FIC: A Million By Tuesday [6/?]

[splix]

Title: A Million By Tuesday
Author: Alex
Fandom: Cabin Pressure
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Martin/Douglas; Martin/Gordon Shappey
Disclaimer: Cabin Pressure is property of John Finnemore and the BBC.
Summary: From a prompt on the Cabin Pressure meme. AU: Gordon Shappey's disgruntled ex-employee, Douglas Richardson, seeks revenge by kidnapping Gordon's trophy husband, Martin.
Warnings: Domestic violence, dubious consent.
Notes: Thanks to kimberlite for the sharp-eyed beta.


Can also be read on AO3



*


Douglas gave Martin a nod and climbed the stairs, flicking the switch and leaving him in darkness, with the soft murmuring of the radio as his only companion. He listened a bit to a man and a woman, both with quiet, sonorous voices, talking about a writer he'd never heard of, and let their voices dwindle to background murmuring as he returned to what had been niggling off and on for the better part of the day: namely, Gordon, and the fact that he'd stripped Douglas Richardson of his livelihood and pension.

It didn't take much persuading to convince Martin that Douglas had been telling the truth. Martin had overheard more than one conversation in which Gordon had displayed more than his fair share of ruthlessness. Certainly that was common enough in business, and Gordon dealt mostly with other financiers, not orphanages and animal shelters, so while his glee at what he liked to call 'kills' was a bit disconcerting, it wasn't actively disturbing. However, sacking someone and then lying about it unearthed shadows of doubt and uncertainty. Why hadn't Gordon simply been honest and said he'd fired Douglas instead of claiming that Douglas had quit?

What else, Martin wondered, had Gordon lied about?

Other young men, perhaps.

Maybe it hadn't been true. Douglas could have been lying. He'd said as much.

Furiously blinking at the sudden stinging in his eyes, Martin twisted his neck a bit, trying to relieve some of the pressure of the gag in his mouth. It was marginally better than the tape, but still uncomfortable. He scooted awkwardly to the far right side of the narrow bed, stretched as far as he could, and managed to snag a scrap of the knotted towels and yank the gag free. He worked his jaw a bit and sighed. Much better.

He gasped aloud in the darkness.

He could scream. If he built up a healthy lungful of air, he could bellow quite loudly and perhaps someone in the next house would hear him. He knew vaguely where he was; he'd addressed all of the invitations to last year's Christmas party because he had neat, meticulous handwriting and Gordon had balked at hiring a calligrapher, but hadn't wanted printed names and addresses either. So he remembered, more or less, where Douglas lived, a tidy street with neat houses and manicured patches of grass and gardens. The houses were only a stone's throw apart. Would his voice carry that far, and how much of a racket could he cause before Douglas ran down the stairs to take care of it, perhaps brutally?

Nervous, Martin wet his lips. He sucked in a few harsh and rapid breaths, and opened his mouth. He inhaled deeply, and then closed his mouth.

Suppose he was able to make himself heard. Then whoever lived next door would phone the police, and when the police came, they'd almost certainly investigate the house. Martin would be rescued, and Douglas would go to prison for ten or fifteen years. Gordon would be delighted to see him, and overjoyed that he'd managed to get Martin back without losing a million pounds. There would probably be lots of television and radio interviews – and maybe he'd even be able to wangle another shot at the CPL. Maybe there would be fees for telly appearances.

Douglas Richardson may have been right about there being little justice in the world, but he'd learn that crime didn't pay.

On the other hand….

Was there another hand? Douglas had kidnapped Martin. He'd assaulted him, tied him up, shoved him about, shouted at him, and generally terrorised him for twenty-four hours. True, he'd kept Martin from falling down the staircase, but if Martin hadn't been his captive, he wouldn't have fallen in the first place.

Slowly and unwillingly, Martin's thoughts drifted back to Douglas' nasty insinuations about Gordon. He'd played off the blow as best he could, but he couldn't quite wrap his head round it. They'd exchanged vows, for goodness' sake, Gordon couldn't have…he couldn't have. Gordon was handsome, and rich enough to have whoever he wanted, really.

Martin winced.

---Martin. More champers? Gordon's mouth curled lazily upward.

---I'd better not. It's making me a bit tiddly. I know I probably should have eaten both squabs, but I gobbled so much bread and I was feeling a bit full, so –

---What if I wanted you to be a bit tiddly?

Martin felt himself smiling back. ---Why would you want that?

---So I could have my wicked way with you.

---You don't have to get me drunk for that, you know. Timidly, Martin reached out and caressed Gordon's cheek with the back of his hand.

---You really are fantastically good-looking, you know.

---Oh, God. No I'm not. I know you say that, but –

---Shh. You are. Your wardrobe's a disaster, of course, but that can be fixed. Nothing wrong with the rest of you. Nice and lean and tight, and such a…pretty mouth. Just promise me you'll stay lean. Carolyn ballooned up – God, completely let herself go. You, on the other hand…. Gordon caressed the length of Martin's thigh. You wouldn't do that.

---Gordon, honestly –

---Come on. More Cristalle, pet. They call it social lubrication for a reason.

---I'd love to, but I've got a removal job in the morning. In fact, I should go now.

---And what if I asked you not to go?

---Well, then the couple who expects me to transfer the contents of their flat is going to be rather upset, I'd imagine.

---What if I said 'Quit your job, and let me take care of you.' What if I asked you to marry me?

Martin had spilled his champagne before stammering out a yes. He'd gone on the removal job, but that had been the last one. Two weeks later he'd come home from a flying lesson to find two damp towels in the bathroom and a brand-new toothbrush in the bin. The weekend before their wedding he'd seen a young man in the car with Gordon, and though it could have been a client or colleague, the young man was sitting suspiciously close…and then there had been all the late nights that Gordon had supposedly spent on the phone with brokerage houses in the US, but he'd come home smelling of whisky or gin, and the unexpected trips to odd places, not centres of finance….

He screwed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. This is probably not the most optimal time to contemplate the possibility of Gordon's infidelity. What else did he have to do, though? And hadn't Douglas' pointed jibe sounded truthful, spat out in anger and haste? It wasn't the sort of thing one made up, was it? Lying about it would be crueller than telling the truth.

Sighing, Martin decided not to shout for help. It would…complicate things, and he was tired. Doing nothing in enforced stillness and silence all day was exhausting.

And maybe…maybe, just maybe, he wanted Gordon to pay. To prove that Martin meant the world to him.

Maybe.


*


He was already awake when Douglas came down the stairs. "Time for the loo."

"Fantastic," Martin snapped, then shook his head. "Sorry."

Douglas' mouth tightened, but he said nothing, setting to loosening the knots that held Martin pinioned to the bed. He struggled with one for a moment. "Look, I realise this is a bit inconvenient, but it's only one more –" Abruptly, he closed his mouth and straightened. "You took the gag out."

"It was annoying," Martin replied, aware that he sounded defensive, further aware that it was idiotic to do so.

"Why didn't you yell for help, then?"

A hot blush crawled up Martin's neck. "I don't know. Maybe I should have." He glanced up at Douglas, who was scrutinising him carefully, then looked away. "Anyhow, if I really wanted to scream, I'm sure someone would hear me. It's not like you stuck a rubber ball into my mouth or anything."

Douglas snorted. "Familiar with that, are you?"

"No, of course not! I just meant – oh, never mind. Can I get up, please?"

"Certainly. Far be it for me to prevent you from making use of the facilities. Do you want a shower?"

Martin blinked. "Yes, I…I suppose so."

"I'll launder your togs. I've got a spare dressing gown you can wear. It'll drag on the ground, no doubt, but it would be marginally less ridiculous than you wearing my clothes." His expression suggested a master couturier examining a bag lady. "You're a bit ripe."

"Yours very truly!" Martin said, bristling. "That's not my fault."

"Well, perhaps," Douglas conceded. "Anyhow, even though I very much doubt a bath is standard kidnap protocol, I expect Gordon would be enraged if I didn't provide you with basic conveniences."

"Chance would be a fine thing," Martin muttered.

Douglas looked up from the knot he was undoing. "What's that?"

"Nothing." Martin shook his head and watched Douglas' hands, large and blunt and capable, as he freed Martin's wrist from the ropes. "How long have you been a pilot?"

"Twenty-six years." Douglas cocked an eyebrow, and then moved to the other side of the bed. "Until recently. Why?"

"Just curious. You – you liked it, I suppose."

"Loved it," Douglas said, and his mouth tightened abruptly. "Now do you mind if we leave this particular topic alone?"

"Oh. Oh. Sorry." Martin bit his lip. "I mean, I realise it's a painful subject. I didn't mean to upset you, I just thought that –"

"Martin."

Martin met Douglas' gaze, a little startled. He didn't recall Douglas calling him by name before. "Yes?"

Douglas shook his head. "Nothing. There, you're free. Careful, it might tingle a bit."

"Ooh – yes, it does." Martin rotated his shoulders; his hands sat uselessly in his lap. He tried to flex his fingers, and Douglas picked one of his hands up and began chafing blood back into the starved fingers. After being confined, it ached, but felt lovely at the same time. "That…." Martin stared down at Douglas' hands massaging his own and thought about pulling away, then decided not to. "Feels nice."

Abruptly, Douglas dropped Martin's hand. "Sorry," he murmured. "Come on, get up. I'll have breakfast ready by the time you're through with your shower."

Douglas' bathroom was luxurious, even sybaritic for a small house, though it wouldn't have been up to Gordon's standards. There was no bathtub, but the glassed-in shower stall was enormous, with four jets, and a rough, oddly pleasant tile underfoot. Martin lathered up, revelling in abundant hot water and a lovely, creamy bath wash that scented the billowing clouds of steam with a bright, peppery fragrance. He scrubbed vigorously and let the water run over sore, cramped muscles, then towelled off and wrapped Douglas' dressing gown around him. It too was luxurious, plain charcoal grey, but made of silk in such a wonderful texture that Martin couldn't keep from touching it, rubbing his hand up and down the fabric before letting it envelop his body. It did drag a bit, so Martin hiked it up, tied the belt tightly, and went down the hall to the kitchen, feeling a bit ridiculous, but certainly less grubby and disreputable-looking.

Douglas glanced at him and turned a rasher of bacon. "You seemed to enjoy yesterday's breakfast, so I made the same thing."

"That's fine." Martin looked around awkwardly. "Um…can I help?"

For a moment Douglas just peered curiously at Martin, then nodded as if something had pleased him. "Yes – in fact you can. Get the milk from the fridge, if you please, and the grapefruit juice if you want some. Kettle's on otherwise. Plates are in the upper cupboard there, and utensils in that drawer."

Martin set the table for two and readied the tea as Douglas served the food. They sat and ate quietly for a few minutes, the silence broken only by the faint clatter of cutlery on porcelain.

"It's a bit odd, this," Martin ventured at last.

"What's that?"

"This," Martin said, indicating the meal with a wave of his hand. "Just – I mean, just sitting here with you. Eating."

"Well, if I'm not going to kill you, I probably shouldn't let you starve."

"No, I mean i-it's, erm, the experience. It's a bit odd, that's all."

"Ah. I see." Douglas cut half a tomato into quarters and popped one in his mouth, chewing contemplatively. "I suppose this isn't standard kidnap protocol either."

"Not quite." Martin finished his tea and poured another cup. "We've never really chatted. It's not that I didn't want to, but you always seemed so busy, and Gordon is a bit…well, not interested in flying."

"Most people aren't."

"Some of us are." Martin felt the beginnings of a blush. "Anyway, it's not because I'm snobby or anything. I'd have loved to talk to you about flying, or…or whatever."

Douglas eyed Martin speculatively. "Whatever?"

Martin shrugged. The blush spread up his neck and over his face. "I've seen you talking with the fellows at the airfield and other people – Carolyn and Arthur and your daughter and you always –" He shrugged again. "It just seems like you…I don't know."

"Am I to understand that Gordon isn't the world's most scintillating conversationalist?"

"He's fine," Martin replied defensively, suddenly remembering his role as hostage and Douglas' as kidnapper. "He's terribly busy, that's all. He hasn't lots of time for idle chat. That's not to say he doesn't chat with me. He does, sometimes. When he's not busy."

"And of course he's terribly busy." Douglas' tone was waspish.

His cheeks burning, Martin crossed his arms and scowled. "It won't do you any good, trying to – to get me to sympathise with you. I'm not Patty Hearst."

Douglas simply shrugged and picked up the newspaper lying next to his plate. He perused the front page briefly, then opened it. "Nothing about you in here."

"Why would there be? You told Gordon not to involve the police. Clearly he's concerned for my safety."

"I suppose he is, at that." Douglas went back to the paper and turned the pages in silence.

"What?" Martin demanded.

"Sorry?"

"You obviously have more to say." Martin stabbed at the last piece of bacon on his plate and tucked it in his mouth, talking between chews. "You told him that you'd kill me if he called the police, so he hasn't called the police, and yet you seem to have some sort of problem with that."

"I don't have a problem." Douglas kept his eyes on the paper.

"Then why did you make the comment?"

"Look," Douglas said, putting the paper down. "If one of my loved ones had been abducted, I'd move heaven and earth to get them back. And I'd notify the police. The Met kidnap unit has an excellent track record of rescuing victims alive. And Gordon is so bloody parsimonious I'm positively astounded that he hasn't got them working double-time, at taxpayer expense."

"Maybe they are," Martin retorted. "Quietly. They could be outside the door right now for all you know." He stood up, and Douglas put the paper down. "Don't worry, I'm not going to bolt," Martin said in his most withering voice. "I'm going downstairs. You can come and tie me up when you've finished your breakfast." He turned and marched down the stairs, holding the dressing gown carefully so as not to trip. He flung himself disconsolately on the bed and listened to two people chatting smugly about internet dating.

A short while later, Douglas descended the stairs cautiously, burdened by an armload of books. He set the books on the table beside the bed and hovered, looking a bit uncertain. "Martin."

"What? You want me in the chair again, or will you tie me to the bed this time?" He felt unexpected teary-eyed rage and wouldn't speculate why that was so.

"No, I…I just wanted to…I shouldn't have implied that Gordon wasn't concerned about you. That was wrong."

"Skip it," Martin said in a half-whisper.

"I'm sure he's wracked with anxiety."

"I'm sure he is." Martin turned away so Douglas wouldn't see his trembling lips.

"I've brought you some books. Something to pass the time." Douglas picked up the pile from the table and set them at the foot of the bed. Three went sliding, and he caught them, making a separate little stack. "It's all flying stuff. I thought that maybe you'd want to…sort of stay in gear, as it were, so you'll pass your next CPL with flying colours."

Despite himself, Martin looked at the pile. The book atop the first stack was Stick and Rudder: An Explanation of the Art of Flying. He picked it up. "I've got this one at home."

"Well, there are others you mightn't have." Douglas slid the piles closer so Martin could examine the covers.

Martin studied the titles with interest. The Private Pilots License Course: Flying Training (Private Pilots Licence Course), Flying Freestyle: An RAF Fast Jet Pilot's Story, The Colour Encyclopedia of Incredible Aeroplanes, The Air Pilot's Manual: Flying Training v. 1: Flying Training Vol 1 (Air Pilots Manual 01). "I don't have these, though."

"I'm sure you know most of it, but it never hurts to brush up a bit. There's a CPL guide at the bottom of the pile that might be helpful."

"Th –" Martin bit his lip and frowned. "It's going to be a bit difficult to read with my hands tied."

"I won't tie you up," Douglas said. "I'll lock the door, but if you – I won't tie you up, all right? You had better not make a racket, though." Douglas' scowl was thunderous.

"All right," Martin agreed. He opened the encyclopedia and ran his fingertips reverently over a black-and-white photo of a squadron of Spitfires. "Thank you."

"Your clothes will be dry in about half an hour." Douglas went to the stairs. "Have fun," he said, and ascended the stairs.

Martin looked after him thoughtfully, then opened the CPL guide.


*


Eight hours later, he was still reading. He'd taken two loo breaks, changed into his warm, clean, and dry clothes, and eaten a sandwich, but he was thoroughly immersed in the joys of flight, and despite his dire situation (which was admittedly somewhat less dire now) strangely content. He'd always had to read his flight books away from Gordon's jaundiced eye; Gordon never failed to make a disparaging comment about Martin's ambitions, particularly after the first two failures.

He was starting to get hungry again, though, and decided to go upstairs for a snack. He climbed the stairs, feeling distinctly odd. There was nothing about this predicament that wasn't odd. He opened the cellar door and saw Douglas sitting at the kitchen table in a very nice grey suit and a violet-coloured tie, his head in his hands. As Douglas lifted his head to look at Martin, Martin saw the bright gleam of unshed tears in Douglas' eyes.

Cautiously, he took a step forward. "Douglas?" He moved closer, and Douglas let out a sigh that seemed to set his entire frame to trembling. "Douglas, are you all right?"


*

TBC....

Comments

[natsuko1978.livejournal.com]

Somehow I think Gordon may be confusing "ballooned up" and "let herself go" with either pregnancy... or just not being a waif-like supermodel. Grr.

Oh MARTIN. A little more self-examination on WHY you haven't yelled for help might get you far.

And kidnapper and victim eat breakfast together... and Douglas lending Martin his flight manuals. OH. BOYS! They are just sort of fitting together, aren't they?

Hmmm. So Gordon saw Martin as easy to bully/manipulate/control - a pet on hand to do what he wanted while not limiting his other activities... and Martin was pretty much swept off his feet. :(

It's weird watching the dynamics change as Martin gets sure of himself and does NOT suffer from Stockholm Syndrome (or does he?)... while not really looking at all at what he seems to be feeling for/about Douglas. And examining Gordon in a less-than favourable light, while wanting to be proved wrong. The poor guys seems to be trying so hard NOT to tie himself in knots over all this. All "don't think too deep".

Because realistically, even as a huge D/M fan, a couple of days, especially in these circumstances, isn't really long enough (IMO) to fall head over heels in love. (Or is it?) So I'm really interested (can't wait!) to see what you do to get Martin and Douglas "on the same side", you know? I mean, it looks like they've both been betrayed by Gordon, but Martin still isn't ready to go there... so what further betrayals await?

[splix.livejournal.com]

Yeah, Gordon's...a dick, basically. He couldn't manipulate Carolyn the way he wanted to, but Martin is proving to be more biddable. No doubt Gordon has some charm [there has to be *some* reason Carolyn married him] but he's shown himself to be exploitative and ruthless in the series, so I built on that a bit.

Martin is most certainly in denial, and part of that of course is because he's in a really precarious situation, even if Douglas doesn't hurt him, and he wants to be rescued, but the truth is intrusive. It's maybe something he can examine post-rescue, even if he's not consciously thinking that.

You're right, and I agree - I don't think you can fall in love in a couple of days. Lust, maybe, but especially under these conditions, love doesn't happen immediately. So I hope you stay tuned, all shall be revealed! Thanks so very much for reading, and the fantastic feedback!

[natsuko1978.livejournal.com]

There is zero chance of me not "staying tuned" :D One reason I was so excited for you to be filling this prompt was that, going by your other fics, you don't believe in Quick Fixes. (I love Hurt/Comfort, but many writers seem to concentrate too long/much on the hurt and then WHAM something happens and It's All Better Now, and I have a deep need for psychological/emotional realism. [Though in my opinion, the very worst for that was actually Moffat and John Watson's leg in BBC Sherlock canon. A pet peeve of mine, that.])

Douglas and Martin - in CP canon as well as our fics - have a FIT (whether as friends or Something More) which I think they'd struggle to verbalise or even admit to themselves. It's GORGEOUS seeing how you are portraying that fit in this AU where they are virtually strangers and tied [sorry, Martin!] in a negative relationship dynamic. I eagerly await developments. Thank YOU for writing this. :D

[splix.livejournal.com]

True, a quick fix doesn't interest me! Obviously this is not the way to go when I'm writing a short fic. :) I so appreciate your thoughtful feedback, and completely agree that Douglas and Martin fit together so beautifully. Bless you.

[heron236.livejournal.com]

Excellently-worked transitioning of their relationship. Loved this line: 'He flung himself disconsolately on the bed and listened to two people chatting smugly about internet dating.' :-)

[splix.livejournal.com]

It's always really great to hear what a reader especially likes - I appreciate that and am so glad you're enjoying the story. Thanks so very much. :)