Based on a prompt on the Cabin Pressure Dreamwidth. Nothing is mine
The crew had been on standby for so long that even Martin had run out of actual jobs to do. Carolyn had taken up Deborah's usual seat in front of her cluttered desk (mostly cluttered with paper planes and geometric snowflakes that made Martin's head spin- on the one hand amazing, on the other, you really should be working), searching the net for god only knew what. Arthur had disappeared to search for a specific kind of cream bun that Martin was sure Deborah had invented just to gain some peace and quiet. Deborah herself was sprawled over the tatty sofa, her legs hanging over the arm as she hummed under her breath, eyes closed, off in a world of her own.
Martin had valiantly fought the temptation to watch her as she did this; he only wanted to know what she was thinking, but he supposed that staring might come across as a bit stalker-esque. Instead he had opted for sitting at his own, clearer, desk, and reading the newspaper. There wasn't anything interesting going on in the world. Nothing at all. But…oh! His eyes traced across one specific article, then he took a second look.
"Oh no!" he groaned, dropping the newspaper unceremoniously onto the floor; served it right for relating such terrible news. Deborah stopped humming, but didn't respond. Carolyn glanced up from her surfing; that in itself was testament to just how bored she really was.
"Oh no, they've cancelled my favourite reality tv show? Or oh no, millions of people have died in a volcano?" she asked flippantly.
Martin shook his head, biting his bottom lip in frustration.
"No, it's just… they're thinking about decommissioning the last airworthy Avro Vulcan." Martin explained mournfully; the really was a beautiful plane, and there was only one left in flight. Carolyn rolled her eyes and huffed, going back to her scrolling without another word. That was to be expected.
What wasn't to be expected was the way that Deborah suddenly hoisted herself upright onto the arm of the sofa, brown eyes wide, a look of horror on her face.
"Nooo!" she exclaimed, and then demanded as she strode across the porta-cabin and hopped up to side beside Martin on his desk, "Why?!"
Martin was somewhat shocked by his co-pilot's reaction, but shrugged nonetheless.
"Apparently the charity funding it hasn't got the money anymore." He commiserated, glancing bitterly at the paper still lying guiltily on the floor. He looked up to see, to his wonder, that Deborah was still shaking her head, her lips pursed and a look of frustration pinching her cheeks.
"No, no that's not fair." She muttered, "I love that plane."
Martin wasn't sure what to say. Never in all of their time together had she expressed even the slightest interest in their profession at all, let alone another plane. Carolyn must have been listening too, as she commented dryly.
"I dread to think why you have such an emotional attachment to that particular plane Deborah."
Deborah turned her head to shoot Carolyn a withering glance, and then turned back to Martin.
"They can't." she said decisively, crossing her arms over her chest. Martin bit back a bemused grin.
"I don't think Deborah's Law extends as far as this." He assured her, waiting for the typical sarcastic response; there wasn't one, and it looked as if she were still trying to formulate some kind of plan, "Why are you so upset anyway; I mean, me I understand…but you…"
Deborah leant forward, placing her elbows on her knees and fixing Martin with confusion, her eyes scanning his face as if waiting for him to shout 'Jokes!'. After a moment she pursed her lips and spoke.
"It's a gorgeous plane, a stunning piece of workmanship…and the way it flies…" she made a motion with her hand, imitating the drop flight path of the Vulcan, "it's absolutely silent as it comes down…and then…WHOOMPH! My mum jumped so high…"
Martin cut Deborah off with a hand on the demonstrative arm; this was new information. This was new very important information. He couldn't help the burst of curiosity that erupted somewhere near his chest; it wasn't that they weren't friends anyway (Deborah was lovely once you got past the sarcasm and rudeness…really lovely in fact, not that he-well… no!), but Martin realised in that moment that they really didn't talk enough if he had missed something as important as a blatant common interest.
"Hold on, did you get to see the Vulcan fly?" he asked, ignoring the small stirrings of jealously as Deborah nodded confusedly, "Where…when…how?"
Deborah dropped her hands, but didn't pull her arm from Martin's grasp. She shrugged nonchalantly and continued as if it were completely obvious; no sarcasm, it was almost as if he was supposed to know this already.
"When I was a kid." She explained, her eyes fixing on a spot over Martin's shoulder, "My mum worked on a RAF base just down the road, so every year we'd go to the air-show, and when I was sick from school, or during the holidays, I'd hang out on the base."
Martin's interest was definitely piqued. God, what he wouldn't have done to spend unlimited time on an airfield.
"So you actually saw the Vulcan in flight?" he pressed, the thrill of living vicariously through Deborah's memory too much to resist. Deborah met his gaze and smiled warmly, her eyes lighting up wickedly.
"Saw it, walked underneath it, looked into the engines, touched the side…" she drawled, so obviously enjoying Martin's torture.
Martin groaned enviously, but he became very conscious that it might have sounded a little sexual. Deborah must have picked up on it, as she chuckled (although it was more of a giggle- but she'd murder him thrice if he ever said that). Martin might have been mistaken, but the sound seemed more lovely than before; probably just his imagination.
"So you actually like planes then?" he inquired once Deborah had stopped smirking at him; this was like a treasure trove had just been discovered under the carpet of his attic, "I mean…the actual planes, because, you know the Vulcan pretty well."
Deborah nodded, and she looked far too pleased with herself. As she talked her hands gesticulated wildly in a way that they never normally did when talking about…well, anything. Martin's hand was forced to release her wrist, but it fell to rest of her knee, and she didn't shake it off.
"Not just the Vulcan…" she teased, her voice dropping an octave and she leaned in so that she had Martin's full attention, "They brought all sorts out at the shows: they had the Vulcan, the Red Arrows, the Tornadoes Jet fighters, the Boeing CH-47 Chinook, the Hercules C-130s, the C-17s…"
Martin had to admit, he was becoming entranced. All those planes… and Deborah! They'd worked together for years, she knew how much he loved flying and she never even mentioned it.
"God…I would have killed to be in your place." He moaned, grinning in response to Deborah's winning smile.
"You'd have had a challenge," she assured him, "That was the best part of my summer. And the planes were out the rest of the year as well."
"Yeah?" Martin prompted, giving her knee a squeeze to make her carry on.
"Yeah." She replied smoothly, "By the time I was ten I could differentiate by ear whether it was a C-130 overhead, or a C-17, a Chinook, all the different jets, and even the police helicopter that turned up every now and then."
The swell of affection that Deborah sometimes triggered (mostly when smiling…like that time she had shamelessly giggled- that time was definitely a giggle- at the offhand jokes about lipstick and hats), came rushing back. Martin couldn't have stopped beaming at her if he tried.
"I can't believe that you've managed to keep this from me all this time." He mused, his eyes tracing her face for any sign of deceit; there wasn't any, just contentment and pride, her eyes twinkling.
Deborah sighed and dropped her hands onto her knees, which coincidently meant on top of Martin's hand. Neither of them mentioned it.
"I am a woman of many mysteries." Deborah finally answered. Martin nodded and hummed in agreement. He suddenly didn't want to look at her face; well, he did, but he didn't want her to see him doing it.
"And here I am getting excited over museums with planes in. I'd have loved to see them in flight." He mumbled, trying not to flush under Deborah's gaze. To his surprise, (again), Deborah began speaking excitedly once more, her hands staying put this time, but fidgeting restlessly.
"Oh I love the museums too!" she exclaimed, and when Martin look up at her face it was glowing (at least he thought it was) and she was peering over his shoulder into the middle distance again, "You know the first time I ever actually flew was when I was twelve?"
Martin was bemused by the change of subject, even more so by the context.
"Really?" he replied; Deborah was so confident, so in her stride on the flight-deck, anyone would be fair to assume she had sprung into being somewhere up in the clouds.
Deborah nodded quickly, her grin reappearing. Martin had never seen her smile so much in one conversation.
"Hmm, we went to Ohio," she explained, "And the first place I made my parents take me was the Wright Brothers' Museum in Columbus; they had a plane from every country, at every stage through history, from the rickety Wright Brothers to the modern ones."
Martin couldn't even find it in himself to be jealous anymore; the way that Deborah's face lit up was beautiful. In a completely subjective way, of course.
"And you actually enjoyed that?" he inquired; he turned his hand under hers, and to his surprise, her delicate fingers curled around his, although she didn't seem to notice.
"Oh yes…I took so many pictures that I ran through two sets of batteries and two picture cards on my camera." Deborah reminisced, her eyes dropping to meet Martin's, who didn't break her gaze, "I have about 200 pictures of planes, but they only go up to World War Two…I think they're still on my laptop if you want a look." She gestured over her shoulder towards where her bag was slung on the floor, but didn't stop looking at Martin.
Marti, although still looking at Deborah, was thinking about Deborah skipping around the air museum, eagerly snapping pictures of every plane she caught sight of. Except she wasn't quite a child in his head, she was how she was now, looking back every now and again to make sure that Martin was keeping up.
"I've always wanted to go there." He sighed. Deborah tugged on his hand, drawing his attention back to herself. She had a peculiar expression on her face, but it would have taken years and a supercomputer to decipher it, especially behind the warm smile.
"Well, we can go next time we're in Ohio." She promised, leaning forward to pick up his other hand; his heart gave a small flutter at the idea that someone, anyone, would be willing to actually prevent him trawling around these places like a lonely old man, "And until then, you can scroll through my photos if you want." She offered.
Martin smiled gratefully, making sure to meet her dark eyes directly.
"Thank you," he answered quietly, "That would be lovely."
Deborah just bit back her own smile, and if he wasn't mistaken, Martin could see a faint blush appearing on her tanned cheeks. They looked at each other a moment longer before a third voice shattered the silence.
"Dear lord, it's like the plague." Carolyn mused dryly, and as Martin's head snapped up he saw her looking between the two of them, a peculiar expression in her eyes, "If one flight nerd wasn't enough, I've got two…and they're…bonding."
Martin suddenly realised just how close he and Deborah were sitting. She had leant forward from her perch on his desk, and he must have leaned to mirror her, as their faces were only inches apart; to top it off, his hands were wrapped around hers, which were then resting on her knees.
With an awkward clearing of his throat he sat back in his chair, withdrawing his hands from their comfortable tangle. Deborah was equally evasive, her eyes widening and scanning the floor, her cheeks reddening slightly as she pulled her hands away and shuffled further back on the desk.
"Oh, no need to stop on my account." Carolyn remarked bemusedly, "I was becoming quite enraptured as Deborah waxed lyrical about the wonder that is the plane."
Deborah rolled her eyes and shot Carolyn a withering look. As she slid from Martin's desk, her hand brushing imperceptibly over his shoulder (a habit that she had picked up a few months ago, who knew where from), Arthur burst through the door, striding across the room to throw himself into the sofa beside Deborah.
"I couldn't find those ones you wanted, but I did get the chocolatey ones you were eating last week." Arthur explained seriously, and Deborah nodded with a small fond smile, graciously thanking him for making the effort.
They lapsed back into silence after that. Deborah had pulled her laptop onto the sofa, and was attempting to navigate the keyboard whilst entertaining her cake. Martin didn't bother restarting his newspaper, choosing instead to watch Deborah and consider thoughtfully the thoughts that pervaded his head as he did. He was aware that Carolyn was looking up every few minutes to peer curiously at him, but he ignored this. After another strained few minutes of silence, Martin cleared his throat and Deborah glanced up at him.
"Deborah?" he asked, allowing her to nod slowly and raise an expectant eyebrow, "Are you doing anything this weekend?"
Deborah's eyebrow dropped as she peered thoughtfully back at him.
"Apart from drown my lonely life away in a shower of cake and bad television?" she replied sarcastically, "No, nothing of importance. Why?"
Martin felt more confident; Deborah was his friend, there was no reason to be nervous at all.
"Would you…like to go, to Duxford Air Museum with me?" he said quickly; maybe he was a little nervous. He wasn't entirely sure why. He heard Carolyn scoff from behind his back but kept his eyes fixed on Deborah.
Her face lit up momentarily before she got her expression under control and drawled playfully.
"Why Martin…I think I might."