"Get off the blankets," Martin growled, wrenching the blankets closer. He was cold and he was going to try his damned best to get warmer, but someone was holding onto the blankets.

"Stop fussing..." was the slurred reply.

Martin blinked his eyes open and peered towards where the voice originated.

What he found nearly sent him reeling across the bedroom.

Douglas was sprawled out at the foot of his bed.

Douglas Richardson was sleeping at the foot of his bed.

"W-What are you doing?!" Martin stammered, wrenching the blankets closer (as close as possible, with Douglas' weight on them) as his face heated up with embarrassment.

"As was somewhat obvious, I was trying to sleep," Douglas muttered, propping himself up on his elbow. "But you've crashed every hope of that... Feeling better, then?"

"I- You-"

"You're as red as a tomato, so I'd reckon you are." Douglas stood and stretched, before reaching over and placing his hand against Martin's forehead.

Martin shifted uncomfortably.

"L-Look, I'm really grateful for everything that you've done, but I think I can manage it on my own now, thanks," he muttered, flickering his gaze away as Douglas stepped away.

"I'm the one with medical training, so I will be the judge of that, thank you," Douglas said. "But I have to begrudgingly agree with you, Captain. Your fever has gone down significantly. Which also explains why you're drenched with sweat," Douglas muttered, rubbing his hand on his shirt.

Martin only then noticed that he was covered in sweat. Even the sheets were damp.

He shuddered and ducked his head.

"So, my fever broke...?"

"It would seem so. Here, Captain McSweaty. Take your temperature."

Martin took the thermometer that he was handed. "Where did you get a thermometer...?"

"Don't ask silly questions, Martin. I have everything at my beck and call."

Martin shivered again and peeled his pyjamas away from his chest after he had placed the thermometer under his tongue. Sitting in drenched pyjamas and cuddling with damp sheets was not the idea that Martin had had when he had tried to pull the blankets closer a few moments ago. It was, in a word, uncomfortable. Terribly so.

"Good, it's nearly back to normal," Douglas said, when the reading was finished. "I would have thought that it would be normal, due to your sweating, but it seems that not everything resolves itself overnight."

"Right..." Martin muttered. He pushed the blankets out of the way and stumbled to his feet. His shirt and trousers were clinging to him; his oh-so-comfortable pyjamas were no longer comfortable.

"Ugh," he murmured, peeling the fabric away again.

"You look as though you've wet the bed," Douglas remarked on the off-hand.

"Well, I haven't!" Martin retorted with another flush of embarrassment. "Not this time!"

Douglas raised his eyebrows.

"No, no, I mean, not- when I was a child, Douglas!" Martin spluttered. There were many times that Douglas made him want to curl up in a dark corner and hide his face in shame, but this was possibly just taking the cake. The fact that Douglas hadn't even said anything else made it worse, because Martin was just digging himself deeper into the embarrassment.

Shut up, Martin, you ridiculous clot, he thought to himself, determinedly looking away from Douglas.

"Why does that not surprise me?" Douglas murmured, sounding amused.

"Like you didn't," Martin retorted sulkily, starting for the bathroom. All this talk of using the loo... Plus, he was in dire need of yet another shower.

Douglas chuckled, but Martin refused to look at him. The very last thing he needed right now was to be entirely self-conscious and worrying by default. He had a sad suspicion that all of his self-conscious worrying in childhood hadn't done any good for deflecting embarrassing situations. The last thing he wanted to do was to give Douglas another reason to laugh at him.

When Martin resurfaced from his shower, feeling warmer and much calmer, and very, very sleepy again, Douglas was sitting on the edge of the bed.

Martin hitched his towel a little closer and quickly found his freshly laundered uniform in his bag. He retreated back to the bathroom and redressed. While sleeping in uniform wasn't entirely comfortable, he found that he didn't mind in the least. (He'd fallen asleep in uniform many times before, thus showing up to work the next day with wrinkled clothes.)

Martin had only just picked up the water bottle from the bedside table when Douglas spoke.

"Your secret's safe with me," Douglas rumbled, sounding amused.

Martin took a drink of the water before placing the cap back on, hesitantly turning towards the bed. How was he going to deal with the sheets-

"I called for new blankets, so those are fine for sleeping."

Starting to feel appropriately mortified again, Martin looked at Douglas. "What did you tell them...?" he asked, although afraid of the answer.

Douglas seemed unfazed. "That your fever broke."

Martin stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out if he was lying. He couldn't tell, though, so he just carefully crawled back into bed.

"Valerie Smith," Douglas said.

Martin looked back at Douglas, frowning. "What?"

"Valerie Smith turned me down in front of a whole gymnasium of secondary-schoolers after I asked her out. It was mortifying, although, of course, at our school reunion, she was mortifying..."

Martin stared. Someone had turned Douglas Richardson down? Someone had... had... made Douglas humiliated? How did that- How was that-

"Yes, it was shocking to me, too, at the time..." Douglas murmured.

"Why?" Martin gasped.

Douglas looked at him. "If I recall correctly, I was a 'womanizing old bat', but I may be thinking of someone else..."

"No, I mean, why are you telling me this?" Martin said quickly, settling down into the blankets.

Douglas shrugged. "Now we're even." He paused. "But I warn you, Martin, if you ever mention that to anyone, especially Arthur or Carolyn... I am a brilliant story-teller. The story doesn't even have to be true. I'm so grand that I can make people believe anything."

Martin flushed slightly and pulled the blankets close. He didn't even want to know what stories Douglas could make up that involved Martin's childhood bed-wetting.

Besides...

"Who would I tell?" Martin asked aloud. "You three are my family. And I, unlike some people, actually keep secrets."

"As long as there's not a good buying price, that is."

"That's not fair; I would never betray anyone for money. Not if it was serious," Martin retorted tiredly. Exhaustion was weighing heavily on his mind, and while he appreciated the small talk, he really just wanted to fall back asleep.

"Is that why you won't look for another job?"

"I'm sticking with MJN because I like MJN..."

"You work with a thief, an idiot, and a shark. You don't even get paid, Martin."

Martin pried his eyes open, frowning. "It doesn't matter. None of that matters. Sure, money's important, but I'm doing the thing that I wanted to do and..." he trailed off, closing his eyes again. "And I think I'm where I should be, is all."

It was silent for long enough for Martin to nearly nod off, but Douglas spoke, quietly, seconds before he could.

"Well, it certainly wouldn't be MJN without you... Let's see... Instead of 'My Jet Now'... 'Martin's Jumpy Nerves?' Hm... 'Martin's Joyous Neck?' Do you have a joyous neck, Sir? 'Martin's Job News...' Today, on Martin's Job News, the pilot and co-pilot are still being under paid..."

Martin, too tired to tell Douglas to shut up, just smiled faintly as he nodded off.

"Wow, Skip, you look much better!"

"Well, I do feel much better, so I think that has something to do with it."

"Douglas, you're a brilliant doctor!"

"Is there anything that isn't brilliant, Arthur?"

"Don't forget Gordon."

"Ah, right. How could I forget about the unbrilliant ex-husband of Carolyn's..."

"Why are you all talking about my heinous ex-husband? Exes are exes for a reason and I would prefer him to stay where he rightfully belongs: in my past," Carolyn said, walking up. "Unless you would like to marry him, Douglas?"

"Oh, hey Mum! Look, Skip's better!" Arthur beamed.

Martin sneezed.

"Yes, he looks the picture of health. Are we still going to make our delayed departure time, or shall I just sit on the aeroplane all night in hopes that we get out of this pitiful little airport?"

"We're going to make the departure time," Martin muttered.

"Of course we will, Carolyn. Do relax."

"Don't tell me to relax, Douglas. Do you know how many days I've been stuck here? Do you?"

Douglas raised his eyebrows. "I've been taking care of your sick pilot for those days, in case you've forgotten."

"And I'm glad. He's healthy. He can fly the plane. That's all I need to know."

"Mum, should we really have Martin flying? He's still ill and-"

"No," Martin interrupted, "no, I'm fine. We'll be right there."

"I know you will be. Chop chop."

Martin watched Carolyn walk away, sighing quietly. "She's upset."

"No."

Martin looked at Douglas. "What? Of course she is."

"No," Douglas said tolerately. "She may seem like she's mad, but I can tell that she's really only about a five."

"D'you think, Douglas? More like a seven, if you ask me."

"No, it's definitely a five. I would hazard a guess that she's relieved you're better."

"She's only relieved because we get to fly out..." Martin mumbled.

"I said she was relieved. Don't push your luck on the how's and why's. What are the puddings today, Arthur?"

"Uhhh... Pistachio and chocolate fudge."

"Where do we get these combinations?"

"Mum orders them."

"Of course she does..."

Martin sank into the pilot's seat. "Walk-around's finished, then?"

"Yep," Douglas said, flopping into his own chair.

"I still could have done it myself."

"All you're going to do is sit in that chair and fly this plane. That, for you, will be difficult enough."

Martin huffed.

It was twenty minutes into their flight that their Brians of Britain was interrupted.

It wasn't interrupted by Carolyn on the intercom.

It wasn't interrupted by Arthur trying to name a Brian.

It wasn't interrupted by ATC.

It wasn't interrupted by a thunderstorm or a flock of herrings or little bits of Gertie flying off into outer space.

It was Douglas...

... Douglas Richardson, the co-pilot, sneezing.

Martin jumped when Douglas sneezed, looking towards him.

Douglas' expression was surprised for a moment, before it turned to a glance of loathing. Martin felt, incredibly so, terrified for his life.

"... Bless you..."

"I despise you, Martin."

"D-Do you...?" Martin hurriedly looked back at the controls.

"I really, really do," Douglas replied, grabbing the pack of tissues.

Even though he really, really doesn't.

Well, that was my first Cabin Pressure multi!chapter... Hopefully, those who read it liked it. Thank you for every favourite, follow, and review. It is all very much appreciated. You all are brilliant.

Thank you!