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Martin raged at the small television in the latest of the dingy motels he was stuck in for the night. The static of the antenna-run television faded in and out just enough for a commercial for Diet Coke to come through, though not even in color.
“But if the co-pilot is dancing with the passengers, and the Captain is serving appetizers from the overhead bin, who’s flying the plane?!” he asked in dismay, only to have his favourite sarcastic co-pilot cosy up beside him to poke fun.
“Perhaps their cabin boy?” Douglas teased just loud enough to perk up Arthur’s ears, bringing him out of his deep reverie of Angry Birds.
“Yeah, Skip, I could fly a plane!” he said excitedly, forgetting the iPad in favour of jumping up with the two pilots onto the bed. “And you could eat appetizers while Douglas dances with you, or whatever.”
“Yeah, Martin, just imagine it. Imagine it, Arthur flying a plane,” he laughed into the tortured pilot’s ear.
Martin then turned red, matching his bright curls as images of the purest horror flashed through his mind…
Fire and brimstone rains down on his beloved GERTI, and serins whine in the distance as screams sound from all sides.
“Martin! Martin!” a lone voice calls. It’s a voice that Martin recognizes, it’s Douglas’s voice, and for a moment it calms him, before he hears the same voice scream in agony. “Why did you let Arthur fly the plane?” the voice demands of him, and Martin wants to turn towards the voice. “Martin, why?” the voice sobs. “Martin, help me, please,” he voice gasps, and Martin tries desperately to turn towards the voice and help, but he can’t.
He’s rooted to the spot he was in, right on the tarmac, watching as columns of smoke rose up from his plane, and he could no longer hear the voice. It had ended in a gurgle. The sky was red, just as it always was in his nightmares, but in those nightmares it was always him that ended up messing everything up. This time, he supposed, was no different, he apparently had let Arthur fly the plane. He had indirectly hurt his co-pilot, his Douglas. This was all his fault...
Meanwhile, Arthur grinned widely, the corners of his lips stretching towards his ears as images of geese and otters flashed through his mind…
Sparkles and sunshine rains down on his beloved GERTI, and Ottery St. Mary sings in the distance as her angelic choir of otters serenades him from all sides.
“Arthur! Arthur!” a lone voice calls. It’s a voice Arthur recognizes, it’s Carolyn’s voice, and for a moment it reassures him, before he hears the voice sigh in exasperation. “Why is Martin letting you fly the plane?” the voice demands of him, and Arthur wants to drown out the voice. “Blah, blah, blah, blah,” the voice drones on, but Arthur chooses to ignore it.
He’s happy, happier than he’s ever been, and he’s having fun flying his plane, leading a brigade of geese all the way to the North Pole to meet Santa, and the sky was big, blue, and beautiful, just like in his happiest of daydreams. And that’s saying something! Because he never has unhappy daydreams. But this, he decides is the best one...
Meanwhile, Douglas decided to himself think of his own scenario, his mind a whirl of images and maybe a goose or two…
Bottles of Talisker and non-melted-and-then-hardened-and-then-turned-deadly pieces of candy rains down on his beloved Martin as they lay together on top of GERTI, eager to watch the stars, and a giddy Arthur then elbows him in the face in his haste to leave the motel room and tell his mother about his antics in flying the plane…
And with that elbow to the face Douglas is brought straight back into reality. A harsh reality in which he was confronted with a heavily sobbing Martin, an overly excited Arthur, and a sore jaw.
He frowned and shook his head before deciding to pick Martin up and place him in his lap while letting Arthur bounce around excitedly. Douglas just prayed that he didn’t break anything, and instead worked on comforting his captain.
“It was so awful,” Martin sniffled, shivering in Douglas’s arms while trying to push the images of horror out of his head. “I’m never letting Arthur into the cockpit ever again,” he decided, his face twisting up slightly as another sob came out that he chose to bury into Douglas’s shoulder.
Douglas just nodded and rocked Martin slowly back and forth, making gentle shushing noises as he did so.
“I love you,” Martin mumbled against his shoulder. “And I’m never going let anyone but the best fly you around.”
“Well, darling, you and I can’t fly all the time. What if I want to cuddle you? Then we’ll just have to let Arthur fly,” he said in a gentle, teasing tone, earning himself a soft punch in his shoulder.