The Baked Potato

"It's about lunch, isn't it?"

Martin looked at Douglas. "What?"

"It's time for lunch, I say. I can hear your stomach growling."

Martin frowned, looking back to the controls. He had thought that he had been the only one that could hear it. "My stomach's isn't growling," he muttered. "But, yeah, it's lunch time."

"Oh, come now. For a moment there, I thought something was malfunctioning with the plane, what with the noises that your stomach is making."

Martin didn't look back at Douglas, ignoring the heat fanning across his cheeks. Let him tease him all he wanted. It wasn't his fault that he hadn't had exactly the most nourishing dinner last night, with only a piece of toast for breakfast. He was out of bread now. He needed to get some more bread...

The flight deck door swung open, Arthur's voice announcing that he was bringing in lunch.

"Ah, right on time, Arthur. Captain's stomach is battling with the plane's engine on which is going to be the loudest."

"No, it's not!" Martin protested, only sighing in defeat when his stomach growled particularly loud in the next moment. "Maybe a bit," he muttered.

"Sorry, Skip. Mom was on about something special, so it's a little later than usual."

"Don't worry about it."

"Let's have at it, shall we?" Douglas said, brandishing a fork and going to his meal.

Martin smiled absently at Arthur, taking the styrofoam container from him. "Thanks. Give Carolyn our regards, as usual."

"Right-o!"

He popped the top on the container, pausing at the contents.

Potato. A baked potato.

Stuck to the inside of the top of the box, a note: The best I can do. You can thank the caterers.

Martin was still for a moment longer before a brief smile passed his lips. A baked potato... His special treat...

"Did Arthur draw in ketchup again?"

"What?" Martin pulled the note from the box, shoving it into his pocket as he looked at Douglas.

"You're smiling."

"Oh. No. Not this time."

"Shame."

Martin didn't reply as he picked up his silverware, cutting into the potato.

Nevermind the hyperactive steward or the sarcastic co-pilot, the no pay, and the chastisement he received.

MJN was the only place for him.

So. I had a baked potato, and pasta, and toast, and tea for dinner. It inspired a story. CP inspired my dinner which inspired a CP fanfic. Hmm... Haha.

Set shortly after Martin's discussion with Carolyn in Qikitarjuag.

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