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You opened the door to the room, grimaced slightly as the faint remnants of nausea from the touchdown subsided, and hurried out of the way as Martin followed behind you, pulling his battered suitcase with him. He smiled at you, and looked around the hotel room. It was a cheap, crappy hotel, of course, but the reception had a houseplant on the desk, which had given you a touch of hope. Working for Carylon was a complicated hobby, which apparently involved sleeping in a dingy hotel in an area where seeing two birds at once would be considered an exciting day. You understood why Martin accepted this, of course, as MJN’s captain, but you didn’t quite understand why you accepted it, given this was only a part time gig. Come to think of it, you didn’t really understand how Carolyn had managed to cow Douglas into submission, but Carolyn had apparently decided that this was the best way, and there was to be no arguing with Carolyn. You and Martin looked around the room, your eyes alighting on the bed at the same time. The single bed. You sighed, and Martin looked somewhere between miserable and panicky. “I think someone might have made a mistake here,” you said, and Martin nodded, biting his check.
“Yes.”
You waited for him to say anything else, and when it became apparent he wasn’t going to, you decided to speak again. “Well, I could always sleep in the bath,” you supplied, ducking to look at the bathroom. “No, I couldn’t.” You came out of the bathroom again, pushing the door wide so Martin could see in. “It’s a shower. I could go talk to the man at reception?”
At this, Martin did speak. “Carolyn doesn’t want us risking any more expense than is strictly necessary.” He sounded chastened and sheepish. “We’re already in a precarious situation as it is with our trip budget.”
“You don’t consider this strictly necessary?” you laughed, and Martin scowled at you.
“Sorry, sorry.” Your apology didn’t seem to mollify Martin, but he did stop glaring at you, instead looking anxiously at the bed, trying to think of a solution. “You really know how to get a guy into bed,” you added under your breath, and cracked up in laughter as Martin glared at you with a goldfish gape, his ears tinged slightly pink with what you assumed was frustration.
“Okay, I’ll stop, I’ll stop.” You sighed again, looking at the bed and your frankly overwound roommate for the night. “You can have the bed, I’m happy to sleep on the floor, that’s all good, but while you have a think about whatever you want to suggest I’m going to get changed, because we got in late and I’m tired.”
Martin was roused into speech once more. “No, don’t sleep on the floor. I’m sure I can think of something. I’ll call Carolyn, I’m sure she’ll understand.”
“Okie-dokes, see you in a bit.” You collected some things from your bag and ducked into the bathroom, closing the door with a click.
“I’ve just called her,” said Martin as you emerged from the bathroom, wearing boxers patterned with elephants and a faded zydrate shirt.
“And? What did she say?”
“She said she understands the situation, but she told us to just get on and deal with it without fussing.” Martin looked resigned and downtrodden, with a healthy measure of anxiety mixed in, but it was difficult to absorb his misery when Martin was wearing his pyjamas too. Every time you had seen Martin on the plane, he had been wearing his uniform, his hair hidden under his hat, unless Douglas stole it. Now, though, he was sat on the bed, wearing pale blue bottoms and a maroon t-shirt emblazoned with an owl. His hair was a little messier, presumably from pulling his uniform off and his t-shirt on. You hadn’t ever actually seen Martin’s arms before, since he only ever rolled up his sleeves in the flightdeck and you didn’t usually go in there, and you were interested to see that his copious freckles extended across them too. You sat down on the bed next to him. “Fair enough, yeah. I didn’t know you were a fan of owls,” you said, gesturing to his shirt. Martin’s expression struggled between frowning and flustered. “My brother found it funny,” he said. “When I told everyone I got my first job as a pilot they called me all number of bird species, and eventually Simon bought me this t-shirt to drive it home.”
“Oh dear.”
“Oh, I never minded it too much, I knew they only meant it in fun. I do wish they had taken me seriously, though.” Martin looked sad for a moment, before brightening and looking at your shirt. “But you enjoy-” He looked at your shirt. “injections?” he asked, looking at the neon blue vial emblazoned on your chest.
“It’s from a film. Zydrate is a painkiller from Repo the genetic opera, it’s a really good musical.”
Martin didn’t respond, possibly because he didn’t know what Repo was. You didn’t want to insult him by asking, though, so you changed the subject.
“So, we could top and tail?” you suggested, looking at the pillows on the bed. “Unless you’ve relented and are okay with me sleeping on the floor.”
“Don’t be silly, I’m sure we can sleep one night next to each other. The bed isn’t that small.” His confidence waned somewhat as he looked at the width of the bed, but he didn’t change his mind.
“Yeah okay. I’m just gonna look out the window before we go to bed though.”
“Why?” asked Martin, getting up from the bed and straightening the covers.
“Cause it’s really clear, and you can see the moon. Oh and all the stars, wow!” You pushed open the window and leaned against the thin window ledge, sticking your head out as far as you could into the still night air, your whole body stretching to see the stars.
“Never knew you liked astronomy,” said Martin, joining you as the window.
“Oh, I don’t really. I only know one constellation, Orions’s belt, which isn’t really a difficult one to know. I just think stars are so pretty.” You weighed your next words. You had had a little crush on Martin when you had first started working for Carolyn, and when you started going on more flights with the airline it had both grown and shunk a little. “I guess I’m just a dot’s type of guy. Stuff like stars and freckles and stuff, I always think they’re so beautiful.”
“Really?” asked Martin, and his voice was less brisk than usual.
“Yeah. I’m so jealous of people with freckles- I’m gonna close the window now if that’s alright, it’s freezing- I wish I had freckles.”
You both wandered back to the bed, and sat down on either side, pushing the covers out of the way.
“I heard something so cute about freckles once,” you said, as the pair of you laid down in the bed, flicking the lamp off as you did.
“What?” Martin asked. The bed was definitely not big enough for two people to sleep in without touching.
“Well,” you said, trying not to bump into Martin, keeping your body tucked into itself. “I heard that wherever you have freckles is where your lover used to kiss you most in your past life. I don’t really believe in reincarnation, but I think that’s so cute.”
“Really? I would have thought you’d have disliked it, given that you don’t have any,” said Martin, and you laughed.
“No, I do have some, I have three. I have one in the corner of my eye, one on my cheek, and one on the top of my lip. A little Orion's belt on my face.”
You brought your hand up to your face as you spoke, touching each freckle as you mentioned them. Your elbow grazed Martin’s side as you did, but neither of you acknowledged it.
“But you’re lucky if it’s true, Martin.” you carried on. “Cause you must have had such an enthusiastic lover in a past life.”
Martin gave a small laugh. “Yeah, kissing all over my face. I suppose that makes sense, but my arms and my chest? My whole body really. It seems unlikely.”
‘Hmm. I can’t explain the other stuff, but maybe you’ve got freckles in your arms cause your lover was Gomez Addams,” you laughed. “I laugh, but I’d lowkey be fine with him being my past lover.”
“Really?” asked Martin, and you twisted onto your side so you were looking at him.
“Yeah, he’s awesome! I’d date him.”
Martin also rolled over so he was facing you rather than the ceiling. “Well, I won't judge your taste. What other past life theories do you have?”
“Well, I don’t know if I believe this one, I don’t like it as much as the freckle one, but there’s a japanese rhyme, story, thing, that says that the face you have now was the face of the person you loved most last time. I kind of like the idea that when I look at myself in the mirror, I’m actually looking at someone I loved.”
“So the face I have now is the face that gave me all my freckles?”
“I guess. Ooh, not necessarily though. You might just have been in a one sided relationship.” you said, smiling. “Maybe that’s why they were so exuberant with all their kisses, to try and win you back.”
“Or maybe it’s my true love and my false love combined,” he said, joining in your joke.
“Yeah, maybe you were just incredibly desirable in a past life.”
Martin scoffed and flopped back onto his back, his hand under his head. “Could do with some of that now, in honesty,” he said quietly.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing. I’m just not exactly popular like that in this life, with this face.”
“Really? You’re great, do people not want to date you?”
“No.”
“Oh. That’s crazy, I thought loads of people would want to.” You swallowed, and made your voice suitably casual. “I’d date you.”
“Really?” Martin sounded genuinely surprised.
“Yeah.”
“Oh. Thank you.”
“No worries. But I’m sure it’ll happen, you just need to find someone who likes you, and who you like, and- I’m not sure why I’m saying this, it’s obviously not the theory tripping you up…”
“No.” Martin seemed to be thinking hard about something. “Do you have much luck with romance?”
“Oh god no, I’m really not what people are looking for. Apparently.” You said the last word much quieter, but you could tell Martin had heard it.
“You’ve been on dates then, at least?”
“A few. One with a guy I met on a flight, actually, but that turned out to be a joke. Which he explained, pretty damn loudly. And I went out with George, on site, but he didn’t really want a date, just, well you know, don’t you.” You trailed off, a little sadly.
“So you’ve never been on an actual date?” Martin sounded very surprised.
“Well, at school I did, but they don’t really count. I’m just not really anyone’s type I guess, which I don’t mind too much.”
“Well, is there anyone you find attractive? I’m sure you could ask Douglas for advice.” he said the last sentence a little bitterly.
You weighed up the pros and cons of having this conversation.
“Well,” you began, “like I said, I’m a dots person. You know, freckles, it’s the most attractive trait, in my eyes at least.” You steadfastly avoided looking in Martin’s direction as you spoke, and pressed your lips together.
Martin didn’t say anything for a while, and you were almost starting to think that he’d fallen asleep when he blew a stream of air out from between his lips.
“Uh.” He sounded very unsure of himself. “You aren’t exactly, unattractive yourself.”
“Thanks Martin.”
“No, that’s not what I meant.” His voice was getting quieter and quieter. “You’re attractive, you’re pleasant, you’re a competent steward.”
“You really think I’m attractive?” you asked, almost as quiet as Martin, whispering into the dark of the room.
“Yeah- of course.”
“I like your freckles,” you whispered to him, and you could practically feel the heat radiating from him as his face turned pink.
“Thank you,” he whispered back.
“You’re welcome.”
There was a beat of silence. “You should sleep, shouldn’t you? If you’re flying a plane tomorrow.”
“Yeah, probably.”
“Alright.” You sighed. “Night Martin.”
“Night.”
You stayed awake for a long time afterwards, heart beating hard in your chest.
When you woke up, Martin was already awake, staring at the ceiling. “Morning,” you whispered.
“Morning.”
“Did you sleep well?”
“Yeah, I slept alright.” Neither of you made eye contact.
“I, uh,” You thought of something to say. “I never knew your hair was so curly.”
Martin ran his hand through his ginger curls. “Mm, I know. I comb it down, not very captain-y.”
“I think it looks nice. It suits you.”
Martin’s ears went pink under his curly hair, and the atmosphere grew a little heavier.
”Right!” You clapped your hands and swung yourself out of bed, trying to break the awkwardness with bravado. “Getting ready for takeoff. Probably need to be dressed for that.”
“Probably, yes.”
You looked up from fishing around in your bag to grin at him. “I’m sure there’s some regulation about flying a plane naked, right? Somewhere in the manual?”
Martin sat up and stretched. “There actually isn’t specifically about being naked, but proper attire is required, as well as being recommended to encourage the respect of the passengers.” Martin reeled off the information, and your slightly wicked grin faded into a genuine smile.
“What about an owl shirt, is that proper attire?”
Martin prepared to snip back at you in protest, but realised you weren’t laughing at him, but inviting him into the joke.
“Well, I’m sure it would win Arthur’s respect.”
You laughed. “Oh definitely.” Straightening up with a bundle of clothes from your bag, you looked at the bathroom door. “Do you wanna change first?”
Martin slid out of bed, stretching again. His owl shirt pulled up slightly as he lifted his arms above his head, revealing a sliver of his slim, freckled stomach. “You can change first, I need to find my uniform.”
“You’re gonna wear your uniform to breakfast? Why don’t you just change into it later?”
Martin looked sheepish. “Well it’s not- I- it just saves time.”
“Okay. I’ll be back in a second. I’ll say goodbye to Martin and hello to Captain Crieff when I come out again, if you're gonna be in uniform when I’m done.”
Martin blushed a little, and shuffled awkwardly. He opened his mouth, a little like a goldfish again.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you, see you in a sec Martin.” You ducked into the bathroom and flushed thinking about Martin. As stupid as the uniform objectively was, Martin did look pretty alright in his eppulets and hat. He looked dashing, actually, and seeing him this morning with sleepy eyes and curly hair, and seeing that his stomach was as freckled as his face and arms, it made your heart skip a little. He was a sweet, intelligent, uptight, anxious wreck, and, last night aside, you’d never dream of saying anything to him about how you felt. You weren’t even sure if he was gay, for gods sake, and you weren’t about to use yourself as a guinea pig. You pulled your jumper over your t-shirt, this time a reference to Labyrinth rather than Repo, and unlocked the door. Martin was looking in the small, foggy mirror on the wardrobe door, straightening his hat on top of his neatened hair. “You alright, Captain?”
“You don’t have to keep doing that, you know.” He looked miserable and defeated, and you frowned.
“Doing what?”
“Calling me captain. I know you’re just laughing at me.”
“What? Of course I’m not, I’m calling you that because you’re in uniform.” Your heart broke a little at Martin’s shattered self esteem. “You’re a great captain.”
“You actually think I’m a good captain?”
Martin sounded hesitant, and with a deep breath, you prepared to try again to hint at how you felt to him. “Course I do, you look totally the part, with the hat, and the stripes. And your cute stickler for safety, duty to the passengers vibe.”
Martin, once again, resembled a goldfish as he gawped at you. “I didn’t think cute was a word I could be described as.”
“Of course you’re cute.” Your heart was beating a mile a minute, and you were pretty sure that your face was as red as Martin’s hair, and the thought of Douglas’ mocking face if he ever heard about this floated into your mind, but the memory of Martin lying next to you last night spurred you on. “And you’re a pretty dashing captain, Captain. You look very officer and a gentleman.”
Martin fumbled with his hat. “Well that’s a first,” he said, eyebrows high on his forehead.
“Well it’s true.” You hesitantly crossed the room to stand closer to him again, and caught sight of the faint freckles disappearing down beneath his shirt collar. “You really do have freckles all over then?” you asked, changing the subject before your heart gave out.
“What?”
You gestured to Martin’s freckles just visible on the top of his sternum.
“Oh. Yes, all over.”
“You’re like one big join the dot puzzle.”
Martin chuckled wryly, sounding more like a sound effect in a radio play than a real life reaction. “I suppose so. It would get fairly inappropriate though.”
Your heart lurched as you considered the implications of Martin’s all over freckles, and you just knew you were getting redder and redder.
“Martin?”
Martin looked at you expectantly.
“Do you want to go to Duxford Air Museum with me?” The words came out all in a rush, and sounded more like ‘dyouwntogduxfaimseumwime’ but judging from the squeak that came out of Martin’s mouth, and the look of abject panic on his face, he understood what you meant.
You watched quietly as Martin struggled to gather together something resembling words, and compulsively straightened his hat.
“Are you-” Martin swallowed, and tried to bring his voice down to a normal octave. “Were you flirting with me?”
“Yeah.” You shuffled your feet, feeling suddenly sheepish.
“Right.” Martin blew air out of his nose and continued to look panicked and confused.
His anxiety was infectious, and you could feel your chest contracting as you watched him try and respond. Suddenly, an idea seemed to dawn on him.
“Douglas didn’t put you up to this, did he?”
“No? Of course not.”
Martin seemed to deflate a little at your answer. Somehow, the idea that someone was playing a practical joke on him was more reassuring than the idea that someone could find him attractive, and your nerve failed you.
“You know what, never mind.”
“What?” Martin’s eyes got, if possible, even rounder.
“Just forget it, it was a stupid idea, I’ll see you at breakfast.” You turned to walk away, and heard a panicked scuffling sound before a hand caught your shoulder.
“No! No, don’t- I didn’t mean-”
You turned to face him, and he took a deep breath. “I- yes we can- I’d love to.”
“Right.” Your heart was beating a mile a minute. “Okay, great.” Cautiously, you leaned forward and pulled his hat off his head, dropping it onto your own and moving towards the door.
“That suits you, actually,” he said, in a commendable imitation of nonchalance.
“Thanks.” You reached the door and frisbeed the hat back to him. “I’d wear it to breakfast, but it might make Douglas jealous.”
Martin spluttered indignantly, turning beet red.
“Jealous of someone else wearing the captain’s hat,” you clarified, laughing at Martin’s colouring. “Not of someone asking you out.”
“Ah.”
There was a beat of silence.
“You could always..” Martin was steadily avoiding your eyes, going pink once again. “You could always wear it another time.”
You pressed your lips together to keep your smile to an appropriate level. “I’ll have to take you up on that, Captain.”