just forget the man and move on? It’s…this isn’t fair. It’s supposed to get easier. If he focuses on being angry it’s supposed to get easier to forget the things he likes about Douglas. He’s meant to be able to concentrate on the belittling put downs and the self-satisfied smirk and the fact that Douglas prefers Simon. Instead he’s finding those things receding into the distance while all he can think about is Douglas’s smile; his eyes glinting with something between amusement and mischief, his humour, his voice…
‘You see Skip, I think it does matter,’ Arthur replies firmly. He stands in front of Martin’s desk with his hands on his hips and assumes his very best stern expression. ‘Nobody fights for this long because it doesn’t matter.’
‘It’s complicated,’ Martin supplies hopefully. And really, it’s not all put-downs is it? What about all those times Douglas has prodded Martin in the right direction, or helped him, or…what about the Seven Dwarves and the lipstick inscription and the smoke filled fuselage and the landing in St Petersburg? What about…what about…
‘Please,’ Arthur says, the firmness leaking away to be replaced by a kind of quiet desperation, ‘please, I’m trying to help.’
‘It’s - look - it really doesn’t matter.’ He doesn’t want to discuss this with Arthur. He doesn’t want to discuss this with anyone. What does it matter if every once in a while Douglas accidently lets something halfway decent slip out of his mouth? What about the overwhelming majority of the time when it’s just ridicule and scorn? What about the lemon and the French and the betting and the deadly “I”s?
‘If it doesn’t matter then you should make up,’ Arthur announces boldly.
‘It’s not that simple,’ Martin answers before he can stop himself. ‘It’s not that - look, Arthur, I’m sorry, but it’s none of your business -’
‘It is my business Skip! I’ve been passing messages between you two for weeks and I don’t even know why! And Mum’s worried even though I know she’s not going to say anything and you look tired and Douglas looks sad and it does matter!’
Martin closes his eyes and leans forward to put his head in his hands. When did it all get this out of control? When did one stupid little argument turn into…this? Why can’t he just swallow his pride for once and accept that, so what? So Douglas likes Simon. Big deal. Martin should never have expected any different, just because he’s got proof now…
‘It was stupid,’ he mutters eventually, not looking up. He hears a chair scraping along the floor, then Arthur sitting in it. He risks one quick peek towards the steward, who has such an expression of concern on his face that a lump forms in Martin’s throat and he has to struggle to swallow it down again.
‘I know it was,’ says Arthur wisely, ‘that’s why you need to make up.’
‘The thing is…’ he stops and sighs. Speaking to the desk, he continues with his eyes squeezed shut and firmly ignoring the hot prickling sensation behind them. ‘The thing is, Douglas doesn’t want to make up,’ he finishes eventually.
‘How do you know that?’
‘He just…I know he doesn’t. Why would he?’ Martin asks miserably. He doesn’t dare speak to Douglas, he realises, because he knows Douglas doesn’t want to speak to him. After how childish he’s been is it any wonder Douglas favours his brother?
‘Aww, don’t say that! Of course he wants to talk to you. He nearly did on the flight today, I saw him.’
‘You what?’ Martin’s head snaps up. His eyes look oddly wet, which Arthur ignores, though more in favour of pressing his point than out of tact.
‘Well, you know how you kept looking at him and opening your mouth to say something?’ Martin splutters in response, ‘the thing is Skip, he was doing the same!’
‘But…but…’ Martin looks thoroughly at a loss now. ‘But why would he?’
‘Well because he likes you of course!’
Martin laughs bitterly, ‘no he doesn’t, Arthur. If he likes anyone it’s Simon.’
‘Simon - your brother Simon?’
‘Yes.’
‘But…what makes you think that? Why would he like Simon but not you?’
‘Why wouldn’t he?’ Martin scoffs.
‘What are you talking about?’ Arthur exclaims, completely nonplussed, ‘can’t he like both of you?’
‘He could, but he doesn’t.’
‘But…’ Arthur’s objection fades away before he even voices it. How can he protest if he doesn’t even know what he’s protesting about? He’s gathering his resolve for another stab at investigation when Martin speaks again.
‘You remember when my van broke down?’ he says. Arthur nods. ‘Simon gave me a lift here.’ Arthur did actually meet him, and found him a little too much like his own father for comfort, but doesn’t mention this. ‘Douglas was…nice to him, Arthur.’ He says it with the tone of a man making a terrible confession, and looks away again.
‘Shouldn’t he be?’
‘He’s never nice to me!’
‘Yeah, but…you’re his friend. He doesn’t have to be nice to you.’
‘What?’ Martin asks reluctantly, unable to follow Arthur’s logic.
‘Well Mum’s nicer to the customers than she is to the rest of us, isn’t she?’ Arthur replies, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. ‘Most of the time, anyway. Isn’t there something about first impressions that means you’re supposed to be more polite to strangers than people you know?’
For a second, treacherous hope glimmers faintly in Martin’s chest. Could Arthur, of all people…? But no. Since when does Douglas care about first impressions? It doesn’t matter what people think of him, he can charm whatever he likes out of whoever he likes, whenever he likes.
‘It wasn’t like that,’ Martin says feebly. ‘Trust me, I know what happened.’
‘But Skip -’
‘No,’ Martin interrupts. He hopes Arthur doesn’t notice how much he’s blinking. ‘Thanks, Arthur, really, but…no. I know what I saw.’ And he daren’t, he really daren’t get his hopes up. It doesn’t make a difference what Arthur says or thinks or tries. Nothing is going to change the fact that every time Martin sets eyes on Douglas it’s only going to ache a little more with the memory of what he’s lost, and the thought of what he might be able to have, if he was Simon. It doesn’t change the fact that he’s not even angry anymore, but still as incapable as ever of doing anything to change how things are. It’s his fault. It’s been his fault all along, but what does it matter anymore? The fact is the argument has only made it more obvious than ever that he’s been chasing an impossible dream.
‘But…’
‘Arthur, please.’
Arthur opens his mouth, hesitates, and then closes it. He nods decisively; the conversation hasn’t actually been a total waste. If he can just…maybe if…
He needs to talk to Douglas. One last step in his very last chance to sort this out.