Work Text:
CRASH.
Martin jumped at the sudden noise from the next room. He looked up from his ops manual, concern flooding his guts. “Douglas?” He flung the thick tome aside, walking quickly to peer through the kitchen door. “Are you OK?”
Douglas was hunched over the worktop, facing away from Martin. “Fine.” His voice was fierce, his mood clearly unimproved from his return home half an hour before. Dropping Emily back at her mum’s in Cumbria always left him unhappy, and Martin knew from past experience to allow him space for a few hours to grieve her renewed absence. But this time seemed… worse than usual.
“What happened?” Martin enquired, a little nervously, noting the blanched knuckles of Douglas’ clenched fists where they stood out against the work surface.
“Dropped the lasagne.”
“Into the sink?” Martin stepped a little closer.
“Just… go away, please.” Douglas’ sentence wasn’t angry. There was a horrible resignation in it that jabbed at Martin somewhere deep in his soul. He half-turned, to obey, but then he saw Douglas’ shoulders shaking, and he froze. Indecision gripped at him.
“Douglas?”
Douglas just shook his head, tucking his chin even closer into his chest. Slightly emboldened, Martin aborted his exit, instead padding closer to his partner, raising a tentative hand to his back.
Just as he was about to make contact, Douglas sniffed, a most un-Richardson-like sound. Martin hurt just to hear it. “Douglas – please?” He caressed Douglas’ shoulder lightly, urging him round to meet his eyes.
Douglas turned, but reluctantly. He stared off, over Martin’s shoulder, refusing to gaze back at the captain. “Leave me alone, please.” The words lacked conviction, though.
Martin shook his head in reply, ran a soft hand down Douglas’ arm. “What is it? What’s happened?”
Douglas glared at the opposite wall, his eyes glassy. “I ruined our dinner.” Martin could see the tomato calamity of the smashed dish behind Douglas in the sink for himself, but as Douglas wrapped his arms defensively round his midriff, he knew that wasn’t what was really distressing his first officer.
“And what else?” he pressed, gently, raising his hand to Douglas’ cheek to stroke softly.
Douglas frowned and didn’t reply. Martin noted with concern that Douglas’ hands were trembling despite being clutched to his stomach. “Hey,” Martin said, quietly. “You can tell me.”
Douglas looked defiant for just a moment more, but then something in his expression seemed to crumple and Martin watched with alarm as he buried his face in his hands, leaning back against the worktop, his whole body shaking hard with his attempt to suppress his distress.
“Go away,” Douglas whispered, hoarsely. “Don’t want you to – to see… S’pathetic.”
“No,” Martin leaned into him, tenderly. “I want to help.” He encircled Douglas in his arms, tugging him into a warm embrace. “I can’t bear to see you so sad.”
Douglas let out just one broken-sounding sob, before his rigid figure gave up the fight and he sagged into Martin, bending to bury his damp face in Martin’s neck, quaking against him. Martin stroked firm hands down his back, soothingly. “Oh, love… my love. Shh. Shh.”
Gradually, Douglas’ silent cries abated, and he quivered less in Martin’s arms. Cautiously, Martin drew back a little, cupped Douglas’ face in his hands. He smoothed the tear-tracks away with his thumbs, as gently as he knew how. Douglas closed his eyes, Martin counting it a tiny victory when Douglas leaned into his caress rather than pulling away.
“Emily isn’t coming on holiday with us.” The words were almost choked out of Douglas’ chest.
Martin stiffened, Douglas’ upset suddenly all too understandable. “What? Why not?”
Douglas hung his head. “She’s – her mother –“ Martin waited tensely for him to sort out his thoughts. “Her mother doesn’t want her to go.”
Martin felt a quick flash of anger at the injustice, but bit it back. Comforting Douglas was far more important. “Why ever not?”
“Because she thinks Australia is too far. She doesn’t want Emily half a world away, she says.”
“Even for three weeks?” Martin was incredulous, absently toying with the curls at Douglas’ nape as he tried to make sense of the development.
Douglas shook his head, sniffed again, then looked furious with himself. “No. So she won’t be coming with us.”
“But…” Martin’s mind was spinning, struggling to process the news. “But you’ve been looking forward to those three weeks with Emily for the last six months. She decides now?”
Douglas shrugged, resignedly. “She has the right. She’s got primary custody.” He looked up, suddenly. “It wasn’t just Emily. I wanted to spend time, the three of us.”
Martin nodded. “I wanted that, too.” His heart ached to see Douglas so wounded, the expression in his partner’s face beyond crestfallen – there was deep hurt - even devastation - clearly evident in his eyes. Martin pulled him back into his arms. An idea suddenly leapt into being.
“We can still do it.” He whispered the words calmly into Douglas’ ear.
“We can’t.”
“We can.” Martin tipped Douglas’ chin, made him meet his sincere gaze. “Australia’s out. So we stay here. Emily can come to us. Or we can meet her.”
“But… the airshow.” Douglas looked utterly bewildered. “You’ve always wanted to go to that.”
“Doesn’t matter.” And Martin was detachedly amazed to realise that it really didn’t. “I just want to be with you – and Emily. And her mum can’t object to that.”
Wonderment filled Douglas’ expression. “You’d give up our big trip?”
Martin demurred. “No. I’d gain you and her.” He meant it with every fibre of his being.
“Oh. Oh.” Douglas sounded as if he wanted to cry again.
“Shh.” Martin hugged him tight. “I love you both, you know.”
“And we love you.” Douglas pressed close into him, kissed his neck. “Thank you.”
Martin smiled. “No need.” He stroked Douglas’ hair. “All better?”
Douglas nodded, and then Martin was taken aback to hear him give a short, shaky chuckle. “Afraid dinner’s still ruined, though.” He sounded sheepish, now, not distraught.
Martin’s smile broadened into a grin. “Not to worry.” He released Douglas. “I keep telling you I know a great recipe for jacket potato…”