FIC: Gone Horribly Wrong [9/11]
Apr. 5th, 2012 10:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
splixTitle: Gone Horribly Wrong
Author: Alex
Fandom: Cabin Pressure
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: John Finnemore, Pozzitive Productions for le BBC.
Summary: From a prompt on the Cabin Pressure meme. Douglas gets in a little over his head in regards to his smuggling, but it's Martin who suffers for it.
Warnings: Nonconsensual sex.
Notes: This is my very first Cabin Pressure fic, so please feel free to let me know if I've made any missteps.
Additional note: Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mizz_history for providing insight into the UK health system. Much appreciated.
Continued from Part 8
You can also find this fic on AO3
*
“Coffee, chaps!” Arthur exclaimed brightly as he burst onto the flight deck. “Oh – chap. Is Skipper still doing the walk-around, Douglas?”
Douglas stifled a yawn. “He is indeed, Arthur, but if you care to hand over that most soothing and yet stimulating nectar of the gods, I shall be happy to accept it.”
“Brilliant! It’s just…well, I got him this new mug, you see, as a sort of welcome-back present, and I wanted to – there you are, Skip!”
“Yes, here I am. Hello, Arthur.” Martin settled in and doffed his cap.
“I got you a welcome-back gift, Skip.” With a cheerful smile, Arthur handed Martin a mug.
“Coffee.” Martin raised his eyebrows. “Thank you, Arthur.”
“Oh, the coffee’s just a bonus!” Arthur said. “Look at the mug.”
Martin lifted the mug to appraise it, and upon noticing the Supermarine Spitfire emblazoned on its surface, his face broke into the first smile Douglas had seen in two hours. “Why, Arthur, that’s – that’s very thoughtful of you. Thank you.”
“I’m just really, really glad you’re back, Skip. Can I get you a pillow or something?”
“No, I don’t think a pillow would help much, but thank you all the same.”
“It’s just that when I was dating Fliss, you see, she took me to her family’s stables, and there was this really, really big horse, and I got thrown and broke a rib myself. So I know how it feels.”
“Goodness,” Douglas said. “I didn’t know you rode, Arthur.”
“Oh, I don’t! No, this was still in the box. He threw me into the wall while I was trying to feed him a lump of sugar.”
“Ah.” Douglas sipped at his coffee while Martin looked over the instruments that Douglas had inspected himself half an hour ago. GERTI’s engines were whining to life, the coffee was hot and awful and weak, Martin was triple-checking perfectly sound panels, and Arthur was being a clot; all was right with the world.
Mostly.
“Well, I’m healing nicely, Arthur, but thank you for asking.” Martin sipped at his coffee and grimaced. “Arthur, you didn’t re-use the grounds, did you?”
“Um…”
“Really, Arthur,” Douglas sighed. “You don’t have to do everything your mother tells you. One use of coffee grounds is the absolute limit.”
“Um…I know, chaps, but Mum said if you didn’t like our coffee, you could get Starbucks. Which is brilliant, actually! I love their chai!”
“Yes, all part of her cunning plan to get us to buy our own coffee. Honestly, Arthur, Carolyn can’t expect us to drink this swill,” Martin complained.
“Except that we are drinking it,” Douglas remarked. “Surely you’re not serving it to the passengers, Arthur?”
“No, they’re drinking vodka. I could make tea instead,” Arthur suggested.
“Very well. Don’t re-use the leaves, Arthur,” Douglas said.
“Oh. All right, but don’t tell Mum!”
“Cross my heart and hope to die,” Douglas intoned. “And if you don’t make the coffee with fresh grounds next time, then I won’t be the one dying.”
“Right!” Arthur dashed out of the flight deck, leaving Douglas and Martin behind in blessed silence.
“Why is it that after a five-minute conversation with Arthur, I always feel exhausted?” Douglas queried rhetorically.
“It’s either the weak coffee that doesn’t impart nearly enough caffeine to the bloodstream, or the fact that he’s a –“
“Clot,” Douglas finished.
Martin smiled a little, then looked shamefaced. “I shouldn’t say that. It was lovely of him to give me this mug.”
“Very well then. A clot, but a sweet, good-hearted clot.”
“That’ll do.” Martin turned his attention to ATC. “Golf Tango India requesting weather at Marseilles, please.”
“Golf Tango India, severe clear at Marseilles. Taxi to position and hold.”
“Thank you, Carl.”
For a short time, conversation ceased as they went about the business of getting in the air. Douglas kept a weather eye on Martin, but all seemed well; Martin was his usual crisp, businesslike, bossy self, and if it was an act, it was a good one. It had been almost two weeks since Douglas had clapped eyes on Martin. After the night Martin had spent at his house, he’d gone home and kept in touch every few days via mobile. Well, truthfully, it was Douglas who’d kept in touch, not wanting to pester, but nonetheless concerned for the seemingly fragile state of Martin’s mental health. But Martin had assured him he was much better, that he was going to counselling, that he would be okay. He’d volunteered no more than that, and Douglas didn’t like to pry. He couldn’t help feeling, however, that Martin had raised a wall between them. Possibly he’d been embarrassed by his outburst, and Douglas certainly understood wounded pride.
He was also beginning to understand exactly why Martin’s silence bothered him so much, but that was another matter, to be examined…later. He risked a sideways glance at Martin, but Martin was concentrating on the panel with intense interest and didn’t even seem aware that Douglas was present.
Douglas contained a sigh.
Much later, he decided.
After almost an hour, Douglas couldn’t contain himself. “Are you all right?”
Martin didn’t look up from the instrument panel. “Do you realise that’s the third time you’ve asked me that since I arrived at the airfield this morning?”
“Is it now? Shall I go for an even four?”
“Of course I’m all right. I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t.” The tips of Martin’s ears turned pink, and he seemed to struggle with words. “I do wish you’d stop asking.”
“Very well. Consider me duly informed.” Douglas affected nonchalance. “It’s just that I hadn’t heard much from you recently and I was concerned.”
“You did phone me.”
“Yes, to a rousing chorus of monosyllables,” Douglas replied tartly. “Look here, Martin, I happen to consider you a friend, and I’m concerned for your well-being. And believe it or not, I also happen to be concerned about your ability to conduct yourself during a longer flight.”
“The doctor cleared me,” Martin replied through gritted teeth.
“I’m not talking about your physical health. I wasn’t going to tell you, but Carolyn was worried as well.”
Martin turned to Douglas, his face pallid except for two blotches of crimson high on his cheeks. “What did you say to her?” he hissed. “You –“
Startled, Douglas held both hands up. “Peace! Good God, Martin, get hold of yourself. I didn’t tell her anything. You asked me not to and I honored that request.”
Martin drew a shaky hand over his mouth and slumped back into his seat. “Sorry. I suppose I’m sorry. I just – I don’t really want to talk about it.”
“All right,” Douglas replied in his most soothing tone.
“I’m coping with it as best I can, that’s all.”
“I know you are,” Douglas said.
“I just don’t want anyone to feel sorry for me.”
“I can understand that.”
“Especially you.”
Douglas pretended that hadn’t stung. He was silent for a moment, and then, with an air of casual inquiry, said, “Why especially not me?”
Martin sighed and sipped at his cooling coffee (Arthur had clearly forgot his promise to make tea). “I know how it sounds, and I don’t – I don’t mean it that way. It’s just…well, I made an utter fool of myself that night at your house, and I’d just rather we forgot the whole thing.”
“I see.” Douglas had anticipated some sort of argument today, some catharsis, but he hadn’t anticipated the way his heart would feel – as if it were frozen, buried on some distant and nameless planet under millions of years of thick grey ice. He’d made a point of consulting a few websites for rape victims, and he knew Martin might withdraw, but….
Don’t be an idiot, he chided himself furiously. For once in your life, don’t insist on being the center of the universe. This isn’t in the least about you.
He forced himself to speak. “I understand perfectly, Martin. If you want to talk, I’m willing to listen. If not, that’s fine as well.”
Martin sat in silence for a few moments. Finally, in a harsh whisper, he said, “You have control,” and got out of his seat, stumbling through the flight deck door. When he came back a few minutes later, his face was flushed and his eyes were tinged with red, but he said nothing, simply slipping back into his seat. Douglas ceded control, and they flew in silence for a time.
“I’m sorry, Douglas.”
Douglas contained another sigh. “Martin, you don’t owe me a single apology.”
“I do, though. You’ve been very kind to me, and –“
“Oh, Martin –“
“No, let me finish. You’ve been kind to me and you haven’t betrayed my trust or tried to crowd me. You probably think I haven’t noticed, but I have.”
Douglas dared a glance to the left. Martin was looking at him quite intently.
“It’s just – I don’t have any idea how long I’ll be getting over this…problem. I don’t mean to take anything out on you, but sometimes – well, my counsellor, she’s a group counsellor, I couldn’t afford the private therapy. I…I used that money Groves gave me to pay my rent for two months.” Martin let out a little chuckle. “Turns out I needed it after all. Bloody lucky to have it, since I can’t lift anything for the next four weeks.” A bitter smile twisted his mouth.
“Martin –“
Martin waved his hand. “Please, Douglas. You’ve no idea how that makes me feel. I’m begging you – don’t make it worse for me.”
Douglas folded his lips together to repress the foul invective that itched to hurl itself forth. Martin was right: Douglas had no idea how Martin felt, but if he ever did manage to catch Eddy Groves on the hop, Groves was going to be one right sorry bastard.
“Anyway, I…I don’t remember what I was saying.” Martin shook his head.
“Your counsellor,” Douglas prompted gently.
“Oh, right. She said that it’s not an uncommon occurrence to take out one’s anger against the people closest to you – family, colleagues, that sort of thing. I…I know how unprofessional it is, and I apologise.”
“We’re friends, Martin,” Douglas said. “Believe me, it’s okay.”
Martin nodded, but he fixed his gaze downward, and the slump of his shoulders indicated that it was anything but okay.
“Something else?”
“I…look, I want to ask you something, but don’t get angry, please.”
Douglas frowned. “Of course I won’t get angry.”
Martin looked unsure of this promise, but plunged on. “That first night, the night they…the night you left, you told Groves I was a berk and that flying was all I had.”
“Martin, you know I –“
“Wait. I know you were trying to make me less…important, or conspicuous, or whatever, and I understand that. I mean…the second thing, I know. Flying really is all I’ve got, Douglas. You saw my flat. Well, my room. You’ve seen my van. Flying’s the only thing that really makes me happy, and that’s okay. I mean, I don’t expect to find some fantastic gig with Air England or some chic house in Eaton Square or the love of my life or – or anything like that.” Martin’s ears and cheeks were very pink. “But…am I really…a-a-am I really a sad berk? And please don’t tell me I’m smashing because you feel sorry for me, because I won’t believe a word of it.”
Never in his life had Douglas wanted so badly to kiss someone – not any of the ex-Mrs. Richardsons, not darling Calista, not the fascinating little Moroccan number he’d wined and dined for a week in Tunis.
Once again, prat, this is not about you.
“Well, Martin, you’ve certainly got me between a rock and a hard place,” he said. “Yes, I’ve seen your room and your van, and I can say with complete confidence that they are, without the least shadow of a doubt, horrid and wretched, respectively. Since the future is murky at best and I can’t even pretend to be, say, Yoda, I have no idea what your future residential or job status might be.” He prudently, carefully, optimistically withheld speaking about Martin’s love life. “And I can say with even further confidence, if such a thing as excessive completeness can be measured, that you…you are absolutely fantastic. And it’s not because I feel sorry for you. It’s simply because you are.”
The faintest trace of a smile curved Martin’s lips. He dropped his gaze. “Do you mean that?” he asked in a very small voice.
“Absolutely. And flying’s not all you’ve got.”
“No?”
“No.” Douglas hesitated. “You’ve got me.”
Martin’s ears went a brilliant red. “Oh,” he whispered.
Discreetly, Douglas shuffled through some paperwork as Martin pulled out a handkerchief – Douglas’ own, he noticed, spotlessly clean – and swiped at his eyes and nose. He waited a while, then settled more comfortably in his seat. “Two-word film titles improved whilst reversed.”
Martin grinned. “Oh, God. All right – no, you start.”
“Hm. Twist Oliver.”
“Man Rain.”
“Based on the classic disco tune, no doubt. Ah…Window Rear.”
“Goodness. Oh! Eye Golden.”
“Goldeneye is one word, Martin. And what in God’s name does Eye Golden signify?”
“It’s…it’s like I, Robot,” Martin insisted stoutly. “You know…Eye, Golden.”
Douglas bit his lip and shook his head. He couldn’t predict the future, but he could make a fairly decent guess. Not today, not tomorrow, maybe not even next month, but eventually…eventually things would get better.
*
Author: Alex
Fandom: Cabin Pressure
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: John Finnemore, Pozzitive Productions for le BBC.
Summary: From a prompt on the Cabin Pressure meme. Douglas gets in a little over his head in regards to his smuggling, but it's Martin who suffers for it.
Warnings: Nonconsensual sex.
Notes: This is my very first Cabin Pressure fic, so please feel free to let me know if I've made any missteps.
Additional note: Thanks to
mizz_history for providing insight into the UK health system. Much appreciated.Continued from Part 8
You can also find this fic on AO3
*
“Coffee, chaps!” Arthur exclaimed brightly as he burst onto the flight deck. “Oh – chap. Is Skipper still doing the walk-around, Douglas?”
Douglas stifled a yawn. “He is indeed, Arthur, but if you care to hand over that most soothing and yet stimulating nectar of the gods, I shall be happy to accept it.”
“Brilliant! It’s just…well, I got him this new mug, you see, as a sort of welcome-back present, and I wanted to – there you are, Skip!”
“Yes, here I am. Hello, Arthur.” Martin settled in and doffed his cap.
“I got you a welcome-back gift, Skip.” With a cheerful smile, Arthur handed Martin a mug.
“Coffee.” Martin raised his eyebrows. “Thank you, Arthur.”
“Oh, the coffee’s just a bonus!” Arthur said. “Look at the mug.”
Martin lifted the mug to appraise it, and upon noticing the Supermarine Spitfire emblazoned on its surface, his face broke into the first smile Douglas had seen in two hours. “Why, Arthur, that’s – that’s very thoughtful of you. Thank you.”
“I’m just really, really glad you’re back, Skip. Can I get you a pillow or something?”
“No, I don’t think a pillow would help much, but thank you all the same.”
“It’s just that when I was dating Fliss, you see, she took me to her family’s stables, and there was this really, really big horse, and I got thrown and broke a rib myself. So I know how it feels.”
“Goodness,” Douglas said. “I didn’t know you rode, Arthur.”
“Oh, I don’t! No, this was still in the box. He threw me into the wall while I was trying to feed him a lump of sugar.”
“Ah.” Douglas sipped at his coffee while Martin looked over the instruments that Douglas had inspected himself half an hour ago. GERTI’s engines were whining to life, the coffee was hot and awful and weak, Martin was triple-checking perfectly sound panels, and Arthur was being a clot; all was right with the world.
Mostly.
“Well, I’m healing nicely, Arthur, but thank you for asking.” Martin sipped at his coffee and grimaced. “Arthur, you didn’t re-use the grounds, did you?”
“Um…”
“Really, Arthur,” Douglas sighed. “You don’t have to do everything your mother tells you. One use of coffee grounds is the absolute limit.”
“Um…I know, chaps, but Mum said if you didn’t like our coffee, you could get Starbucks. Which is brilliant, actually! I love their chai!”
“Yes, all part of her cunning plan to get us to buy our own coffee. Honestly, Arthur, Carolyn can’t expect us to drink this swill,” Martin complained.
“Except that we are drinking it,” Douglas remarked. “Surely you’re not serving it to the passengers, Arthur?”
“No, they’re drinking vodka. I could make tea instead,” Arthur suggested.
“Very well. Don’t re-use the leaves, Arthur,” Douglas said.
“Oh. All right, but don’t tell Mum!”
“Cross my heart and hope to die,” Douglas intoned. “And if you don’t make the coffee with fresh grounds next time, then I won’t be the one dying.”
“Right!” Arthur dashed out of the flight deck, leaving Douglas and Martin behind in blessed silence.
“Why is it that after a five-minute conversation with Arthur, I always feel exhausted?” Douglas queried rhetorically.
“It’s either the weak coffee that doesn’t impart nearly enough caffeine to the bloodstream, or the fact that he’s a –“
“Clot,” Douglas finished.
Martin smiled a little, then looked shamefaced. “I shouldn’t say that. It was lovely of him to give me this mug.”
“Very well then. A clot, but a sweet, good-hearted clot.”
“That’ll do.” Martin turned his attention to ATC. “Golf Tango India requesting weather at Marseilles, please.”
“Golf Tango India, severe clear at Marseilles. Taxi to position and hold.”
“Thank you, Carl.”
For a short time, conversation ceased as they went about the business of getting in the air. Douglas kept a weather eye on Martin, but all seemed well; Martin was his usual crisp, businesslike, bossy self, and if it was an act, it was a good one. It had been almost two weeks since Douglas had clapped eyes on Martin. After the night Martin had spent at his house, he’d gone home and kept in touch every few days via mobile. Well, truthfully, it was Douglas who’d kept in touch, not wanting to pester, but nonetheless concerned for the seemingly fragile state of Martin’s mental health. But Martin had assured him he was much better, that he was going to counselling, that he would be okay. He’d volunteered no more than that, and Douglas didn’t like to pry. He couldn’t help feeling, however, that Martin had raised a wall between them. Possibly he’d been embarrassed by his outburst, and Douglas certainly understood wounded pride.
He was also beginning to understand exactly why Martin’s silence bothered him so much, but that was another matter, to be examined…later. He risked a sideways glance at Martin, but Martin was concentrating on the panel with intense interest and didn’t even seem aware that Douglas was present.
Douglas contained a sigh.
Much later, he decided.
After almost an hour, Douglas couldn’t contain himself. “Are you all right?”
Martin didn’t look up from the instrument panel. “Do you realise that’s the third time you’ve asked me that since I arrived at the airfield this morning?”
“Is it now? Shall I go for an even four?”
“Of course I’m all right. I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t.” The tips of Martin’s ears turned pink, and he seemed to struggle with words. “I do wish you’d stop asking.”
“Very well. Consider me duly informed.” Douglas affected nonchalance. “It’s just that I hadn’t heard much from you recently and I was concerned.”
“You did phone me.”
“Yes, to a rousing chorus of monosyllables,” Douglas replied tartly. “Look here, Martin, I happen to consider you a friend, and I’m concerned for your well-being. And believe it or not, I also happen to be concerned about your ability to conduct yourself during a longer flight.”
“The doctor cleared me,” Martin replied through gritted teeth.
“I’m not talking about your physical health. I wasn’t going to tell you, but Carolyn was worried as well.”
Martin turned to Douglas, his face pallid except for two blotches of crimson high on his cheeks. “What did you say to her?” he hissed. “You –“
Startled, Douglas held both hands up. “Peace! Good God, Martin, get hold of yourself. I didn’t tell her anything. You asked me not to and I honored that request.”
Martin drew a shaky hand over his mouth and slumped back into his seat. “Sorry. I suppose I’m sorry. I just – I don’t really want to talk about it.”
“All right,” Douglas replied in his most soothing tone.
“I’m coping with it as best I can, that’s all.”
“I know you are,” Douglas said.
“I just don’t want anyone to feel sorry for me.”
“I can understand that.”
“Especially you.”
Douglas pretended that hadn’t stung. He was silent for a moment, and then, with an air of casual inquiry, said, “Why especially not me?”
Martin sighed and sipped at his cooling coffee (Arthur had clearly forgot his promise to make tea). “I know how it sounds, and I don’t – I don’t mean it that way. It’s just…well, I made an utter fool of myself that night at your house, and I’d just rather we forgot the whole thing.”
“I see.” Douglas had anticipated some sort of argument today, some catharsis, but he hadn’t anticipated the way his heart would feel – as if it were frozen, buried on some distant and nameless planet under millions of years of thick grey ice. He’d made a point of consulting a few websites for rape victims, and he knew Martin might withdraw, but….
Don’t be an idiot, he chided himself furiously. For once in your life, don’t insist on being the center of the universe. This isn’t in the least about you.
He forced himself to speak. “I understand perfectly, Martin. If you want to talk, I’m willing to listen. If not, that’s fine as well.”
Martin sat in silence for a few moments. Finally, in a harsh whisper, he said, “You have control,” and got out of his seat, stumbling through the flight deck door. When he came back a few minutes later, his face was flushed and his eyes were tinged with red, but he said nothing, simply slipping back into his seat. Douglas ceded control, and they flew in silence for a time.
“I’m sorry, Douglas.”
Douglas contained another sigh. “Martin, you don’t owe me a single apology.”
“I do, though. You’ve been very kind to me, and –“
“Oh, Martin –“
“No, let me finish. You’ve been kind to me and you haven’t betrayed my trust or tried to crowd me. You probably think I haven’t noticed, but I have.”
Douglas dared a glance to the left. Martin was looking at him quite intently.
“It’s just – I don’t have any idea how long I’ll be getting over this…problem. I don’t mean to take anything out on you, but sometimes – well, my counsellor, she’s a group counsellor, I couldn’t afford the private therapy. I…I used that money Groves gave me to pay my rent for two months.” Martin let out a little chuckle. “Turns out I needed it after all. Bloody lucky to have it, since I can’t lift anything for the next four weeks.” A bitter smile twisted his mouth.
“Martin –“
Martin waved his hand. “Please, Douglas. You’ve no idea how that makes me feel. I’m begging you – don’t make it worse for me.”
Douglas folded his lips together to repress the foul invective that itched to hurl itself forth. Martin was right: Douglas had no idea how Martin felt, but if he ever did manage to catch Eddy Groves on the hop, Groves was going to be one right sorry bastard.
“Anyway, I…I don’t remember what I was saying.” Martin shook his head.
“Your counsellor,” Douglas prompted gently.
“Oh, right. She said that it’s not an uncommon occurrence to take out one’s anger against the people closest to you – family, colleagues, that sort of thing. I…I know how unprofessional it is, and I apologise.”
“We’re friends, Martin,” Douglas said. “Believe me, it’s okay.”
Martin nodded, but he fixed his gaze downward, and the slump of his shoulders indicated that it was anything but okay.
“Something else?”
“I…look, I want to ask you something, but don’t get angry, please.”
Douglas frowned. “Of course I won’t get angry.”
Martin looked unsure of this promise, but plunged on. “That first night, the night they…the night you left, you told Groves I was a berk and that flying was all I had.”
“Martin, you know I –“
“Wait. I know you were trying to make me less…important, or conspicuous, or whatever, and I understand that. I mean…the second thing, I know. Flying really is all I’ve got, Douglas. You saw my flat. Well, my room. You’ve seen my van. Flying’s the only thing that really makes me happy, and that’s okay. I mean, I don’t expect to find some fantastic gig with Air England or some chic house in Eaton Square or the love of my life or – or anything like that.” Martin’s ears and cheeks were very pink. “But…am I really…a-a-am I really a sad berk? And please don’t tell me I’m smashing because you feel sorry for me, because I won’t believe a word of it.”
Never in his life had Douglas wanted so badly to kiss someone – not any of the ex-Mrs. Richardsons, not darling Calista, not the fascinating little Moroccan number he’d wined and dined for a week in Tunis.
Once again, prat, this is not about you.
“Well, Martin, you’ve certainly got me between a rock and a hard place,” he said. “Yes, I’ve seen your room and your van, and I can say with complete confidence that they are, without the least shadow of a doubt, horrid and wretched, respectively. Since the future is murky at best and I can’t even pretend to be, say, Yoda, I have no idea what your future residential or job status might be.” He prudently, carefully, optimistically withheld speaking about Martin’s love life. “And I can say with even further confidence, if such a thing as excessive completeness can be measured, that you…you are absolutely fantastic. And it’s not because I feel sorry for you. It’s simply because you are.”
The faintest trace of a smile curved Martin’s lips. He dropped his gaze. “Do you mean that?” he asked in a very small voice.
“Absolutely. And flying’s not all you’ve got.”
“No?”
“No.” Douglas hesitated. “You’ve got me.”
Martin’s ears went a brilliant red. “Oh,” he whispered.
Discreetly, Douglas shuffled through some paperwork as Martin pulled out a handkerchief – Douglas’ own, he noticed, spotlessly clean – and swiped at his eyes and nose. He waited a while, then settled more comfortably in his seat. “Two-word film titles improved whilst reversed.”
Martin grinned. “Oh, God. All right – no, you start.”
“Hm. Twist Oliver.”
“Man Rain.”
“Based on the classic disco tune, no doubt. Ah…Window Rear.”
“Goodness. Oh! Eye Golden.”
“Goldeneye is one word, Martin. And what in God’s name does Eye Golden signify?”
“It’s…it’s like I, Robot,” Martin insisted stoutly. “You know…Eye, Golden.”
Douglas bit his lip and shook his head. He couldn’t predict the future, but he could make a fairly decent guess. Not today, not tomorrow, maybe not even next month, but eventually…eventually things would get better.
*
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2012-04-06 05:35 am (UTC)Sad to see that you finally have an end chapter count :(
Much love for this. I kinda want to group-hug-smush them all together XD
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Date: 2012-04-06 03:29 pm (UTC)It's almost over, but there may be a surprise or two yet. I'm so, so glad you're enjoying it - thanks for letting me know! :)
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Date: 2012-04-06 07:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-06 03:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-06 08:46 am (UTC)Such a great fic, Alec and I am sad there are only two more chapters.
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Date: 2012-04-06 03:35 pm (UTC)That Goldeneye reference was totally for you, my dear. I'm glad you enjoyed it! *hug*
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Date: 2012-04-06 08:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-06 03:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-06 05:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-06 05:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-06 09:40 am (UTC)Arthur is Arthury. Martin is, well not back to his old self, but perhaps a step further on his way back. And Douglas is just wow! This is why I love Douglas with all my heart! He is witty and worldly and clever and drop dead gorgeus and when it really comes down to it he is all loveliness, gentleness and ... love. He is so good to Martin. He even praised Arthur, to make Martin feel better. And that speech on how Martin's house and his van leaves a lot to be desired but how Martin himself is mostly perfect, awwww. Douggie is just a big soft teddy bear, really. He is truly eye wateringly brilliant! Which might partly explain why I was crying my way through this chapter.
Hey, Chief! I might be wrong *giggle*, but there seem to be only two chapters left. That makes me feel very, very, very sad. One thing you could do is write a sequel. How does that sound to you? ;-)
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Date: 2012-04-06 03:42 pm (UTC)Hey, Chief! I might be wrong *giggle*, but there seem to be only two chapters left. That makes me feel very, very, very sad. One thing you could do is write a sequel. How does that sound to you? ;-)
Oh, this made me laugh way more than you know. :D You never know! I am planning to do another prompt fill, in any case. :)
no subject
Date: 2012-04-06 05:52 pm (UTC)Glad I made you laugh. You've treated me to so many wonderful emotional trips and I'm desperate to show my appreciation in any humble way I can.
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Date: 2012-04-06 06:30 pm (UTC)Aw, you're sweet! Thank you so much. :D
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Date: 2012-04-06 07:03 pm (UTC)Now I'm listening to Cabin Pressure every night when I'm tucked up in bed. Can't remember how I used to fall asleep without being surrounded by warm humour, Douglas' suave voice and Martin's occasional squeels.
It's not obvious why I'm living alone, is it ...No, really, thank you!! n_n
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Date: 2012-04-06 11:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-06 03:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-06 12:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-06 03:54 pm (UTC)Ha! He sort of has, hasn't he? Sweet Martin definitely inspires the protective instinct. As well as the whumping instinct. :D
Thank you so much! Hope you enjoy the rest. :)
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Date: 2012-04-06 01:26 pm (UTC):D
This was wonderful. I just want to squish the heck out of both of them.
Just saw you've added how many parts are left. Mayhaps there will be a sequel?
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Date: 2012-04-06 03:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-06 01:28 pm (UTC)Everyone is perfectly IC, as always. The happiness/concern/sweetness was just as poignant as any of your angst/torture (how do you do it?!). I was grinning the whole way through. Lovely, lovely, lovely!
... Please don't let Groves come back. Not unless you let Douglas kill him, then that'd be okay. ;)
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Date: 2012-04-06 04:02 pm (UTC)I'm doing my best to fix them! They're a little stubborn. :) I'm really enjoying the comfort and sweetness after all the angst. Thank you SO much. :D
Wait and see....
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Date: 2012-04-06 10:18 pm (UTC)Aww! It's nice to know you're looking forward to it. *happy squeak*
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Date: 2012-04-06 03:05 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2012-04-06 03:35 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2012-04-06 05:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-06 04:26 pm (UTC)And forgot the tea. Really!!! His mum - oh lor, can't you just SEE her!
Honestly Alex this is almost as if you are reporting verbatim, it is so..... I dunno... splendid. Oh gosh, I DO want Douglas to make Martin 'His Own'! dammit. Bless you for the warmingtum bits. L.
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Date: 2012-04-06 05:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-06 05:59 pm (UTC)So happy to see Martin out of the attic and back to work. And finding a comfort with Douglas again, poor sweet thing.
“It’s…it’s like I, Robot,” Martin insisted stoutly. “You know…Eye, Golden.”
<3 Never change, Martin.
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Date: 2012-04-06 06:29 pm (UTC)Martin's getting there, for sure. He must be - he's playing games the Martin way. :D
Thank you so much, hon!