When they had been dating for six months, Carolyn Knapp-Shappey asked Hercules Shipwright to move into her house. It wouldn't, she insisted, by anything like living together. "You'll have your own wing," she told him. "You'll practically have your own post code. No reason at all to even clap eyes on each other, if we don't want to."

So Herc took up residence with Carolyn and Arthur, and, because he liked them enough to move in with them in the first place, they saw quite a bit of each other. Herc cherished hopes of being allowed to leave a toothbrush in Carolyn's wing, soon.

When Herc had been living there for two weeks, Carolyn took him aside when Arthur was out of the house and showed him a photograph of her ex-husband, Gordon Shappey.

"If he ever turns up when I'm not at home, you're to send him packing, and be sure to check the silver once he's gone," she tells, in a terse voice. "And for God's sake, don't let him come anywhere near Arthur."

Herc hadn't understood that, really. True, Arthur was never going to give Immanuel Kant a run for his money when it came to the exercise of pure reason. But he's always struck Herc as a pleasantly unflappable individual. And of the three men working for MJN Air, he knows who he'd trust first in a crisis. Gordon Shappey is undoubtedly a thorough reprobate, Herc's made enough discreet inquiries to be certain of that, but, frankly, he thinks Carolyn doesn't give Arthur enough credit.

Until a few months later, when they fly to Perth, and he realizes he's been giving Gordon too much.

*

It's never entirely comfortable, flying as a passenger, when you yourself fly planes for a living. You're all too aware of the things that can go wrong. And when you know the people in the cockpit, you can imagine them going wrong all too vividly.

But Herc keeps his (wholly justifiable) concerns to himself and heads to the airport bar for a drink to reward himself as soon as they touch down for their layover. Douglas and Martin nip over to the sandwich shop next door, while Arthur wanders down to the duty-free to hunt the wild Toblerone in its native habitat. Presently, Douglas comes into the bar sits down next to Herc, turning backwards on the stool so he doesn't have to look at the bottles on the wall.

"Martin got put off his lunch by the fact that there was kangaroo steak on the menu," he says. "I did attempt to explain that the living, breathing Australian kangaroo bears little, if any, resemblance to the beloved A. A. Milne characters Kanga and Roo, but I am afraid the damage was already done."

"Interesting man, your captain." It's the best Herc can do by the way of diplomacy, with two G&Ts in him.

"Oh, that's not the least of it." Douglas looks as though he's about to launch into one of those stories about Martin he finds so terribly amusing, only to stop himself, frowning.

"Well, well," he says, his voice suddenly darker and entirely unamused. "As I live and breathe. Gordon Shappey."

"Good lord, really? Where?"

Douglas inclines his head. Herc looks to his left, and spots the man immediately. He's got a shock of white hair and one of those faces that have collapsed under so many years of malice and hard-drinking that it's difficult to imagine what he must have looked like as a younger man. Herc can't help feeling a degree of smug contentment. Anyone looking at Gordon and Herc side by side would have to agree that Carolyn has traded up.

"Do you happen to know where Arthur is at the moment?" says Douglas, in a tone Herc immediately identifies as far too casual.

"The duty-free still, I think."

"You're sure?"

"Well, I--"

Douglas slides off his stool. "I believe I'll just go and check."

"Oh, well. If you must."

"Yes, I think I must. Look here, Herc. Just--keep a weather eye out, will you?"

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"I will be too busy flying the plane to hold Arthur's hand. Which means the responsibility will fall on you. Unless you don't mind the extra dry cleaning after he's wiped his nose on the shoulder of your three thousand pound suit--"

"Honestly," Herc laughs. "You people. You act as if Arthur isn't a grown man."

Douglas pauses, like there's something he's not quite sure he should say. "Just watch him, will you?"

"All right, Douglas. I'll watch him."

As Douglas slips from the bar--Herc has to admire the skill with which he weaves in and out of the milling crowds, entirely avoiding Gordon's line of sight--Herc settles his bill and wanders down the concourse to a bookshop. By examining the window display, he's able to remain near Gordon without making himself conspicuous. It's rather jolly fun, this spying business. Perhaps he ought to have been a secret agent. He certainly looks the part, and they do fly planes, on occasion.

Herc is just reading the back of a conveniently placed Le Carre novel, when a delighted-sounding laugh sounds from the back of the shop. He looks up, and sees Arthur turning the pages of a children's picture book.

Blast, he thinks. Arthur must have doubled back when he wasn't looking. He's not sure what he ought to do now. Text Douglas? Go to Arthur and alert him that his father is near?

In the end, he decides to do neither. He's rather curious, what Arthur and Gordon's interaction will be like, and besides, it might be just the thing to let Arthur have an opportunity of proving to the others that he's not as wet as they think he is. Herc will keep an eye on things, just in case, and when Douglas returns, he can enjoy the pleasure of informing Carolyn's smarmy first officer just how wrong he was.

Arthur makes his purchase and walks out of the shop. Herc, by the cunning ruse of standing in the corner with his back turned, manages to escape his notice. He puts the book down and walks after Arthur, just in time to see the boy come face to face with his father and drop both his shopping bags with a yelp.

There are rather too many people between them for Herc to hear and see the entirety of the exchange, which is brief. But he does catch the look on Arthur's face, and it isn't pretty. In fact, Herc thinks, suddenly and uncharacteristically discomfited, it suggests that he's got the wrong end of this thing entirely. People don't react to their parents that way, unless there's bloody good reason.

He doesn't know all the details of MJN's last encounter with Gordon in St Petersburg, and what he does know he's heard in the form of bragging from Douglas--not the most credible of sources. But he's got enough of a sense of the man and the situation to know that they'd made a proper fool of Gordon, and that Gordon isn't the type to forgive and forget anyone making a fool of him. If it had been Douglas, bumping into Gordon, Herc would have expected what followed. But--honestly, anyone who could feel threatened by Arthur--

Herc feels his shoulders squaring up as Gordon's face contorts into a rictus of anger. He stabs a finger at Arthur, advancing on him a step or two, and Arthur flinches wildly, stumbling backwards, and tripping over his own bags. He falls to the floor, and Gordon looms over him, his expression of fury converting to a look of contempt.

Before he quite knows what he's doing, Herc strides forward, angling his way through the crowd until he appears in the small clearing that's formed around Arthur and Gordon. He leans down and touches Arthur's shoulder, and Arthur looks up at him with slightly wild eyes.

"You all right, Arthur? Let me give you a hand." He reaches down and pulls Arthur to his feet, settling a firm hand on his shoulder once he's upright again. "What the devil's going on?"

He addresses the question to Gordon.

"And who might you be?" says Gordon. His tone is far from friendly, but he's lost the sneer, now there's a third party present.

"Hercules Shipwright," he says. He considers how to describe his relationship with Arthur. Mother's boyfriend? Step-father in waiting? A little premature, perhaps, and certainly none of Gordon's business. "A friend of Arthur's."

Gordon's answering snort is immediate. "And how does someone like you get to be friends with this useless lump, eh?"

"By endeavoring to be worthy of his regard," says Herc, playing the line straight.

Gordon's head snaps back. He huffs, then looks at Arthur, grimacing. "For god's sake, Arthur, stop your sniveling. Your mother's not here to be impressed."

Herc glances beside him at Arthur. He's looking at the floor, and while Herc can tell that he's crying, it's not immediately obvious, which suggests two things: one, that Gordon has seen him cry often enough to know the signs, and two, that Arthur's had a lot of practice trying to repress it. Put together with Gordon's comment about Carolyn, and there was a portrait of a family in a nutshell.

Herc has never been the sort to feel especially protective of anyone, even those he's fond of, because in his opinion people mostly get on best when they're allowed to handle distressing matters in their own way. But he's got children of his own, and while he maintains that Arthur is a grown man, he's still quite a young one. And parents tend to go on treating their children just as they always have, which in Gordon's case suggests something rather repellant about the sort of father he was when Arthur was younger.

"That's quite enough of that," he tells Gordon coldly. "Do remember that other people can hear you. Arthur, Douglas was just off to the duty-free, would you mind going after him and telling him I want to see him?"

Arthur nods silently and scurries away, leaving his bags behind him. Herc draws himself up and stares at Gordon, unsure whether to give the man another opportunity of disgracing himself or to simply walk away.

"I know you," says Gordon, eyes narrowing. "You're with Cal Air, am I right? That must make you Caro's new bit on the side. Have to say, I was surprised to hear about that. Thought she had more decency than to still be flashing her knickers at uniforms, at her age."

Herc laughs. Thinking back on the small offensive campaign he had to wage just to get Carolyn to admit she liked him a bit, Gordon's comment is almost too ludicrous to be offensive.

"Honestly," he says. "You were married to her. Do you know her at all?"

"Do you? She's a vindictive cow, you mark my words."

He almost laughs again. He's got four ex-wives. Carolyn would have to ascend to truly heroic levels of vindictiveness to top anything they've come up with.

Just as he's about to inform Gordon how thoroughly bored he's grown with his disgusting conversation, he spots Douglas, striding up the concourse with Martin, looking like grim death, the both of them. Arthur's lagging slightly behind, a guilty, hang-dog set to his shoulders. Herc tuts under his breath. That won't do at all.

"Well hello, Gordon," says Douglas, sidling up. "What a surprise to see you here. How are your hands? Did the skin grafts take?"

"Don't be rude, Douglas." Herc's never seen Martin smile quite like that before. "We never thanked him for our lovely new engine."

"Yes, it is lovely, isn't it? Arthur was ever so pleased. Your finest moment as a parent, I shouldn't wonder."

Herc notes, with amusement, the gathering storm of apoplexy in Gordon's face. He slips away silently, leaving him to the mercy of MJN's finest comedy double-act, and walks over to Arthur, who's still hanging back, looking rather fretful.

"All right, Arthur?" Herc places a light hand and his back and begins to draw Arthur away from the scene. Douglas and Martin can catch them up later. "He had no business to speak of you that way. I hope you don't take him seriously. It isn't in the least true, you know. You aren't useless at all."

"That's nice of you to say, Herc." Arthur sounds weary, and the absence of his customary ebullience makes for a startling contrast. His disbelief is patently obvious. Herc frowns.

"Really, Arthur." He guides Arthur to a bench and sits next to him. The concourse walls are made entirely of glass, and the light of the brilliant sky on display behind them makes Arthur's brown mop look faintly reddish. Herc has the faint urge to ruffle it. "Take it from me. Any father who would humiliate his own child in front of a stranger--well, it's simply not done. He only made himself look rather pathetic. If he hasn't the intelligence to know he should be proud of you, that's hardly your fault."

Arthur does smile at that. "Your kids must be really happy to have you for a dad."

"Well, I hope so." Herc chuckles and leans back. "Oh, goodness, look at that. I believe airport security is coming to have a word with your father."

Arthur watches, gaping, as burly men in uniforms lead his red-face father on a brisk march across the concourse. A moment later, Martin stumbles back to them, supported by Douglas and clutching a bloody handkerchief to his nose.

"It was worth it," Martin says insistently to Douglas.

"Yes, Gordon's suffering the inconvenience of being detained by security for a few hours is certainly worth the fact that your nose, when it heals, will probably change direction twice." Douglas rolls his eyes and deposits Martin on the bench beside Herc.

"Skip." Arthur's eyes are huge. "Did you--set him up, or something?"

Martin tilts his head back, and smiles a little under the coating of gore. "I might have goaded him a bit."

"That's--that's--that's--brilliant!"

Herc smiles.