Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The trick to the days that change your life is a simple one: you never feel it until it's happened. You don't wake up with a heavy feeling, or anything of the sort. You wake up, smile at your sleepy Skipper, kiss him on the forehead (gently, though, so you don't wake him up quite yet), and carefully get out of bed. At least, that's how it went for Arthur. It was the most ordinary morning in the world, complete with toast and tea and the coffee maker working for Skip.

Arthur's entire life changed at nine o'clock in the morning, on the dot. That's when the phone rang.

He got up from the kitchen table, smiling slightly in preparation to hear his mother tell him to be at the airfield in an hour, ridiculous husband in tow.

"Hello, Crieff-Shappey residence, Arthur speaking," he said, still relishing their names together after three years of marriage.

"Yes, Arthur Crieff-Shappey, son of Gordon Shappey?" a cool female voice asked over the line. Something cold slid down his spine. It felt rather like ice dripping down the middle of his back.

"Yes, this is he."

"Mr Shappey, I—"

"Crieff-Shappey," he corrected quickly. He had been Mr Shappey for far too long. He was the son of Gordon Shappey, but only just.

"Right, Mr Crieff-Shappey. I am very sorry to inform you that your father, Gordon Shappey was admitted here with heart attack this evening. He didn't make it. I'm sorry for your loss."

There was a brief, dizzy moment before it sank in.

"Why did you call me?" he asked. Well, he heard himself ask it, but he didn't recall telling his lips to move. And what a dumb question!

"You're listed as his next-of-kin, sir."

Cold swirled from his spine and into his belly.

"Which hospital are you calling from?"

She gave him the name and address, a medical facility in London. Why he was in London, Arthur would never know. He didn't want to, anyway. His father so near was a cruelty, a danger, a terrible thing that could only be termed as "all right." But now, he was...

"Sir, will you come to claim the body?" Such terrible words, words like arrows and knives and idiot, stupid, you'll never be anything. How awful that Arthur had so few good memories of his father. Perhaps two or three, tempered and watered down by the magic of holidays or something. But now, all he could see was a familiar mask, his face contorted with rage and expensive gin.

Claim the body, claim the body, claim the body.

"No," he said softly down the line. He realised, though, that the word had come out so softly, little more than a choking catch in his breath. He cleared his throat and tried again.

"No, I won't. Thank you, goodbye."

He rang off violently, jabbing his finger against the button. Slowly, as though afraid the phone would break (or that he might), he set the handset on the worktop. His breath hitched again, caught on a jagged sob like a piece of glass.

His muscles gave out slowly, giving him just enough time to slump and slide down the wall to the floor. His vision was crystal clear; there were no tears. Just a quiet ringing in his ears.

Gordon had been significantly less than brilliant, but he had been Arthur's father. The loss of his father was like a punch to the gut, leaving him gasping and choking a little. His hands were shaking.

"Morning, Arthur," Skip said as he walked into the kitchen. The footsteps halted in the doorway, and Arthur could read Martin's confusion blindly. The pause was like braille. "Arthur?"

Arthur took a deep, shaking breath. How would he speak without air in his lungs?

"Over h-here," he stammered. Even with the air sucked into his chest, speaking was difficult.

Martin walked over to where Arthur was. The steward was sprawled a bit, sitting upright only with the help of the wall. Martin crouched down so he was level with Arthur. Concern was written over his face in big, black marker.

"A-arthur, love, are you all right?" Martin asked hesitantly. Arthur licked his lips, surprised that his mouth felt so dry. He had to answer Martin, crouched in front of him with those lovely eyes tilted toward him in worry, fingers so near his hand but afraid to touch. The silence dragged on for a moment too long before Arthur could properly answer. Even then, it was just with a small shake of his head. Martin's fingers skipped past hesitance and brushed against his wrist.

"What happened?"

"I— My dad," was all Arthur could say. Saying that hurt. Oh, it ached. But watching the hot fury wash across Skip's face was like a balm, doing its best to soothe the worst of his wounds. It wasn't enough, but that he tried was blissful.

"What did he do?" Martin fairly growled.

Arthur blinked, the words on the tip of his tongue, hot and coppery and so incredibly sad. It sat in his mouth like thorns. The thorns were sharp and awful and forced tears to his eyes. That was a bit of a shock in itself.

"He... He died," Arthur whispered. He was dimly aware of hot tears tracking their way down his cheeks. He blinked them out of his eyes, to no avail.

"Oh, Arthur," Martin breathed. He shuffled to Arthur's side and sat beside him, pulling him into his arms. "I am so sorry."

Arthur sniffled, leaning into his husband's comfort.

"I don't know how to f-feel," he said, the words clawing themselves up and out of his throat. "H-he was awf-ful to me, but he w-w-was my dad."

"Sshh," Skipper murmured into his hair. How had Arthur's head ended up pillowed on Skip's chest? The heartbeat pulsing through layers of skin and bone and cloth was lovely. "It's all right. He was your dad, of course you'll feel sad about this. You know, I had trouble like this when my dad died."

Another sniffle.

"You did?"

A kiss was pressed to Arthur's hair. "Yes. He and I had fought like cats and dogs near the end, but I couldn't see that it was because he cared, because he didn't want me to get hurt. But even when I was so angry, I felt awful because he was my dad, and he wasn't there anymore."

Arthur nodded against Martin's chest.

"Th-that's it."

And then, the floodgates were thrown wide open. What started as a hiccup ended as a sob. That one sob turned into two, and on and on until he was wracked with them. He was shaking violently with the force of it. This wasn't a little cry, this was a torrent. This was a monsoon, a tsunami, an earthquake. It was a natural disaster, leaving him broken and aching and flattened.

But Martin never wavered. The susurrus sounds of his easy comfort, coupled with his arms and kisses and warmth, was constant and kind.

They sat there on the kitchen floor for hours, the sun slowly getting higher in the sky and eventually throwing its light over their bodies.

Arthur took a few shaky breaths, unaware that he was no longer crying, and let himself be lulled to sleep by the warmth of the sun and his Skipper. While one was fickle, continually giving way to the night, the other was absolutely constant. Skip wasn't his sun, or his moon, or his Jupiter. Martin was the ocean, always salty and alive, no matter where it was. He was the air, forever swirling and dancing and necessary. He was the sky, hanging above their heads from now until eternity.

Chapter Text

Telling Carolyn was hard. Watching everything flash across her face was even harder. He'd never seen her look so emotional, and it was like a hand squeezing his heart. It was awful.

They were in the Portakabin, waiting for their client to arrive, and funnily enough, everyone was there. Even Herc. Arthur and Martin had arrived fifteen minutes prior, and Arthur had immediately gone to check that the plane had enough cashew nuts. At least, that was what he said. In reality, he was ducking inside G-ERTI to huddle onto one of the seats and continue to struggle with the news he had gotten only a couple of hours ago.

He was hiding from having to tell his mum. That was all right, of course, because Martin could do this for him. Martin would do anything and everything for him.

"C-Carolyn?" Martin stammered shortly after Arthur ran off.

"Yes, Martin?" She asked, raising her eyebrow dangerously. He fought the urge to close his eyes and take a deep breath to steel himself. He had to do this, it was important. Awful, but vital.

"Can we t-talk? P-privately."

Douglas let out a whistle, which made even Herc laugh.

"Oh, Carolyn, it would appear that you've gotten in trouble with Martin!" Douglas crowed.

"Shut it," she snapped at Douglas, before turning back to Martin. "Surely it's something you can say in front of those two idiots."

A small chorus of Hey! came from their direction, to which she sharply responded, "Shut absolutely up!"

"I-I-I could," he choked out, "but it's— I actually don't know if it's good news or not, and I sort of feel awful about it, but I don't. I feel awful about it for Arthur, but I don't know for you."

"Arthur?" she asked, voice hovering on the edge of Protective Mother Bear. "Martin, what's happened?"

Martin took a quick, deep breath before expelling the news on the exhale.

"Gordon's dead."

Silence reigned for a moment, a long, long moment. Douglas and Herc wore matching expressions, eyebrows raised and jaws nearly slack.

Emotions washed so quickly across Carolyn's face Martin felt dizzy. That hand in his chest, crushing his heart. If he hadn't been Martin and she hadn't been Carolyn, he would have engulfed her in a bony hug. He did take her gently by the arm and lead her to the sofa when he noted the dazed expression she finally settled on. He sat down beside her.

"How did Arthur take it?" Herc asked. Martin was touched by the worry in his voice.

"Er, not well," Martin admitted. "I think he needs a few minutes alone. That's why he ran out to the plane."

"Bring him in," she said, and it was so soft and unhappy that Martin's heart broke. He nodded and jumped to his feet. Douglas immediately took his place.

"Arthur, your mum wants you, love," Martin murmured as he entered the cabin. Arthur, tall and solid Arthur, looked so small all huddled up on the seat. Yet another blow to the heart. Arthur's face was dry, and his eyes looked normal, which was sort of reassuring. He certainly wasn't okay just yet, but Martin just truly hated to see Arthur cry like this.

"Yes, right," Arthur said, dragging in an uneven breath. Martin held out a hand, and Arthur took it like a lifeline. It was.

Martin pulled him close and kissed the corner of his husband's jaw before slowly leading him out of the plane and back to the Portakabin. The very second they walked through the door, Carolyn was up and around Arthur so much faster than anyone would ever assume possible for someone her age. But don't ever, ever tell her that.

"Are you all right?" she whispered fiercely, and Arthur started to nod, then started to shake his head, then settled on sighing and slumping his shoulders.

"I'm not quite," he finally said, "but I will be."

As Gordon's only child (surprisingly enough), Arthur received some money. Though, to be completely honest, he received loads of money. Gordon's Hayley took away a hefty sum and her husband's houses and boats and possessions. But Arthur had become fantastically wealthy.

He funneled a huge amount into MJN, keeping them in the black for many years. She refused the offer of another plane ("I have more than too many idiot pilots."), and so did Martin. Martin did accept the two vans Arthur bought, enabling him to turn Icarus Removals into a real company, with multiple people and everything!

He then treated himself to a few silly goodies. He traded in his awful car and bought something fast and shiny and red. He also bought himself a good deal of high-quality art supplies, which he was especially pleased with.

The rest went to a saving account for a rainy, well, decade, and it was amazing to know that he and Martin never had to worry again.

Not a lot changed, aside from the red car and suddenly booming removals business. The pair still worked, even though they didn't have to. They kept their tiny little house, keeping the comfortable secondhand furniture (and perhaps replacing the things that were falling apart). They were still ridiculous creatures, and stupidly in love, and so good that the others sometimes felt they didn't deserve the pair.

Gordon had been awful to Arthur in life, but he had been a being bred of rage and liquor and bitterness as Carolyn. Because of all this, Arthur felt incredibly lucky that his father had left him as much as he had.

Whenever they flew to Sydney, Arthur disappeared for a day to visit his father's grave. He knew that no one else would.

He left a bottle of Gordon's Gin every time.