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Martin wakes in the middle of the night to the sound of rain pounding against the windows louder than any rain has the right to do at half three in the morning. In the next bed, Douglas snores steadily on, undisturbed. There's the sound of Arthur fighting with his blankets from the floor, which Martin resolves to ignore as he turns over and tries to go back to sleep.
A few moments later, he hears the suitcases being dragged across the floor, and honestly, he's not going to have Arthur keeping him up all night while he builds a...a fort or whatever out of the luggage.
"Arthur? Are you all right?"
"Fine, Skip! Only I'm getting a bit...rained on."
Martin pushes himself up on to his elbows. "What?"
There's more rustling, and then Arthur's head pops up over the foot of the bed. "I think there's a leak."
Outside, the storm rages on, and as he squints in the dark, Martin can just make out Arthur rubbing wearily at his face, hair sticking up on one side.
"A leak?"
"From the windows. I moved the bags, but it's still sort of...puddle-y. Think they'd give us another room?"
Martin sighs. "There are no other rooms. Douglas already asked when he saw the state of this one."
"Oh. Right." Arthur glances at the rain still pounding against the windows. "Maybe it'll stop soon?"
And Martin doesn't have a lot of dignity left these days, but it's half three in the morning, and he's willing to sacrifice what little he has left for a few hours of sleep instead of tossing and turning and feeling guilty about Arthur sleeping on wet carpet. "Oh, for heaven's sake," he says, sliding over so there's room. "Get in."
Arthur grabs his pillow and gets to his feet, but he frowns and stays where he is, twisting the corner of the pillowcase between his fingers. "Maybe Mum has room. Or drier carpet. Usually the floor is brilliant, but it's just--"
Martin's surge of generosity is quickly waning. "Arthur, either stop talking and get in, or stop talking and leave. But don't expect me to get up and let you back in if your mother refuses you."
Arthur sighs and climbs up the bed, every bit the overgrown kid he so often appears to be and eventually settles down, curled up small, looking miserable.
"What is it now?" Martin whispers.
"You shouldn't have to share. You're the captain."
"Arthur, we're three grown men. We shouldn't even be sharing a room. And if we worked for anyone other than your mother, we wouldn't be."
"You're still captain, though."
"Barely."
"What do you mean? You've got the hat and everything!"
"Yes, because the hat is what matters."
"It seemed to matter quite a bit this morning when Douglas hid it."
"That was different!" Martin snaps, louder than he means to in the still of the room. He glances back over his shoulder at Douglas, who doesn't appear to have awoken. He's sure Douglas will have a big laugh when he finds him and Arthur sharing a cramped bed, but he'd rather face it in the morning when he's at least had a night's sleep, broken though it might be. He takes a deep breath as he settles back down against his pillow. "And it just proves the point. Believe me, having to share a bed with you in a crap hotel in Newark is the least of my worries. I'm a rubbish pilot, and I don't make any money, and no one takes me seriously, not even my own first officer, but it's not like I could work anywhere else, so I expect I should just be grateful."
He can feel Arthur watching him, and Martin suddenly wishes very much that Arthur was still on the floor.
"Well, I'm glad you're here, Skip," Arthur says finally.
"That makes one of us."
"No, all of us!" Arthur insists. "Even Douglas! You're the only reason any of us get to fly."
"What are you talking about? You all managed perfectly well before I came on."
"Well, I can't fly at all. And Mum...well, she'd have to close MJN down if she had to pay another pilot instead of...not paying you. And after Douglas was sacked at Air England, he couldn't get a job anywhere else, and Mum won't let him be captain, and you can't have an airline without a captain so he can't fly unless you're there. Besides Douglas never got on with the other chaps before you. They were always fighting and shouting. And then Mum would start shouting, and the passengers would get upset."
"That doesn't sound any different from how it is now."
"Oh, no! It's loads better now. You and Douglas play games, and no one ever shouts for long, and none of the other captains ever talked to me except to ask for more coffee."
"They sound like they were wankers."
"Aw, no! They were brilliant. Just...different."
"Bet they were proper pilots at least."
"You're a proper pilot! I mean, you're not the best pilot ever, but there's only one of those in the whole world. But you're still brilliant. Think about it. It took seven goes for you to get your pilot's license."
"That's not exactly something I'm proud of."
"But I was too scared to try even once, though! I can't imagine having to go six times."
"No one can imagine it. It's ridiculous. It's pathetic. It's--"
"Brilliant," Arthur says. "Really, Martin."
It's a little thing, but it's enough to shock him into silence. He's nearly always "Skipper" when it comes to Arthur. Has been from his first day at MJN. At first he had thought that Arthur was just poking fun, but he soon realized Arthur is not actually capable of poking fun. Now he's come to rather like it though he'd never dare admit it out loud, and certainly not in earshot of Douglas. Seems Arthur only calls him "Martin" when he's being very, very serious, such as when trying to convey the importance of seeing polar bears. Or now, apparently.
"Oh. Well, erm. Thank you."
Arthur smiles at him, and Martin thinks maybe the whole ridiculous conversation is over (content, location, and the fact that is the middle of the night all equally ridiculous, resulting in perhaps the most ridiculous conversation of Martin's life), when Arthur adds, "Plus you get to do this and move things with your van."
"Arthur, I don't move things with my van because I want to."
"Why not? I thought it was fun!"
"No, it's not fun. It's work. I do it so I can pay my rent. Since, as previously established, I'm not actually paid to fly GERTI."
"Well, I liked it," Arthur says shrugging the shoulder that isn't pressed into the mattress. "Maybe I could help you sometimes."
"I don't know if that's such a good idea."
"Why not? I won't screw it up! I didn't even screw it up last time! Douglas did."
He hates to remind him. Especially since he's only trying to help. But... "You did screw it up a bit."
Arthur's face falls as he remembers. "Oh. Right. I did, didn't I?"
"Just a bit."
Douglas cuts in from the other side of the room, his voice rough with sleep. "If you two insist on nattering away like two school girls at a sleepover, I must insist that you find somewhere else to do it. Otherwise, kindly shut up and go to sleep."
"Sorry, Douglas!" Arthur whispers, but a whisper loud enough to carry over to the other bed, over the noise of the storm, so it hardly qualifies as a whisper at all.
"I'd do it right this time, Skip," Arthur promises quietly as he settles back down against his pillow.
And, well, Martin is usually able to get one of the students to help him when a bigger job comes along, but it's always a bit awkward, begging some kid who likely already sees Martin as a joke to give up a sunny afternoon to help Martin lug boxes, and more than once, push his van out of the middle of the road when it decides this is an opportune time to break down.
"I do have to go down to Dorset next week..."
"Great!"
"I can't pay you anything." Martin has strong feelings about people getting paid for the work that they do, and already the thought of Arthur walking away from this empty-handed is making his stomach knot.
"No problem! Good night, Skip!"
"But it is a problem."
"Don't think so," Arthur says with a frown. "You're my friend, and you need help. You don't pay your friends to help you, Skip."
"But I--"
"Martin," Douglas says, "tell the boy 'thank you, that's very kind of you.' Arthur say, 'you're welcome' and then the two of you shut up or I can no longer be held accountable for my actions."
Martin winces and says through gritted teeth, "Thank you, Arthur. That's very kind of you."
Arthur grins. "You're welcome, Skip! Goodnight, Douglas!"
Douglas doesn't deign to respond, and at four in the morning, Martin can't blame him.
"Goodnight," Arthur whispers, properly this time, before tugging the blanket up very nearly over his head and going to sleep.
The room is a little too warm now with Arthur this close, but the worst of the storm seems to have passed, leaving only the steady drumming of rain against the windows. Tomorrow they'll likely have wet luggage to deal with, but maybe if Carolyn complains (and she will) they'll get a discount on the rooms. She'll be pleased about that, though he always finds a pleased Carolyn a bit unsettling, like she's up to something. He always gets a bit tense when things start going well because he knows it never lasts for long. Not for him, anyway.
Still, there's a balance, at least for the moment. He's stuffed in a room with Arthur and Douglas, but he's falling asleep next to someone who thinks the world of him. And well, it's Arthur, so not exactly ideal, but it's still rather nice. And if he keeps a sharp eye on him, the Dorset job can't possibly go too wrong. Even if it does, he and Arthur have found their way out of worse, which surprises him now that he thinks about it because if there's anyone more hopeless than him, it's Arthur. Maybe when combined their hopelessness cancels one another out instead of multiplying.
He's still doing up formulas for hopelessness in his head when Douglas lets out a particularly loud snore, and beneath the blankets, Arthur stifles a giggle. Martin shushes him, fighting back his own grin, and for the first time in a long time, he finds himself smiling as he drifts back to sleep.