Archive of Our Own

After Douglas hit send, he froze.

He'd thought he'd been careful. He'd checked the message over and over before sending it to the "Lonely Hearts" UK forum through their anonymizing email submissions link to be sure it said nothing about MJN, aeroplanes, Martin, or anything that would make it obvious it was him.

You sit beside me almost every day, and we talk, but we don't really talk, we're just sharing a ride. I'd like to invite you for a drink, take off your jacket and tie, and spend all evening getting to know you better than anyone ever has. I would spend hours rumpling your carefully professional exterior, and I'd hope you'd do the same to me. But, in this, I'm a coward. So we'll sit side by side tomorrow again, talking about nothing.

It was a safe message. Could be anyone, someone with a ride share to Manchester, or some regular commuter on the Tube in London. Safe and neutral. Or it would be if he had remembered to disable his signature line.

He'd never opened his Outbox faster, but he was too late. With a tense squirm in his throat, he opened his Sent Items and looked at what he'd sent. At the bottom of his message was his signature block:

From the Desk of
Douglas Richardson
Sky God

"Oh god." Sour panic flooded through him.

He knew from one inadvisable evening of bitter maudlin regret after the first Mrs. Richardson that the forum's email submissions were set up so the maintainers couldn't see who had sent what email without a court order, so trying to get them to delete it was pointless.

Maybe it wouldn't be that bad. Maybe they'd see the tag line and strip it off? He hit refresh on the forum, and scrolled to the most recent post. No, there it was, bold as brass monkeys.

Douglas groaned and thumped his head down onto his keyboard. Why, why had he thought an anonymous confession was a good idea, that he'd expunge this distraction by writing it anonymously on the ether? He'd sat on his feelings for months, didn't even know if they were actual proper feelings or just desperation....

He laughed into the keyboard at himself. "You've felt this way about three women, just because Martin's a man, that doesn't make the feelings any less-"

Douglas pulled his head up suddenly. Maybe Martin didn't read the forum. If his computer was running Flight Sim '95 as he'd said once, maybe it was too old to access the site. Martin was solidly flight-obsessed; he wouldn't be spending an hour or two of a night scrolling through the anonymous posts from lonely people all around the UK for entertainment, or anything else.

He started to feel a little less nauseous. Of course! Douglas's little faux pas was perfectly safe, Martin wouldn't go on the forum, he'd never see it. For a moment, Douglas felt a flash of sadness, a hopeful scenario of Martin seeing the post and revealing that he too felt something other than professional towards Douglas born and died in an instant.

"Don't be ridiculous, Richardson." It was for the best. Martin would never see it, never know about it, as Douglas had intended. He'd written the post to expunge the feelings that were beginning to effect his working environment, so as not to gain attention from Martin.

He sighed. It was past midnight, by morning his post would be buried under the rest of the night's emotional outpourings and never be seen again. Douglas shut down his laptop and prepared for bed.

It wasn't until he had the covers pulled up to his chin that he remembered Phil from the fire crew was the one who had introduced him to the site, and read it avidly. Phil would certainly recognize Douglas's name, he'd notice the post, and then- "Dear god."

Douglas jumped out of bed, left his bedroom and rebooted the computer. He could call Phil, tell him- threaten him- Maybe Phil hadn't seen yet. If Douglas called him, he'd know and that was years of blackmail material for Phil. Douglas's little indiscretion of a post, printed off a hundred times and papering the walls of the portacabin.

No calling Phil.

Douglas knew people who knew things, maybe someone knew someone that could knock out a little known social forum, or better yet, take the site down completely, since the posts of tonight might not have been archived yet, and when they restored from backup, the entire evening would be wiped clean for everyone. He can't be the only person sending regrettable anonymous emails after midnight, it would practically be a public service.

As he scrolled hurriedly over to open his contacts, his email binged.

For the second time in a night, Douglas Richardson froze.

From: Anon-screen #5452435
Subject: Response to Lonely Hearts Post - "Talk to me"

His freeze this time felt literal, as ice water seemed to rush through his veins. It was too late. Phil had seen it, and even if Douglas could convince him to keep mum about it, he'd hold it over Douglas's head any time he needed something.

Douglas slumped into his chair and opened the email. The first line burned on the screen.

I sit beside you almost every day, and we don't talk, we banter.

Douglas clapped his hand over his mouth. No. Worse even than Phil, Martin had seen his post. Martin had read it and Martin was responding to it. Had responded to it. The ice water in his veins solidified as all the half-formed plans of launching some sort of internet attack on the Lonely Hearts forum crumbled.

There was more. Douglas couldn't bring himself to scroll down. After the years of taunting and mockery, Martin would not be wasting this golden opportunity. Douglas Richardson, with his pants down. Well, practically offering to have his pants down.

Douglas got out of the chair and paced around the table, like the laptop had turned into a large electronic version of Arthur's "Breakfast Sunburst Surprise." Tomorrow he'd be sitting next to Martin for at least five hours on a flight to Ankara. Martin had seen Douglas's post, and responded. Nothing short of time travel or a selective memory wipe could change that now. God only knew how Martin might use this against him. Not too maliciously he thought, but still.

"At the very least, I can write off access to the cheese tray for the forseeable future." If Douglas was not Douglas, he might have thought that he giggled nervously just then. It was more of a- oh hell. Douglas Richardson giggled. Nervously.

Not reading the email wouldn't make it not have happened. Douglas sat back down at his laptop, raised a hand that absolutely did not shake in the slightest, and scrolled slowly down.

I sit beside you almost every day, and we don't talk, we banter.

I'd like to find out who you really are when you aren't being the mighty Sky God. I'd like to think I've seen it on rare occasions, but I'd like to see more.

Douglas's breath caught and stopped. Martin couldn't be-

I'd like to see you rumpled, and I'd like to be the one doing the rumpling.

Douglas's eyes flew wide open, and for entirely different reasons than before, Douglas clapped his hand over his mouth again. He scrolled quickly through the rest of the email.

I'm a coward too, but you're braver than I and always have been, even if this post was a mistake rather than bravery. We will sit side by side tomorrow of course, and if you like, talk about nothing. Afterward though if you don't mind, I'd like to take you up on that drink?

Let's talk.

Cpt. M. C.
[posted @ Lonely Hearts 00:35:12]

It was posted on the forum. A public declaration to match his own accidental one. Douglas sat back in the chair, reeling. He knew his luck was fantastic, but this couldn't be....

But then his heart sank. Of course it couldn't be.

It was a joke. It had to be. It was Phil, pretending to be Martin. Doing a bad job of it too; there was no way Martin Crieff would write like that. There wasn't any sign of hesitation or nerves. Not that he'd thought Phil was capable of stringing together much in the way of somewhat eloquent declarations of, of whatever was being declared. Declarations of possibility.

Phil. That bastard. Probably trying to get Douglas to think that Martin had responded so Douglas would go in in the morning and make an utter fool of himself in front of everyone at MJN. Well, there would be no more public humiliation for Douglas Richardson. He picked up his phone, looked up Phil's number and rang him.

It rang three times before a muzzy voice answered. "Hmlorf?"

"You dare. You dare try to manipulate me into-"

"Who th'bloody hell's this?"

"Douglas Richardson."

"Oh... Why?"

"You know why," Douglas seethed. "You sent that email. How dare you."

"What? Email? Not a fire?"

"No, but nearly as inflammatory. You sent me that, pretending to be-"

"It's nearly gone one in the morning, Douglas! I was sleeping! I only answered because I thought it was an emergency!"

"...You didn't send me an email pretending to be M- someone else?"

"No! My computer packed it in two days ago, bloody viruses. It's in the shop. I couldn't sent you an email if I wanted."

Douglas's memory churned up a grumpy Phil muttering about viruses on Monday. Douglas had ignored him thinking it was about the mandatory flu shot. "I- I'm sorry. I thought- You really haven't sent me any email? And you haven't had your computer for two days?"

"No! Bloody hell what's in this email, Douglas? Death threats?"

"No. I'm sorry, I've got to make another call." Douglas disconnected and stared at his phone.

There was a chance. If it wasn't Phil, it could be someone else mocking him. He could spend the entire night calling everyone in his phone's contacts to confront them about the email or....

He thumbed down to Martin's mobile number.

He could take a chance.

His thumb hovered over the 'Send' button a moment before pressing it. It rang twice before connecting.

"...Hello Douglas."

"Martin. Still awake?"

"Erm. Yes. I was. Well. Doing something."

Martin sounded down-hearted, resigned. Regretful? Douglas took a deep breath. "I got an email just a bit ago. It seemed to be from you, but it wasn't your usual email address. Know anything about that?"

A sigh. "Yes, Douglas, it was me. And so that really was you." Martin's voice slumped even further. "Go on, then."

"Go on what?"

"Well. The post. I didn't think until I'd hit send, that it, that, what you'd posted, that it probably wasn't a mistake, but a trap to- that it was all probably just a cruel trick by someone at the airfield, or more likely you, you trying to make me think-" Martin heaved another sigh. "Well. It worked. Go on."

Douglas shook his head in his empty room. "I'm afraid you've lost me, Martin."

Martin gave an exasperated huff. "Just get the mockery over with."

Douglas couldn't speak for a moment.

Martin began babbling into the ensuing silence. "I suppose it's considerate of you at least that you've called to do it over the phone in private. I was- the trip tomorrow was looking awfully bloody long if you were- were going to be making smart-arse remarks about how- well I'll just say it's a cruel thing to use something I obviously haven't hidden well enough against-"

"Martin, shut up."

Martin sighed a third time. "And here we go."

"No, Martin you don't-" Douglas cut himself off, ran a hand through his hair and tried to find the right words. "It's not a trick, Martin."

"Oh, I'm sure it's not." Martin said bitterly. "Douglas Richardson, Sky God, secretly wants me because I'm such a bloody catch. A dead broke incompetent ginger midget-"

"Martin, please. Stop."

Martin fell silent, breathing roughly.

"It's true, Martin. I've- I've felt like this for a long while now, and I really had meant to post that anonymously, but as it turns out, I didn't. I've been in a panic about it for the past hour and considering many inadvisable courses of action to try to hide it. I didn't think you could even access that forum with your computer."

"There's a text-only RSS feed that comes to my inbox, I- Douglas. I- Really? You- you really posted that, meant... that?"

"Yes." Douglas's hand tightened, sweat-slick, around the phone. "And I'm daring to hope you meant your response as well."

"I did, but then I panicked and- but I still did. I still do. Mean it. What I thought after makes no difference. I- I'd really like to get to know you, Douglas. Properly, as- as... something. Someone. With possible, erm. Rumpling potential."

Douglas grinned, feeling like a warm breeze was blowing somewhere inside him. He straightened in his chair. "Captain Crieff. In Ankara, there is a rather exquisite coffee shop very close to the airport and the hotel, which is open very late. I would very much like to meet you there after we land and clear Customs. What do you say?"

"I- yes. Douglas. Yes." Martin giggled, not nervously at all. "Yes!"

"It's a date then."

"I'm looking forward to it! After the flight. Which- oh god, it's 01:30!"

"Sleep now. Fly tomorrow, then coffee."

"And talking."

"And talking, absolutely. Good night, Martin."

"Yes, it is. Good. Very good. Erm. I mean good night!"

Smiling, Douglas disconnected and laid the phone next to his laptop. This had been the best mistake he'd ever made.

Sleep now. Dreams come true tomorrow.