Cabin Pressure: Tallinn

Douglas Richardson gave a low chuckle as he was walking back to his Lexus in Fitton airport's crew parking lot from the unofficial airfield bar, The Flap and Throttle in the mild autumn evening. It had been a good flight; perfect weather, a nice overnight-stay in Tallinn, Estonia, where he had met an old buddy from his Air England days and shared a few laughs, a Carolyn in an unusually good mood and decent catering.

After their return, Douglas had decided to have a quick check-in and chat with the guys at The Flap and Throttle, before heading home for some well-deserved rest. All was well.

Their new Captain was coming along nicely, too. It still irked Douglas to think of the thin, clumsy, stuttering youngster Martin Crieff as his Captain, but no amount of arguing, shouting, lamenting or threatening to quit to Carolyn had changed her decision to make the boy Douglas' superior. She had told him repeatedly that Martin's status was just going to be in official paperwork, really. His track record with the Civil Aviation Authority was, despite his ridiculous number of attempts at his CPL, still slightly better than Douglas's, with his smuggling, relaxed attitude towards proper procedure and paperwork and heated exchanges with his former bosses. Surely, the young man, having only just finished flying school, would respect Douglas's far greater experience and natural leadership.

Only, it didn't really work out like that. Martin had a highly annoying, no, infuriating need to be addressed as Captain, or, even more hilarious, "Sir". Honestly, the boy looked like a teenager! Still, he seemed like a good kid deep down. He was truly passionate about flying and knew everything that was ever written in a flight manual. Martin would, if begrudgingly, accept Douglas' approach to piloting and he seemed to possess a nice sense of humour, if it showed through his nervousness and entertaining attempts at professionalism. Teasing Martin was almost too easy. His small stature, red hair and freckles, clumsiness and high-strung personality made for plenty ammunition and Douglas certainly didn't hold back. The younger man didn't seem to mind too much, did his best to join in the word games and his piloting skills were, while certainly nowhere near Douglas's, not too ghastly. Not that Douglas would ever admit that out loud.

Surprisingly, he even seemed to get along well with Arthur, without any of the ridicule, nastiness or arrogance some of the previous pilots had demonstrated. Douglas had personally seen to those individuals' swift departure from MJN Air. Arthur was family, after all, to be (gently) teased by MJN's own little "family", only.

Douglas was surprised to notice he wouldn't mind Martin staying with MJN. Surprised, because he usually wasn't all that fond of newcomers. The string of pilots they had employed over the years were testament to that. Some had only lasted a few days, and none seemed to fit into MJN. But somehow, Martin Crieff of all people, seemed to be a match. Huh, wonders never cease.

Just as he'd reached his car, Douglas patted his pockets for his key, coming up empty. He knew he'd still had them aboard GERTI, he'd used his door key to pry open a resisting can of salted nuts for Arthur. He must have dropped them on the flight deck. With a shrug of his shoulders he retraced his steps to the portakabin. Martin had left already and GERTI would be locked up for the night, so he'd have to get the plane keys first.

Upon entering, he nodded to Carolyn, who was on the phone to, judging by the snippets of conversation Douglas could make out, a potential customer. He grabbed GERTIs keys off the hook behind her desk and waggled them in front of Carolyn, until she made an annoyed shooing motion at him, before he left for the jet's stand on the apron.

Minutes later Douglas was on his knees in the flight deck, rummaging between the seats and foot wells for his missing keys. He grunted when his head smacked against the underside of the control panel.

"Stupid, bloody… aha!" His searching fingers finally connected with the plastic key ring, proclaiming its owner the "#1 Husband".

Coming back up, he noticed a tiny ball of scrunched up paper just underneath the pilot seat. Martin must have dropped it by accident. He certainly wasn't the littering type, he was pedantic about cleanliness and order in the flight deck, proclaiming it "a top safety priority".

Out of curiosity, Douglas unfolded the paper scrap to reveal a pharmacy receipt. He had almost balled the paper back up, to be disposed of, when something odd struck him.

Absentmindedly shoving his keys in his coat pocket, Douglas made his way back to the portakabin. Now, that he thought about the previous flight, something about Martin had seemed a little off.

Inside the portakabin, Carolyn had finished the call and was shrugging into her jacket, clearly looking forward to spending the evening at home, rather than a cheap Estonian hotel room.

She glanced up when Douglas entered.

"What's the matter? You look like Martin beat you at one of your stupid word games!"

Douglas leaned against the door frame, wondering if he was making a mistake.

"Carolyn, I found this in the flight deck, Martin must have dropped it."

Carolyn took the crumpled receipt from him and eyed it quickly.

"So? He said that he wanted to get something for his headache, I even looked up the directions for the nearest pharmacy from the hotel for him."

"But this is not for a pain reliever, it's - wait, did you say a pharmacy near that dump of a hotel?"

"Yes! He asked that rude, unhelpful idiot at the reception for the nearest pharmacy last night, but that moron only shrugged his shoulders, when I walked past. So I asked Martin about it, he gawped like a fish, fidgeted some, you know how he gets, and eventually told me he needed to get some aspirin. I looked it up on my phone."

"Well, he must have changed his mind then, because this receipt is from the airport pharmacy and right before we departed."

Carolyn shook her head, "No, no. He definitely went to that small pharmacy, a short walk from the hotel. I saw him coming back half an hour later, with one of those tiny plastic bags and a pack of whatever it was. Why do you care about it so much, he was looking a little pale, maybe some aspirin helped?"

Douglas gave a sigh, increasingly convinced that something was wrong.

"Only, this receipt isn't for aspirin, paracetamol or ibuprofen, this is a very potent barbiturate - sleeping pills. Here, look."

Douglas held his phone out for Carolyn to see, scrolling through an online description.

"That's the one!" Carolyn exclaimed, pointing to the image on the screen.

"Pardon?"

"That's the package he had at the hotel, I saw Martin take it out of the plastic bag and I remember the logo on it."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely! A hideous colour scheme like that, and it looks a bit like a -"

"Oh no." The sinking feeling in Douglas's stomach now became a plummet.

"Carolyn, I need Martin's address, quickly."

"What? Why, what's going on?" Carolyn was becoming increasingly frightened. She had never seen that look on her First Officer's face, anger? Fear?

Douglas huffed in frustration. "Don't you see? Martin bought two packages of sleeping pills. One from a pharmacy near the hotel, where you directed him to. Only, he didn't purchase pain relievers, as he told you he would, instead, he returned with that, you saw it. He bought another pack of the same medication, hours later at the airport pharmacy, we know this, because we have the receipt right here. Now, what could Martin possibly need so many sleeping pills for?"

"You don't mean, he would…?"

"His address, now!"

"I have to look it up from his file, I know he lives in Fitton…"

"Call me when you have it, I'm on my way." With that, Douglas hurried from the portakabin and towards the parking lot.

His heart was beating furiously while he jumped in his Lexus, turned the ignition and slammed the car in reverse.

Douglas intensely hoped that Martin had, in fact, driven home after leaving the airport, he had no clue where else his Captain might spend his free time.

While he was speeding down the road towards Fitton proper, Douglas fiercely hoped that he was overreacting. Surely, the annoying little prick of a Captain wouldn't try to do something so tremendously stupid? He had reached the first terraced houses of Fitton, when his mobile phone rang. Douglas pressed the button for the hands-free device on the steering wheel.

"Douglas, the address is 17 Parkside Terrace."

"On my way."

Carolyn was silent for a moment, before:

"Douglas, I'm sure there's a plausible explanation."

"And I'll gladly hear it from him in a minute."

"Martin had seemed fine! Hadn't he…?"

Douglas remained silent, turning onto Parkside Terrace and immediately re-checked the road signs.

"Carolyn, are you sure about the address?! It's those hideous, hardly habitable units they rent out to the agricultural students, surely our esteemed Captain won't live here…?"

"That's what it says on the forms…"

"I'll give it a go, talk to you later."

Douglas ended the call and jerked the Lexus to a halt in front of the crumbling post-war structure.

He dubiously eyed the grimy doorbell panel near the door. It had obviously given up its ghost decades ago. He resorted to pounding on the door.

After what seemed like an hour, the door was finally dragged open by a dishevelled looking youth who eyed Douglas suspiciously.

"Yeah?"

"Martin Crieff?"

"O.k., hi, I'm Alex…"

"No, I mean, does Martin Crieff live here? Short, ginger, skinny, flies airplanes…"

"Oh, him. Yeah." Douglas waited for a moment, until it became apparent nothing else was forthcoming. Oh, for goodness sake…

"Is he in?"

"Think so, he came home like an hour ago…"

Having lost all interest in further conversation with the useless youth, Douglas pushed past him into the tiny hallway, until he realised he had no idea where Martin's flat would be. Sighing, he turned back to the young man, who had slammed the main door behind Douglas and was trotting back to what Douglas assumed was a common sitting room.

"Which one is his flat?"

"Top floor!" The youth yelled back without turning around.

Douglas let the impolite behaviour slide, he was already racing up the stairs.

When he finally reached the top floor, Douglas hesitated, his fist already raised to knock on the thin wooden door. What if this is all a misunderstanding and you just barge in on him? He could just be at home with his girlfriend, does he have a girlfriend? He knew absolutely nothing about his Captain's private life and wouldn't mind leaving it at that, either, thanks very much. This could turn into a highly embarrassing situation, for him and Douglas.

Oh well, it was Martin's own damn fault, he shouldn't go and worry his colleagues like that.

Douglas forcefully knocked on the door, rattling it in its hinges.

Just seconds later, a confused and frightened looking girl opened the door a crack and stared at Douglas. Ah, a girlfriend, then?

"Huh?"

"Is Martin in?"

"Who?" Oh, for crying out loud…

Before Douglas had gathered his breath to scream at the girl, the guy who had opened the door yelled from downstairs.

"No, not there! TOP floor!"

Douglas eyed the tiny and decidedly unsafe-looking staircase leading to the attic. Surely, they didn't rent out the attic for someone to live in! Douglas pondered the possibility of the boy pulling his leg, but he couldn't risk it, so he carefully climbed the creaking stairs, ignoring the girl who just shrugged her shoulders and retreated to her room.

The attic was more of a crawlspace, not even high enough to allow Douglas to stand up properly. The only light in the tiny space of the staircase landing was coming from the floor beneath and the door to the attic room was even more pathetic than those of the other rooms.

Douglas pounded on the door immediately.

"Martin, it's Douglas, open the door."

Nothing.

"Come on, Captain, you're going to miss the flight!" That was guaranteed to get Martin to the door.

Curiously, the ginger Captain still didn't appear. Maybe he wasn't in after all?

Douglas tried the door knob and was surprised to find it unlocked. The door swung inward and opened up to a claustrophobically small room. The light coming from a small, dusty roof light illuminated a simple old desk with a plastic garden chair, a few stacks of books on the bare wooden floor, some small airplane models sitting haphazardly on roof beams or dangling from strings and a thin mattress on two euro-pallets.

And on this mattress, covered with a blue sheet, was Martin.

He hadn't moved when Douglas had stepped into the room and from the door, less than 3 metres away, the First Officer couldn't sense any movement in the young man at all.

"Oh no." Please, don't let me be too late.

In a flash, Douglas knelt next to the mattress.

He was dismayed to feel the cold and clammy skin on the bony wrist.

He slapped Martin's face, hard, but got no reaction.

Martin's lips had a bluish tint and his face showed a fine sheen of sweat. Douglas' frantically searching fingers finally found a pulse at the young man's neck. It felt too slow and weak for Douglas' liking.

Further examination revealed that Martin hardly moved any air, his breathing almost entirely arrested.

Douglas' gaze fell on a heap of empty pill blister packaging on the floor near the mattress, confirming Douglas' fear. A water bottle sat innocently next to the empty sleeping pill cartons.

"Shit. You utter idiot!" Douglas yelled at the unresponsive Captain.

He got up, wrangled his mobile phone from his jacket and hastily dialled the emergency services, while he kicked an empty plastic bucket that was apparently intended to catch rain water from the leaky roof, over to the mattress.

After impatiently informing the dispatcher of the emergency and giving the address, Douglas dropped the phone without waiting for instructions. He had more pressing things to do now.

He crouched next to the make-shift bed again and pulled the limp young man from the mattress to lie on his side across the older man's lap.

What came next was not so much a learned procedure from Douglas' brief medical student stint, but rather a remembered action he had witnessed being performed on a fellow student who had passed out drunk, many decades ago.

Seconds later, only bile and a few partly dissolved white pills splattered into the bucket. No trace of the sandwich the young man had had hours earlier at the hotel.

Douglas tried to concentrate on anything other than the sickening smell and the fact that he was trying to save a young man's life, his Captain's life. Only a little trickle of bile followed and only dry gags after.

Douglas replaced Martin on the thin mattress and rechecked his pulse and breathing, both unchanged.

While he waited for the ambulance, keeping a hand loosely around Martin's wrist, Douglas glanced around the attic room.

How could anyone live here? Even the students downstairs, with their cheap, run-down flats, only lived there for a few months and generally only used their rooms for school days, returning home on the weekends. Martin, however, seemed to actually live here. But why?

Douglas' musings were interrupted by the arrival of an ambulance and emergency doctor downstairs.

They found their way to the attic with the help of the students who had apparently finally clued in and the minutes that followed were just a blur of urgent medical jargon for Douglas.

He eventually found himself in the passenger seat of the ambulance, making its way to Fitton General Hospital with flashing lights and blaring sirens, with no recollection of how he'd gotten in there.

Martin had been rushed into the emergency room and Douglas was left standing in the lobby, at a loss what to do. His adrenaline crashed and he slumped into a plastic chair in the waiting area.

After half-way collecting his wits, he pulled his mobile phone from his pant pocket, thankfully having remembered to pick it back up at Martin's place.

He numbly dialled Carolyn's phone.

"Douglas! It's about time you called! What took you so long? What's going on?"

Douglas started to rub his throbbing temple. "I'm at Fitton Hospital. I found Martin unconscious at his place."

"What?! Oh, no, how is he? What happened?"

Douglas saw a nurse approaching him, clutching a clipboard. When she had reached him, she thrust it and a pen at him.

"I need you to fill these out for your son, please. Also, mobile phone use is not allowed here, sorry."

Douglas turned the phone away from his ear for a moment. "Oh, he's not… oh, never mind. "

He grabbed the clipboard and absentmindedly fished his Montblanc pen from his shirt pocket.

After throwing a quick charming smile at the nurse, who flushed promptly, he returned to his call with Carolyn.

"What do you think, happened?!" He didn't mean to, but realized that it might have sounded snappy.

"I'm sorry, Carolyn. Look, I've got to go. Just get here, alright? And bring Martin's personnel file."

"I'll be there as quick as I can, hang tight, ok?"

Douglas only nodded and thumbed the call off. He glanced over the admission forms in his lap. He had left the nurse assume he was the boy's father, it didn't really matter what she thought and being thought of as Martin's family might get him access to any news. But now that he had been tasked with filling out forms, that plan might have been premature. Maybe he could claim stress and anxiety for his son as cause for his forgetting of Martin's birthday, allergies, etc.

He ended up filling in the brackets behind "name", "address", "occupation" and "current employer", leaving the rest for later.

Carolyn arrived within minutes, so early, in fact, that Douglas wondered just how fast her car might go.

"Douglas! There you are, so, what's going on?"

Heaving a deep sigh, Douglas relayed the events briefly, sparing his boss some of more distressing details.

Carolyn had been shocked into silence and forlornly rubbed the strap of her purse.

"Why would that idiot boy do something like that? He didn't say anything, he seemed happy… didn't he?"

Douglas shrugged at that. "You can never really tell, I suppose. Have you contacted Martin's family, yet?"

"Ah, no, here's his file, I haven't looked into that, yet, I just drove here." She handed the thin folder over and Douglas started filling the blanks in the admission paperwork with the info contained within. He got as far as "next of kin" and "contact in case of emergency". He sadly shook his head.

"Oh, Martin…"

"Hm? What is it?" Carolyn leaned over to glance at the employee information sheet in Martin's file.

Douglas held it so she could read the entries.

"Next of kin: Mr. E. B. Jeppesen…?" she quoted, "maybe an uncle?"

Douglas answered with a light snort and shake of his head.

"Elrey Borge Jeppesen was an early aviator and became famous for his navigational charts and manuals. He is certainly not our Captain's uncle, Carolyn. And the phone number he put down? It's CAA's switchboard. Thank god you hadn't called the number yet, they'd have had a good laugh."

"Oh, that stupid boy…" Carolyn shook her head with a mixture of sadness and anger.

"Indeed."

"Those fields are mandatory, I remember him asking to fill them out later, but I told him to stop dawdling and just put a bloody name and number down. It seems like he isn't close to his family, if he has any. What do we do now, then?"

"I suggest we wait for news on Martin for now, that is, if they're willing to talk to us. We'll go from there. Have you told Arthur, yet?"

"No, he's in the city to pick up some computer game, or something. He'll be crushed. He's taken an instant liking to Martin. And now this…"

Douglas put Carolyn's and his own name and number down as emergency contacts on the hospital admission form and handed the clipboard back to the receptionist with a winning smile. It was more habitual than anything else and he didn't put any effort into it, but the receptionist didn't seem to mind.

They sat silently in a pair of uncomfortable plastic chairs for further twenty minutes before a doctor strode into the waiting area, glancing at a file in his hand.

"Mr Crieff's family?"

Carolyn and Douglas stood up and walked up to the middle-aged man.

"Aaah, you're his family?" The doctor eyed them dubiously.

"Yes!"

"No."

Having heard the opposite of what he'd just confirmed uttered by Carolyn at the same time, Douglas cast a silencing look at his employer.

The doctor lifted his eyebrows in question and obviously waited for an explanation.

Douglas sighed and proceeded to tell the man the circumstances and that Carolyn and he were apparently the closest thing to family Martin had.

The doctor didn't seem overly pleased, but finally conceded.

"My name is Doctor Rikic and I treated Mr Crieff when he was brought in. He should, barring unforeseen complications, be fine, physically. He's responding well to treatment, we've pumped his stomach and are currently giving him fluids to dilute and counteract the sleeping medication."

Carolyn and Douglas sagged in relief.

"Can we see him?"

"Not for another hour at least, I'm afraid, Ma'am. He is still unconscious and there will have to be a preliminary consultation with the psychiatrist, first, so…"

Douglas nodded knowingly. "We understand. Thank you very much, doctor. Would you please keep us updated on his condition?"

"Of course."

They nodded their goodbyes and Carolyn dropped back in the chair.

"Oh, thank God, he'll be alright. I'll call Arthur, he'll be so upset, but at least there's a positive outlook."

Douglas only nodded in reply and she hurried outside to make the call.

When she returned a few minutes later, Douglas had sat back down, looking at his phone screen. He looked up when he heard her approach.

"How did it go?"

Carolyn took a seat. "As well as could be expected. He's on his way over. I asked him to stop by the airfield first, though, check Martin's pigeonhole to make sure there are no clues to his family's whereabouts."

Douglas nodded, absentmindedly.

"What is it?"

"Hm?" Douglas looked up.

"He's going to be alright, that's good news. Why do you look so morose?"

Douglas rubbed his hands over his face and sighed deeply.

"Because this is just the beginning of a very rocky, very unpleasant road. Yes, Martin will recover physically, but whatever drove him to do this in the first place isn't just going to disappear. Also, the CAA tends to frown upon suicidal commercial pilots, he's going to have his license pulled for this stunt. Seeing as Martin appears to quite fancy flying, that is not going to improve his spirits any."

Carolyn felt like the rug had been pulled beneath her feet. Douglas was absolutely right, of course. Before she could answer, though, her son stormed through the foyer and ground to a halt in front of them, wide-eyed and panting heavily.

"How is he? Have you seen him? Is Skip going to be alright?"

Carolyn pulled Arthur to sit next to her and tried to calm him.

"The doctor was just out and said that Martin will be alright. We can't see him, yet. Maybe later, ok?"

Arthur nodded furiously and sniffed a little. After a moment he remembered something.

"Oh! I checked Skip's pigeonhole, but there was only a bunch of pilot paperwork in there, he must keep his friends' and family's addresses at home. I saw that there was something in the MJN mailbox, which is odd, because the mail girl always brings the mail sometime around 10, and I had emptied it, so there shouldn't be any mail in there, right? But the tiny window on the bottom of the mailbox, you know, there was something white behind it, so someone must have put something in there after I had emptied it this morning, and that is just odd, why would someone put mail in there, then? They can just come inside and…"

"Arthur…" Carolyn sighed in exasperation.

"Oh, right, sorry mum. Anyways, here. " Arthur had pulled out a small envelope and handed it to his mother.

Carolyn looked at her name on its front, written in Martin's unmistakable neat, small handwriting.

Turning it over and opening the flap, she pulled out a single sheet of notebook paper.

Douglas and Arthur leaned over her to read the handwritten note.

"Dear Carolyn,

I'm sorry to have to tell you that I can't be your pilot / Captain anymore. Please don't be mad, I wish I could.

I haven't told anyone, but I have been diagnosed with leukaemia a while ago and there's nothing to be done about it. My health has started to decline and it wouldn't be safe for me to be a pilot anymore, I'm so incredibly sorry, I never wanted to let you down like this. I can't imagine living without flying and I don't want to experience it.

There are no flights scheduled for the next two days, I hope you'll find someone who can take over, quickly. Douglas knows almost everyone in the industry, surely he can find another pilot for you, though you'll probably have to pay him or her.

I want you to know that my time at MJN has been the absolute best time of my life. Not just because I got to fly, to be a Captain, but also because of you guys, Carolyn, Arthur and Douglas. You are like family to me and it hurts me so much to have to leave you like this. I was too much of a coward to tell you in person.

Ever since I was a little boy, my greatest wish was to be an airline Captain one day. I'm so thankful that I got to be one.

Carolyn, thank you so much for making my dream come true. You could have hired infinitely better pilots (though probably not to fly for free), but you gave me a chance and let me be in the skies aboard GERTI.

Douglas, I hope you'll get to be GERTIs Captain now, as you should have been all along. I know I never said it, but you're a fantastic pilot and I thank you for all that you've shown and taught me. Even with all the teasing and taunts, I like to think that we might have become friends eventually, it would have been an honour.

Arthur, thank you for your positivity and encouragement. You calling me Skip always makes me smile (at least on the inside) and while I know I'm nowhere near 'brilliant', it still feels nice to hear you say it about me. Please don't change.

Please excuse this letter. Again, I'm sorry to end it like this.

I hope MJN can continue and thrive for a long time to come and you all find your happiness.

Sincerely, Captain Martin Crieff.

P.S.: Would you please send someone to my flat at Parkside Terrace, I'll be there. Don't come yourself, though, I don't want you to see that."

Carolyn slowly refolded the letter, surreptitiously wiping tears from her eyes.

"Oh, Skip…" Arthur was now openly crying and Douglas had hastily gotten up and all but run outside.

Carolyn turned to her son and squeezed his shoulder. "Arthur, I will go check on Douglas for a minute, alright? I'll be right back." She placed a quick kiss on his temple and hurried after her pilot.

She found him just outside the hospital lobby, leaning against the wall near the entrance. His eyes were moist and he looked absolutely miserable.

Not knowing what to say, Carolyn only stood beside him silently.

After a few moments, Douglas spoke so quietly that Carolyn had to strain to hear him.

"What have I done? I thought I had saved his life, he could work through his problems, and he would be ok, but this… I haven't saved his life, I took his chance of ending it on his own terms, I had no right to do that. Because of me, he'll be under constant supervision now, he'll be forced to endure the illness and hospital and… what have I done…?"

Carolyn still didn't know what to say.

"We… we'll do what we can to help him, right? He seems to be all on his own, we will be there for him." She couldn't think of anything else and awkwardly patted Douglas' arm.

After a few more moments, both walked back inside and re-joined Arthur in the waiting area. He had calmed down slightly and was back to sniffling quietly, with his head hanging low.

A few minutes later, the doctor returned to the waiting area. When he saw the three visitors nervously starting to get up, he waved for them to stay seated.

"It's alright. Mr Crieff is still doing well under the circumstances. He's still unconscious, but we expect him to wake up, soon. He will be moved to a room shortly and you'll be able to see him. Another hour, possibly."

The three MJN crew nodded and Douglas cleared his throat.

"We've found Martin's, - Mr Crieff's letter, or should I say, note, doctor. According to this, he's suffering from leukaemia and it makes him so ill he feared he wouldn't be able to fly anymore. He lives to be a pilot and the prospect of losing that is apparently what drove him to do this. I just thought you should know…" Douglas trailed off while Carolyn held the letter up for the doctor to see.

Douglas couldn't read the expression on Doctor Rikic's face when he nodded. "I understand. If you'll excuse me." With that, he disappeared behind the emergency room doors again.

Martin woke to incessant beeping, voices and blinding light. His throat felt like sandpaper and he immediately coughed, trying to turn to his side to ease it. That's when he felt a painful pull on his arm and he directed his stare towards it. It took a moment for his lids to open up to see sufficiently, albeit blurry. A needle was taped down there in the crook of his arm, feeding a clear liquid from a plastic bag hanging above his bed. His hospital bed. It took his sluggish mind a moment to process the information, but when it did, he felt an immense pang of embarrassment, grief and despair. He couldn't even succeed in killing himself! He was such a failure! The coughing continued and suddenly a nurse was right beside him.

"Easy, easy, please calm down. You're ok. You're in hospital, but it will be alright. I imagine your throat is a little sore, huh? I'll give you some ice chips, they should help."

After she had spooned a few ice chips past his lips, the coughing finally slowed, but his throat still hurt and he felt like he had been sick.

"There, that's better. I've paged your doctor, he should be here any minute now. Do you need anything?"

Martin wordlessly shook his head. What he really wanted was to not be here, but that was apparently not on the table.

The nurse settled back in her chair across from Martin's bed. His watchdog, then.

How could this have gone wrong? He'd been sure two packs of the cheap sleeping medication should do the trick, careful research online had given him that impression, anyway. He'd had to spend his entire monthly food money on the pills. A short drop from the rafters in his attic or a leap off some bridge would have been cheaper, but those options, like those of slitting his wrists, had been ruled out on the account of him being a coward. He didn't think he could have gone through with it. But washing down some innocent, tasteless pills and falling asleep never to wake up again, that he could do. Or so he'd thought. Tears stung in Martin's eyes at the unfairness of it all.

A middle-aged man in the stereotypical white coat strode into Martin's room then, exuding all the confidence of a successful man who had achieved everything he had wanted to. After him, a petite Asian woman walked in, sans white coat, but sporting a smart white polo shirt embroidered with the hospital logo and her name.

"Ah, Mr Crieff, good to see you awake. My name is Doctor Rikic, I treated you when you were brought in. This is Doctor Ansun, the psychiatrist assigned to you. Are you in any pain or do you need anything?"

Martin only shook his head without looking at the doctor, it was all so embarrassing.

"Alright then. Do you remember why you're here?"

Again, Martin shook his head and avoided looking even in the general direction of the two doctors.

"Hm, I think you do and you just don't want to talk to me right now." Doctor Rikic smiled gently at that. "That's alright. I'll talk a little, then, if that's alright with you."

He continued when no answer came from his patient.

"You were brought in when your co-worker found you unconscious at your flat. He had apparently become concerned about you. Your body had started shutting down by then and you wouldn't have survived if you had been found any later. As it was, your co-worker saved your life, luckily in time to avoid brain damage due to a lack of oxygen to your brain. You are a very lucky man, Mr Crieff, even if you might not see it that way right now."

So Douglas must have found him. But how? He wasn't the type to drop by his Captain's place unannounced. Had they found the note early? Martin had wanted to send it in the mail, to make sure it arrived after he was well and truly gone, but, ironically, he hadn't had the money for the stamp after he'd blown all his savings on the blasted sleeping pills, so he had slipped it into MJN's mailbox when he'd left the airfield, sure in the knowledge that nobody would check it before the next day. Why couldn't they have let him leave in peace?

Doctor Rikic continued in a friendly tone, "Speaking of your co-workers, you have some visitors who'd like to see you. They've been waiting for hours now, so it would really be quite impolite if you refused them. Is it alright if I let them come in here and we'll all talk a little more, then?"

Martin wanted to scream, no. He couldn't deal with their disappointment and disgust at what he'd done. Why were they even here? Ah, that's right, he hadn't listed contact details of his estranged family, so they probably felt some misplaced responsibility for him, but waiting at the hospital for hours, that seemed a little over the top. The doctor was right in that regard, it would be unfair to deny them a visit. He owed them that and he'd just have to deal with the fallout.

After a moment and with tears of shame running down his cheeks, Martin nodded fractionally.

The wait turned out to be another two hours, now well past midnight, before the doctor finally re-emerged in the waiting area.

The three occupants of the waiting room had consumed some horrid vending machine coffee and stale sandwiches from the petrol station across the street. It had been an attempt to pass the time and get some distraction, rather than hunger.

When they noticed Doctor Rikic walk over to them, they rose, wincing at stiff muscles.

"I'm sorry about the wait. Mr Crieff is awake and agreed to see you. He hasn't said anything yet, but he seems to be upset and embarrassed by what happened. Please be gentle with him and don't openly blame him for now. The psychiatrist will be present and we'd like to talk with Martin, it would be beneficial if you were there, too, so we'll all be on the same page."

Carolyn, Douglas and Arthur nodded and sucked in deep breaths to calm their nerves.

When they entered Martin's room moments later, Arthur immediately rushed over to his Skip's bedside and engulfed him in a bone-crushing hug. The bed-ridden man tensed at first, surprised by Arthur's open display of affection, despite what he had done, but after a moment relaxed slightly and awkwardly patted the steward's back.

Apart from a sniffled "Oh, Skip…" Arthur was apparently at a loss for words, too.

Carolyn approached the bed and carefully tapped Martin's leg over the blanket.

"Oh, Martin, what do I do with you…"

Douglas stopped in the doorway, uncharacteristically unsure and uncomfortable looking. He avoided looking at anything near Martin and remained silent.

Doctor Rikic joined the psychiatrist at the head of the room and made quick introductions, waiting for the nurse watchdog to slip out, before he got to the heart of the matter.

"Good, now that we're all here, there are some things we need to talk about. Mr Crieff, - may I call you Martin?"

Martin nodded at that, whatever, still not looking up from his intense study of the bed sheets.

"Now Martin, you are here because you tried to take you own life. Your co-workers have kindly informed me of their discovery of your note and hence the reason for your actions, being that you suffer from a terminal illness and feared it compromised your life in such a way that you wished to end it."

Martin didn't comment. Great, now you're going to tell me to embrace the time I have left on Earth, that I should savour the time I have with my family and how there's always something that can be done to prolong it, to lessen the symptoms…

New tears were running down Arthur's cheeks, he had finally released his Skip, but remained standing right next to the bed.

Doctor Rikic continued, "The thing is, though, Martin, that you don't suffer from leukaemia. We ran tests while you were still unconscious and re-checked them several times, you're perfectly healthy."

Finally, Martin lifted his head, now openly staring at the doctor.

"We were able to contact your general physician, as per your admittance forms, he was very relieved to finally have been contacted. Martin, there had apparently been an unfortunate mix-up in your blood-test and files. You were diagnosed with advanced leukaemia, with little to no hope of survival, but it wasn't your blood that was tested. The mistake was discovered a few days later and the practice attempted to contact you by all means, but couldn't get a hold of you, you had moved away and left no contact details. They were hoping you'd get back to them, but you never did.

As I said, Martin, we ran several tests here and you do not suffer from leukaemia or any other serious or debilitating illness."

Martin's jaw had dropped, he was still staring at the doctor in utter and complete shock.

Carolyn and Arthur gasped and their stares jumped from the doctor to their pilot.

Douglas had taken a step into the room and joined in the staring contest.

After a moment of absolute silence, Arthur blurted, startling everyone, "Skip is alright? He's not dying?!"

Doctor Rikic smiled mildly. "He should live a long, happy life, from a medical standpoint."

"That's… that's absolutely BRILLIANT! Skip, you hear that? You'll be ok! Oh, this is more than brilliant!" Arthur clapped his left hand over his mouth in delight and sharply shook his Skip's shoulder with his right.

Douglas released a very low rumble of a laugh and his whole body seemed to relax, so he casually leaned against the doorframe.

Martin was still staring slack-jawed at the medical professional, but finally found his voice, raspy and thin, after having had tubes shoved down his throat a few hours earlier.

"But, but, they told me… and, and I…, I feel so sick, symptoms…?"

"What kind of symptoms?"

"I… I feel dizzy and, and tired all the time, massive headaches, joint pains, impaired vision, everything swims in and out of focus, hearing loss…"

Doctor Rikic nodded while Martin recounted his experience and finally, softly, interrupted.

"All these symptoms are also common for severe malnutrition and starvation and those are conditions we diagnosed you with. Martin, are you aware that you are severely underweight and acutely lacking vital minerals and vitamins?"

"I… I…, no, I mean, no, it's not so bad. I don't have so much money at the moment, uh, but, I… I eat, I mean, it's not like I don't want to, it's just… and I always was on the skinny side…"

"No, Martin, you need to eat better. I have arranged for you to see a nutritionist to tackle the issue with you."

Martin huffed impatiently. "No, really, it's not that. I want to eat, I just don't have the means. I… I don't have a paying job, MJN doesn't really make a profit and I can't get another regular job with the hours I keep flying. But I have to fly, that's all I ever wanted!"

Doctor Rikic held up a placating hand. "It's alright, we'll find a solution. For now, you should rest, your body needs to recover from your act of self-sabotage. I'll leave you for a bit, Doctor Ansun is going to talk with you and I'll be back later, alright?" He nodded to every occupant in the room before stepping out to attend to his other patients.

Martin was obviously still shell-shocked and remained staring blankly and slack-jawed at the spot the doctor had just vacated.

Carolyn tried to hide a relieved smile, but her moist eyes gave her happiness away.

Douglas smoothly pushed off the doorframe and walked over to the plastic chair in the corner, where he plopped down with a content sigh and trademark winning smile firmly in place.

Martin started shaking his head slowly and quietly whispered to himself. "I'm not dying…?"

"No, but you almost did anyway, you berk. If Douglas hadn't clued in to what was going on… seriously, Martin, don't EVER do that again!" Carolyn lightly swatted the back of her Captain's head, who sheepishly looked at his First Officer, lounging in the chair opposite.

"Thank you Douglas."

"Anytime, Sir." Douglas tipped his imaginary hat. As an afterthought, however, "Although, no. Not anytime. You ever do something so fundamentally stupid again, don't count on me rescuing you. You're on your own. This was probably the most abhorring situation I've ever found myself in, and it was, as usual, your fault, Captain."

Martin, flushed cheeks reddening even more, nodded and lowered his gaze to the bed sheets again, a tiny smile on his lips.

"I'm really sorry about this. It won't happen again."

"See that it won't." With that, Douglas leant back in his chair, all right in his world.

Suddenly, Martin was hit with a horrible thought and bolted upright in his bed. "Oh my God, I… I tried to… to kill myself, they'll never let me fly again! Oh, God, no, no, no, what have I done…!"

Arthur, who had perched on Martin's bed with a massive grin that had threatened to split his face, looked at his mother and Douglas in alarm, the happy grin all but gone. "What, what do you mean?"

Doctor Ansun took this as her cue and cleared her throat, startling the MJN crew who had all entirely forgotten that the psychiatrist was still in the room.

"Mister Crieff, please don't worry so much about that for now. I gathered that your profession as a pilot -"

"Captain."

"I'm sorry, Captain - is very important to you. The prospect of losing that due to a fortunately falsely diagnosed illness is obviously what drove you to your actions in the first place. Now, you're correct of course in your assumption that the relevant authorities are, to put it mildly, sceptical about airline personnel with suicidal tendencies…"

"Oh God…"

"…however, seeing as the reason for your desperate act has, well, disappeared, in a way, I'm willing to accept that the likelihood of you attempting another suicide on these grounds is miniscule. Furthermore, you didn't endanger others, crew members or passengers, in your pursuit to end your life, you even feared for their safety when you experienced medical phenomena that had the potential to seriously impair your performance whilst flying, so you deemed it unsafe to continue doing so. This shows that you aren't a danger to anyone from a psychological view and that is exactly what I'll write in my report. This was a very unique incident and I'm sure the Civil Aviation Authority will see it my way."

Martin was stunned and still trying to process what he had been told.

Carolyn sighed and clapped her hand together in delight. When no reaction was forthcoming from her Captain, she glanced at his face in time for him to have gathered his wits enough to reply.

"You mean, I… I can… keep flying…?"

Doctor Ansun chuckled and looked at Douglas, who was sporting a big grin. "He has a bit of a one-track mind, doesn't he?"

"Oh, you have no idea…"

Finally, relief flushed Martin's face and a smile spread into a toothy grin. "I can still fly!"

This earned a chuckle from everyone else in the room and an exasperated shake of her head from Carolyn.

Arthur, having clued in that all seemed to be ok, reinstalled a massive grin on his face and once again engulfed his Skip in a hug. This time, Martin immediately, if still a little shyly at the open affection, returned the gesture.

Doctor Ansun waited for Arthur to disentangle himself from Martin before continuing

"I trust I can leave you with your co-workers for now, right? I will be back later to check on you. You should get some rest, your visitors, too. This has been a long day for all of you."

Carolyn spoke up, "Yes, it definitely has. We will all be going home in a little bit and let Martin sleep. We will be back tomorrow."

The psychiatrist nodded. "Martin, you should, barring any complications, be released tomorrow afternoon. The nutritionist will see you in the morning."

Martin was just about to complain that he didn't need a nutritionist, when he thought better of talking back to his ticket out of here. He would just have to deal with the specialist in a few hours and convince him or her that he really didn't need to be told that he should eat more.

Doctor Ansun shook hands with MJN's crew, reinforced that visitor hours were long over and they really should finish their visit, bid everyone good night and with a final nod to Martin, left.

Martin, Carolyn, Arthur and Douglas talked a little more before a nurse politely knocked on the doorframe and reminded them that visiting hours were well and truly over.

It turned out that Martin had learned of his supposed diagnosis shortly after finally passing his CPL. He had moved out of town three days after the diagnosis, in hopes of finding employment at an airline. Nobody offered him a position, though, until Carolyn had offered him to fly GERTI, as Captain, if only as sort of an unpaid, unlimited internship. Having no other options and actually living to be a Captain, Martin had jumped at the chance to fly, though in absence of any payment, instead living on inflight meals, savings and whatever small amounts of cash he earned working odd jobs whenever he found anything.

His family had always frowned upon Martin's insistence on becoming a pilot, leading to disagreements, fights and eventually resulting in estrangement. When he'd filled out MJN's paperwork, he'd decided against putting his family down, he didn't want to worry them further in case something happened, he hadn't told them of his supposed illness. And when he died, the authorities would eventually track his family down and tell them, anyway.

When Martin had felt increasingly sick, he had sworn to himself to stop flying as soon as it became apparent he wasn't 100 percent airworthy. When that case rolled around, he had found he just couldn't live without flying and with the only prospect of dying alone, in pain, the decision to end it had been easy.

Having finally overstayed their visitor's welcome at the hospital, the MJN crew sans Martin said their goodbyes and see you tomorrow.

"Now, get some sleep, so I can yell at you properly for doing something so stupid tomorrow, understood?" with a huff and a motherly pat on her Captain's shoulder, Carolyn tugged on her son's shirt to hurry him along.

"Bye, Skip, sleep tight! We'll see you tomorrow and I'm very, very glad you're ok!" Martin grinned at the bluntness and waved shyly at the steward.

Douglas got up slowly and looked uncomfortable again. "Yes, umm, I can only second our eloquent steward's statement."

"Thank you, Douglas." Quietly spoken and with a shy smile, it was clear Martin meant to thank his First Officer for more than this sentiment.

Thank you all, for, you know, being here. And I'm sorry." Martin's cheeks were flushed in embarrassment as he waived them goodbye.

Once the hospital room door clicked shut behind them, Martin leant back in his bed, still in wonder at how he'd ended up with such caring co-workers, no, friends.

The little "chat" with the nutritionist went relatively smoothly. Finally convincing her that he didn't actually try to starve himself, but just didn't have the resources, the conversation strayed from potential psychological issues to mere economic topics. She was visibly unhappy with Martin's insistence on continuing to fly for free for MJN, but he promised to accept help, whether from friends or family or even authorities and organizations. Welfare. Something Martin balked at, but he'd say anything just for the nutritionist to back off and clear him for release. Whether he'd actually pursue that path was questionable, but he did accept the fact that something had to change. He'd have to find a way to earn at least some steady income. Martin would figure something out, surely.

A few hours later saw Martin sitting on his bed, clutching his release papers. He fiddled with the scrubs provided by the hospital. He was glad that he'd been wearing a simple t-shirt and sweatpants when he'd tried to… do that. It would have been a crying shame if his beautiful Captain's uniform had been cut by the emergency staff. As it was, the t-shirt had been unsalvageable, but at least his sweatpants had been safe and his uniform was unharmed at home.

He looked up when, after a quick, perfunctory knock, Carolyn entered his room with a scowl on her face.

"Ah, Martin. Are you ready to go? There was no parking space available, honestly, they really need to provide more space than that! What, if I'd had a patient who couldn't walk, hm? Somehow, parking was no problem last night, but I assume that wasn't exactly rush hour, then. Anyways, I'm double-parked and Douglas and Arthur are making sure I don't get towed. So get a move on!"

When she finally looked at Martin who had stood up awkwardly and was making his way to the door, she chuckled lightly and shook her head, while she reached into the shopping bag she had brought along.

"I guess Douglas was correct in his assumptions, again. Here. Now move, chop, chop!"

Martin caught the soft polo-shirt and light summer jacket easily. Not his and the colours too sedate to be Arthur's. His guess was that they belonged to Douglas. Surprised, he smiled at Carolyn, who turned around, to give him some level of privacy. Quickly, Martin swapped the stiff scrubs for the comfortable polo-shirt that smelled of laundry detergent. It was several sizes too large and hung loosely on his skinny frame, but was a definite improvement.

Nodding approvingly, Carolyn led the way to her car that was idling near the hospital entrance. Arthur greeted Martin as usual, excited and exuberant. Douglas' greeting from the passenger seat was the usual as well, a polite nod and "Ah, good afternoon, Captain," with just a hint of sarcasm.

If Martin had expected to be dropped off at home, he was sorely mistaken. Carolyn drove them to a cosy pizza place in town and after Martin had stuttered an apology at how he couldn't afford to eat out and he was really sorry, Douglas and Carolyn completely ignored him and waved off his concerns. Knowing he had lost this particular argument, Martin had no choice but to wander into the restaurant at their heels, nervously clenching and unclenching his fists.

When they'd all settled down at a table in the back and placed their orders, they engaged in pleasant, relaxed conversation about whatever came up.

Martin was tense at first, waiting for the other proverbial shoe to drop. They still hadn't scolded him, expressed their disappointment, forced him to bare his soul or avoided him, it was all very odd.

After a while and munching on the heavenly, cheesy and ham-laden pizza, Martin finally relaxed slightly. His crew mates apparently really only wanted to have a good time with him and not put him on the stand.

Eventually, the conversation actually did stray into Martin's life and plans for the future. Surprisingly, even that topic wasn't too uncomfortable, though. There were no accusations and they weren't trying to get him to give up flying, so Martin dropped his pride and embarrassment a little.

His father had recently passed away, Martin had been surprised to learn that he was mentioned in the will, apparently his father had left him something, though he didn't know what is was, yet. Maybe it was some money, that would certainly help a bit, but he'd have to find some type of paid work eventually. Maybe as a cab driver, they had some odd hours, right? He could maybe fit those around flying GERTI. Or possibly a delivery driver, seeing as his crappy 14-year old Ford Fiesta was constantly acting up and unreliable, that might not be such a stellar idea, though.

They pondered options for a bit together, never suggesting charity or pity. It was obvious that Martin abhorred those and would never accept them.

After finishing their meals, including a huge serving of tiramisu on Arthur's initiative and Carolyn taking care of the bill, everyone filed back into Carolyn's car and she dropped Douglas off at his house, before driving towards Parkside Terrace. Arthur was fully engaged in a travel game with Martin.

When the car rolled to a stop in front of the student housing, Carolyn exited along with Martin.

She threw a dubious look at the run-down building and turned back to her employee.

"So. I can leave you alone here, right?"

Martin smiled. "Yes, Carolyn. Thank you. For, you know. Everything. Picking me up at the hospital was more than I could've asked for and the rest…"

"Oh, nonsense. Now, get inside and get some sleep. And don't do anything stupid. We are on standby tomorrow, so I expect you at the airfield at 9am, sharp. If you're late, I'll hunt you down, you hear? One pilot who can't be bothered to show up on time is quite enough."

"I'll be there on time, promise."

"Make sure you do. Good night then!"

"Good night, Carolyn. Arthur."

"Bye, Skip! See you tomorrow!"

With that, Carolyn got back behind the wheel and drove off, Arthur waving through the still open window.

Two days later, everybody was getting ready for the next flight. Having finished his extensive walk-around, Martin climbed back aboard and turned to step into the flight deck, when his First Officer intercepted him before he could reach his workstation.

"Oh, Douglas, everything alright? I just finished the walk-around, we're ahead of schedule, so if there's anything wrong…"

"Martin, everything is fine, relax. I merely wanted to…" he trailed off, looking around. When he spotted Arthur securing the galley equipment, happily humming away and paying no attention to their conversation and Carolyn, sitting in the last row, poring over some paperwork, he continued, sotto voce.

"I simply wanted to ensure that you're aware that you ought to tell me if anything is wrong or if there are problems. Chances are, I can help, I am, after all, very good at very many things. And listening and giving advice are, fortunately, among these."

"Oh, yes, of course, I… I always tell you when there's a fault, it's protocol for the entire flight crew to be aware of any technical issues, of course, and, well, it pains me to admit, you are very adept at coming up with a solution…"

"Not with the bloody aeroplane!"

"Huh? Oh, oh! Ah, yes. Thank you, Douglas, I… I'll keep that in mind." Martin flushed red, but smiled crookedly at his First Officer.

Douglas nodded approvingly, but, "Promise?"

"I promise."

That seemed to satisfy the older man, who turned and entered the flight deck, Martin right on his heels.

The next minutes were spent with the pre-take-off checklist and Martin let Douglas handle the departure from Fitton airfield.

When they had reached cruising altitude, Douglas started another inflight game. "Ansett."

Martin leant back happily in the Captain's seat and began going over the approach procedures for Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia. "Sabena!"

"Hm, yes, good one. Canada 3000."

"Oh, ummm, ahh…"

"Whenever they come to you, Sir…"

"Yes, yes, hold on a minute… aha! Maersk Air!"

Martin had expected at least a few snide remarks or light teasing concerning the events that had almost culminated in MJN having to acquire a new pilot, but they never came. In fact, the whole incident was never mentioned again. Carolyn, Arthur and Douglas treated him exactly the way they had before, but they all seemed to grow a little closer, like friends or even family.

He was very glad Douglas was so good at so many things, not that he'd ever tell him that, the First Officer's ego was so massive it was a miracle it fit into the flight deck, already. But the fact that Martin had very nearly missed all this, that was unthinkable. Whatever problems he had and would undoubtedly collect in the future, knowing his luck, he'd work them out. If needed, with the help of his MJN family.

- End -

A/N: If anyone is interested: The inflight game at the end is "defunct airline of a country in alphabetical order" (Australia: "Ansett" 1936-2002; Belgium: "Sabena" 1923-2001; Canada: "Canada 3000" 1988-2001; Denmark: "Maersk Air" 1969-2005).