Aaannddd here's the next chapter. Thank you for reading and reviewing, it's much appreciated.
Chapter 2
It had been a while since they had had a flight that could be considered boring, but this one was remarkably dull, even by MJN's standards; Deborah wouldn't have minded the cargo flight so much if Martin had actually been in the flight-deck with her, but he wasn't. He was somewhere in the Cabin, talking on the phone, and had been for a while now; she wasn't entirely sure what about, but she didn't want to dig too deep in case he became defensive as he was wont to do.
Martin had been shifty for about a week now; it was nothing to worry about, nothing more than one of his odd moods, of that Deborah was certain. Yet, she couldn't help but feel jarred by it. If he had been in a bad mood, and been miserable, or angry, actively shunning her, she might have understood, and given him space before confronting him; but Martin wasn't, and Deborah didn't know how to deal with a Martin that was treating her perfectly, smiling and laughing, soaking up her attentions, and yet not quite there.
Perhaps he was just upset, or feeling the stress of running a company with only three colleagues and another job on the side…that was probably it. Either way, it still left Deborah alone in the flight-deck, slouched back in her seat with her legs kicked up on the control panel, crossed at the ankle, desperately grasping at ways to entertain herself.
The engines were humming and ready to be tended to, the lights were flashing, and nothing had fallen off yet (that Deborah hadn't fixed in seconds); all that was left to do was play with the intercom, and hope that Carolyn or Arthur were bothered enough by it to come and bother her.
"Greetings passengers, this is your First Officer speaking. Don't Stop Me Now, because You And I need to talk about our flight today." Deborah drawled, smirking to herself as she spoke; she had spent ages working on this, so it was a pleasure to hear it crackling through the Cabin behind her, "You may think that what I'm saying is like some sort of Bohemian Rhapsody, all Radio Ga Ga, and you'd rather be in a Bicycle Race than rushing Headlong through the skies, but Hang On In There, because We Are the Champions of air travel at MJN, and we have One Vision of how our flights should proceed."
When no response came from the rest of the crew, Deborah continued, flicking idly at the loose button just above her right arm.
"You may be afraid of flying, of being Under Pressure so high in the sky. You may want to scream, Save Me, and believe that soon you'll be weeping as Another One Bites The Dust." Deborah purred, playing the part of dutiful host even with a Cabin bereft of passengers to hear it, "But never fear, because our chief Steward Carolyn Knapp-Shappey is like a Lily Of The Valley, ready to cure your fears with A Kind Of Magic that only she knows, and Arthur Shappey shall be like The Invisible Man, helpful, but unseen because Too Much Love Will Kill You."
"Of course, there will be turbulence. We Will Rock You, but honestly; Who Wants To Live Forever?" Deborah announced, spurred on by the lack of response; they were ignoring her, and that couldn't be allowed, "You may notice during the flight that Ms Knapp-Shappey is particularly distracted, but I can assure you that that is simply a Crazy Little Thing Called Love, as she awaits her partner's return to sunny Blighty, God Save The Queen."
"It may also come to your attention that the Captain and I are particularly close, but what can I say? It's Funny How Love Is, and Friends Will Be Friends; we all need Somebody To Love, you know, one that makes you say things like, You're My Best Friend, and You Take My Breath Away." Deborah mustered up her most dramatic tone of voice to conclude, "But, alas, I'm sure you're all waiting for the Hammer To Fall on my little speech, or think that I'm Going Slightly Mad, that I Want to Break Free. The truth is, I Want It All; a safe and enjoyable flight to Stockholm, free of emergencies. So, on behalf of all of my crew, I wish you a happy flight, and pass you over to the cabin crew."
A moment passed, and then the speakers crackled, and Deborah listened with a smile on her face to Carolyn's exasperation; finally, some sort of response to fend off the boredom that she was experiencing.
"Thank you Deborah." Carolyn sighed down the intercom, beautifully irritated by her game; maybe she would come to the flight-deck and debate with her face to face, "That would have been lovely if we actually had any passengers."
"Did Martin hear it?" Deborah inquired nonchalantly; she had hoped that he would hear her various platitudes and recall his affections for her, abandon his phone call to come and spend time with her instead of arranging whatever he was arranging.
"Yes, and he's grinning like an idiot." Carolyn replied dryly; there was something in her tone that told Deborah that she wouldn't be gaining her company quite yet, "He's still on the phone though, which means we can't take off!"
"Alright." Deborah groaned, kicking her feet down from the control panel; what was the point in even trying when the rest of them were too busy to spare her even a moment of their time, "Tell him I've got her ready to fly."
Carolyn didn't answer, and the intercom clicked silent; back to the drudgery then. Deborah was forced to endure only a few moments more alone though, before the door to the flight-deck swung open; of course, she mused, she shouldn't have underestimated Arthur so. The thought of him adhering to his work and staying in the Cabin shouldn't have even crossed her mind.
"Wow Deborah, that was brilliant!" Arthur declared as he rounded the jump-seat and came to perch on the edge of the Captain's seat; his hand appeared from where he had been hastily stashing a towel probably used to wipe down the flat surfaces, and he rested both on the arms of the seat, leaning in as if to give her his full attention.
Now that was more like it.
"Thank you, Arthur." Deborah replied, smiling proudly as she sat up straight and crossed one leg over the other, adopting a more professional posture; at least someone still appreciated her wit enough to indulge her, "I put a lot of effort into that."
"Yeah, it sounded like you did." Arthur exclaimed, his face lit up with just the right amount of impressed as he smiled at her; Deborah shifted around just enough that they could talk without having to turn at each word, folding her arms loosely over her chest, "Did I hear some Queen songs in there?"
"Twenty Nine." Deborah informed him briefly, sighing a little at the ripple of dejection that formed in her guts; it was nice to gloat with Arthur, but it would have been nicer to share her success with Martin, had he been there, "You should write that down, I think that's a record for any of my games."
"Will do." Arthur chirped, though he didn't make any move to do so, so presumably he would forget to do it later; his gaze wandered as he tried to recall and the corners of his lips pinched in thought, "I don't think any of us have gotten more than twenty five before."
"And Martin isn't even here to bask in my radiance." Deborah remarked wanly, letting her eyes drop to trace the arm of Arthur's chair and the mottled state of his buttoned cuffs, which looked and smelled as if they might have been stained with lemon cleaning fluid; she was self-aware enough to know that she shouldn't have been feeling so dejected now that she had her wish of entertainment, "Is he finished on the phone yet?"
"No, he wasn't when I passed through the Cabin." Arthur replied; then he seemed to sense the droop in Deborah's demeanour, and his voice dropped imperceptibly, and he hunched forwards just that little bit more, eyebrows dipping in the centre, "Who's he talking to?"
"I'm not sure." Deborah answered honestly, glancing towards the back of the flight-deck for just a second, as if Martin might walk through at any moment, "Someone from the hotel I think, though why he needs to call ahead is beyond me."
"You don't believe him?" Arthur asked cautiously, and Deborah almost startled at the sincerity in his voice; in anyone else she might have called it a flash of perception, but, seeing as it was Arthur, and that he was wrong, she simply smiled fleetingly, and then swallowed her falsity when it obviously didn't convince him.
"Oh no, I believe him; Martin's atrocious at lying to me." Deborah assured him, deciding to forgo trying to sound cheerful as she picked at the side of her thumb and avoided Arthur's gaze; it was true, there was no reason to suspect that Martin, who was the most decent man that she had ever met, was doing anything untoward, "I'm just worried about him, that's all."
"Why?" Arthur inquired, perplexed, as if he couldn't imagine a reason why she and Martin might need to be worried; for all she knew, he might have actually been that optimistic. The evidence certainly pointed towards such a conclusion.
"He's been a bit preoccupied this week." Deborah explained drearily, trying to sound as if it were less of a concern than it really was; she had tried not talking to people before, and it hadn't worked, but even though she was willing to share, she didn't want Arthur of all people to end up fretting about her, "I thought that maybe Icarus wasn't doing so well, but it's thriving with some sort of divorce boom this time of year."
"Is he ill?" Arthur continued, his concern sounding more like curiosity than anything else; he was trying his best to meet Deborah's gaze, tilting his head this way and that, but she ignored him, "Because sometimes when Skip isn't feeling well he pretends that he is and ignores the rest of us."
"I know he does." Deborah sighed, slumping back against the hard pads of her seat; she wasn't sure whether she wanted Martin to march in and interrupt or not, or whether she even wanted to know what was wrong with him, "He's not ill though, I checked. I think he's just in one of those moods…you know, the moods that people get into sometimes."
"Like the ones where they're not happy or sad, they're just…" Arthur added helpfully, trailing off when Deborah turned her head to lay her cheek against the back of her seat, and to meet his gaze.
"Exactly." Deborah agreed drearily, quirking her eyebrows for good measure; sometimes the world just didn't feel quite right, and there was nothing that could be done but to shrug shoulders and carry on, and hope that things got back to normal snappish.
"I'm sure he's fine though." Arthur assured her, batting a hand through the air before folding it back over his knees, using it to prop himself up; somehow, that seemed to set him up perfectly for his next bout of uncertain interrogation, his expression vacillating as if he knew what to say, but wasn't sure if he should say it, "Are you fine?"
"I'm always fine, Arthur." Deborah replied shortly; when she saw the way that his expression drooped just a little, the rush of guilt to her stomach made her sit a little straighter, to lean against the centre arm of her seat, and smile as best as she could, "Thank you, though, regardless."
"Naw, you're welcome." Arthur shot back, grinning as if the gesture were put on specifically for her sake; after a moment, he glanced away from her, his hand shifting to flick carelessly at what was mercifully the dud switch that she and Martin had taped up without really knowing what it was.
"So, Arthur…" Deborah started, then stopped and cleared her throat awkwardly as his eyes flicked back to hers, and he waited patiently for her to continue, a faint hum of recognition his only sound; she had wanted entertainment, and here he was, but Deborah had been nothing but a misery; it was time to rectify that, "Is anything interesting happening in your life lately? It's been a while since I caught up."
"No, not really." Arthur replied, shrugging as if it were no matter; but his voice took on that airy edge that Deborah had learnt to doubt in recent years, "My life's the same as ever, mostly."
"No girls?" Deborah inquired softly; if she was honest with herself, she was starting to worry about Arthur. He was as cheerful as ever, of course, and seemed to have no problem with the way that his life was going, but now that she was with Martin, and Carolyn was…something with Herc, it was a little troubling to see someone as lovely as Arthur alone.
Not alone…he had them. He deserved more, but he wasn't alone, per say.
"No." Arthur remarked regretfully, ejecting a puff of air through his lips like a shoddy lone ranger; just like that, Deborah realised that this would be the same sort of talk that they had once held in an empty bar in Ireland, "Mum says that I should go out and meet some, but I know what she means, and that's not really…it's not the sort of thing I'm good at."
"No, it's not is it." Deborah agreed solemnly, letting the corners of her lips curl encouragingly, as she lifted her hand to bump against his; Arthur may have been cherished lovingly by the three of them at MJN, but she was well aware that he wasn't adapted to the harshness of the real world; it would be a shame to taint his happy world view by forcing 'normality', "There aren't any other ways of meeting people? Points of common interest perhaps?"
"Well, yeah, that's a good idea, but…" Arthur started to explain, but he couldn't quite finish, and simply trailed off again, looking helplessly into Deborah's eyes until she felt uncomfortably like the brown orbs were begging her to make it better; maybe that was just her own flawed perception of her role talking.
"Your social life's not exactly thriving." Deborah concluded for him; she couldn't exactly lie for him.
"No." Arthur replied shortly, pouting just a tad as if he were disgruntled with his own social ineptitude; as sad as it was, it was true that what made Arthur so special, his rare ability to see the good in everything, and his startling perception for the moral good, was also what aided his isolation. Arthur Shappey, Deborah mused, was one of those acquired tastes that no one even tried because the colours were too blinding.
"What you need Arthur, is for a nice woman to fall from the sky." Deborah remarked wryly, smirking genuinely at him as she leaned across to thwack his elbow again, drawing him from his stupor before he could truly sink into it.
"Yeah." Arthur sighed, exhaling as if the weight of the world were on his shoulders, propped in turn with his chin on his open palms, "But gently, so that she doesn't hurt herself."
"Hmmm." Deborah hummed fondly and sat back comfortably in her seat, hand still hanging in the air between them as she twirled it idly, "I know for a fact that there's a certain type of woman that would be blown away when you say things like that."
"Really?" Arthur's face lit up momentarily, and he seemed to inflate somewhat like a balloon at the idea; that was more like it.
"Yes." Deborah assured him; this was quite nice actually, sitting like a knowledgeable queen in her pilot's seat and distributing her wisdom with a smile and a relaxed swing in her limbs, "Even I can appreciate that you're a sweetheart, if not anywhere near my type."
"Thank you." Arthur replied, though he didn't seem quite so sure about whether she meant it.
"I mean it." Deborah promised seriously; she thought for a moment, and came up with nothing that might comfort him, which only served to steel her determination all the more, "Oh, there's got to be some way that I could find someone for you, and just point them in your direction."
"Has your social life become more thrilling lately?" Arthur inquired sweetly; in anyone else, it might have been facetious, but Deborah decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, as his gaze didn't falter.
"I'm going to assume that you're being simple not smarmy." Deborah remarked dryly, schooling her expression which seemed to be wavering between a smirk and a frown.
"I'm not being rude." Arthur assured her quickly, waving his palms through the air in a universal sign of surrender, "It's just, the last I knew, even though you're amazing at bars and around lots of people, you don't actually do all of those things. You hang out with me, and with Skip; mostly with Skip, but with me too."
"Yes, I understand." Deborah stopped him before he could ramble much longer; there was only one thing that she could think of to help him, and although usually she would have discarded the thought, lately, she could use the distraction, "Arthur, if you really want to go out and meet people, then I would be happy to go with you and be social."
"You mean like at a bar?" Arthur replied, his forehead crinkling in bewilderment as he visibly tried to process the idea.
"Not necessarily." Deborah elaborated, already feeling her flash of inspiration begin to crumble under her own inspection, as she curled her hand through the air, little concentric circles giving her time to formulate sentences, "I'm sure there are social things in Fitton…book clubs?...societies?...quaint pubs where the regulars all know each other…"
On second thoughts, that was a terrible idea, and Arthur was fine how he was; the very last thing that Deborah wanted to be doing with her time was trawling around Fitton trying to fit in with people that she had never held any interest in before.
"Yeah…" Arthur nodded slowly, but he didn't sound convinced; thank the lord for small mercies, Deborah mused, "I've seen them, but it looks like you already have to be part of them to get in."
"Like cults." Deborah remarked, staring at the edge of the control panel as she recalled the few political gatherings, and large groups of people that she had actually witnessed in her many years living in Fitton, "That's the only problem with small towns like Fitton; unless you were born here and never left, you're on your own."
The door to the flight-deck swung open with a swish, and as Deborah turned to peer over the back of her seat, it was to see Martin striding in, head down as he slipped his phone into his pocket; Arthur rose to his feet immediately, and began slipping through the gap between the seats, and it wasn't until they were level that Martin lifted his chin.
"Oh, hello you two." Martin greeted them, a smile making its way onto his lips for only a moment before he was overcome with preoccupation and focused on Deborah, guiding Arthur past him with a waved hand, tripping slightly on his abandoned flight-bag, "Ready to go?"
"That we are, Captain." Deborah replied brightly, earning a quick nod as he dropped into his seat and began inspecting the controls; she tore her eyes from his faintly flushed face, swallowing a trickle of regret, and turned to catch Arthur's attention before he disappeared into the Galley, "Arthur, think about what I said, alright?"
"Alright." Arthur promised, nodding thoughtfully and smiling gratefully as he turned on his heel and stepped backwards through the open door, "Thanks Deborah."
With that the door swung shut and Deborah settled back into her seat, only to find Martin peering at her curiously, biting down on his bottom lip as he tried to appear that he wasn't as interested as he really was.
"What was that about?" Martin asked evasively; although his head was turned towards her, the rest of him was stiffly facing forwards, one hand curled around yoke. It was obvious that even though he had spent the past hour on his own, he was itching not to be left out of what had been going on elsewhere.
"Arthur's dreary social life." Deborah answered dramatically, releasing her poised posture and shifting until she was sat, back against her seat, ready to fly if needs be; she quirked her eyebrows at him, smiling wanly, hoping that this meant he was back to talking normally to her, rather than skirting around a subject and then petering into silence as he had been recently, "It's reaching our levels of dreariness."
"O-our life isn't dreary." Martin insisted, his eyes blowing wide as his eyebrows leapt to his hairline; he was unusually frantic as he said it, and Deborah couldn't help but wonder what had got him so worked up, like he was resting on a string pulled taut, "We go out all the time, all over the world."
"We barely spend time with other people." Deborah remarked fairly, cocking her head to the side as Martin still didn't relax, the tension in his shoulders actually increasing, until she was fighting the impulse to reach across and ease the knots herself.
"B-but we spend time with Carolyn, and Arthur, a-and with the grounds crew occasionally, a-and every now and then a foreign person talks to us." Martin stuttered, worryingly nervous for what on any other day would have been a conversation founded on teasing and frivolity, "W-why, are you unhappy?"
"What?" Deborah retorted, her expression pinching as she sat a little straighter, hands curling around the arms of her seat; that wasn't what she meant at all, not even a little bit, and Martin couldn't be allowed to think that for a moment, "No, I'm not unhappy, Martin, it was just a passing remark. If anything, being private people means that what might be social events for some turn into romantic events; we couldn't do that if it wasn't just the two of us, now could we?"
There hadn't be any signs that there was something wrong with their relationship, not this time round, but Deborah's chest clenched and fluttered uncomfortably at how jumpy Martin seemed, even as he visibly made an effort to calm himself.
"N-no, I suppose not." Martin replied, plastering on a strained smile and blushing; he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, knocking his hat forwards on his head, and stilled imperceptibly, though he continued to fidget, "Sorry, I just got worried then – n-not worried, I just, I-I-I, if you wanted to do more things, l-like…um…uh…social things…uh…"
"No, Martin, I don't want to." Deborah assured him hastily, reaching across the gap between them to take his hand and hold it, squeezing firmly, so that there couldn't be a flicker of doubt in his mind as to how she felt, "If anything, I get out of the house more since we got together than I did when I was on my own."
"Okay. That's okay." Martin murmured, once he had stared into her eyes for a moment that felt like a lifetime; she didn't know what he was looking for, or why he looked so confused, the bridge of his nose crinkling adorably, but that had to be good enough for now, "Um, post take-off checks?"
oOoOoOo
Half an hour into the flight, and despite Deborah's many attempts to get Martin to take part in her game, he remained worryingly detached, responding to her pleasantly, only to drift off into thought immediately, gazing wordlessly into the sky with a little crease sitting at the bridge of his nose.
It wasn't as if Martin was ignoring her; he replied to everything that Deborah said to him. Then he stopped and went back into his own little bubble of a world, that apparently she wasn't allowed to be a part of. That was what was so upsetting; Deborah tried to quash the niggling of discomfort in her guts, but she just couldn't.
The best thing about Martin was that he was always talking to her, be the subject matter good or bad, he was almost never silent; the odd lack of communication was eerily familiar, and she didn't like it. But rather than suspect Martin of the crimes that her previous partners had committed, her trust in him complete despite his general incompetence, Deborah instead sat and mulled over the churning in her abdomen that said she must have being doing something wrong.
"Martin, are you alright?" Deborah inquired tentatively, when the strain of waiting for some sign became too much; she glanced briefly at his face, long enough to see the look of surprise flash across his cheeks, before she focused on the flashing of the controls under her hands.
"Yes." Martin replied quickly, his shock genuine; there was no doubt about that, nor in the way his fidgeting ceased and he turned to stare at her, confusion pinching every inch of his face, as if she had sprouted wings in front of him, "Why wouldn't I be alright?"
"Good…good." Deborah muttered, aiming for nonchalance but missing entirely; that left only one reason for Martin's distance from her, and it was better to talk it through before she could lose the nerve; she and Martin were good at talking, "So…am I doing something wrong?"
"What?" Martin sounded as if she had spoken the most shocking thing known to man, and stared at her in disbelief; she didn't lift her gaze, but could feel his eyes on her, and his hand hovering inches above hers, "No, of course you're not! Why would you even think that?"
"Because, and forgive me if I'm wrong, you've been a little…" Deborah sighed, and lifted her chin, meeting Martin's gaze and instantly choking on a surge of guilt at the light in his eyes that threatened to topple over the precipice into hurt, "Distant this week."
"Have I? I-I didn't mean to." Martin spoke slowly, and carefully, and Deborah schooled her expression as she watched the emotions wash over his face; then he stared into the middle distance, 'oh-ing' as if in understanding, and slumped back into his seat hard enough to make her jump, throwing his palms over his face to let out a groan, "Oh, god, I'm sorry – you're not doing anything wrong, I promise. I love you so much, you're not doing anything wrong."
"Okay…alright…" Deborah said softly, hurriedly, nudging the controls and then leaning across the gap between them to place a soothing hand on Martin's upper arm; at her touch he dropped his hands onto the arms of his seat, and turned his head, hat tipping atop it as he rested against the back of his seat, "Then what's the matter?"
"Nothing's the matter." Martin groaned hopelessly, he slipped his arm from her grasp and clasped the same hand around hers, winding their fingers together and blinking imploringly at her, "Deborah, honestly, there's nothing wrong."
"Then what-" Deborah started, before Martin could cut her off; there was something wrong, that much was obvious, and he knew what it was. He just wasn't telling her.
"I'm…there's a lot on my mind at the moment." Martin explained wearily; he made it sound as if that were a weight off his chest, but Deborah thought that he had simply shifted it onto hers, "That's all."
"Things that you can't share with me?" Deborah asked curtly, trying her best to hide the prickle of a pout that threatened to appear on her lips; it wasn't the law that he shared everything with her, even if she wished it so.
"N-n-no I can share – I will share." Martin assured her, giving her hand a little squeeze and smiling as if it were good to be sharing; if only he actually was sharing, the humming of the engines wouldn't seem like such an invasion on their space, "Just, not yet, g-give me a little while, then I'll fill you in."
"Okay." Deborah replied, possibly a bit too quickly; if he didn't want to tell her, then he didn't have to. That was fine, she wouldn't nag; let him keep his secrets…it couldn't be too bad, he wasn't talented enough to lie to her for any length of time.
"Debs, honestly, everything's alright." Martin insisted, clearly not getting the message that she was sending as she turned until she was facing the sky, and ran her eyes over the control panel, pretending to check the meters, "I promise, there's nothing to worry about."
"I'm not worried." Deborah retorted, pulling her hand from his under the guise of tapping the altimeters.
"If you say so." Martin muttered, exhaling audibly and retracting his hand, as if it were her that was being strange, "I promise, we're fine."
"And I believe you." Deborah replied shortly, turning back to shoot him a stiff smile, tucking her hair behind her shoulders and settling back as well as she could; she did believe him. She had no doubt that he was deep in thought about something or other, and that if he said he would tell her, then he would…that didn't make it any easier to accept that and put her own pride aside.
"Really?" Martin asked, blue eyes boring hopefully into hers, as his fingers rapped nervously on the controls; oh, it was horrible of him to hold such sway over her…but the fluttering it instilled in her chest still held that familiar warmth that she rather liked.
"Really." Deborah informed him, sighing and letting her eyes flutter closed before she met Martin's gaze, smiling as genuinely as she could this time, "We're alright."
"Good, yes we are." Martin agreed, in his Captainly voice, nodding and then falling silent; the silence only lasted for a moment though, as this time he fidgeted and shot her sideways glances; apparently her words had had an impact, "Right…wh-what was the game you had going?"
oOoOoOo
Normally it was Martin's job to sort out the arrival at the airport; talking to the managers, ordering more fuel, all of those sorts of things were the Captain's job according to him, and he had done them on each flight that he had been on since the start of his employment. Not today however; today he had told Deborah that he had to run ahead to sort something out, and now she was ticking off the finishing touches and dismissing the grounds crews, with no Captain in sight.
"Where's Martin gone now?" Carolyn demanded as she sidled up to Deborah, watching the manager turn his back and walk away; apparently she wasn't the only one to notice the odd edge to Martin's behaviour. The last hour of the flight had gone pleasantly, and Martin had been his usual chatty self; however, that did nothing to alleviate the uncomfortable chill in the pit of Deborah's lungs.
"He's run ahead to the hotel to 'finalise' things." Deborah replied wanly, folding her arms over her chest; then she paused instead of stepping away, and turned to glare, eyebrows knitted, down at Carolyn, "Why is he in charge of the hotel today? I thought that was your job."
"Oh, I don't know, and I don't particularly care." Carolyn remarked flippantly, straightening her suit jacket out, although it was barely out of place from watching the cargo get unloaded; when she clocked the expression on Deborah's face, her tone softened slightly, as if she were excusing herself, "He asked and I let him. One less thing for me to do."
"I care." Deborah pouted, glancing towards where Arthur was emerging from within GERTI when Carolyn's stare became too unsettling; she didn't shuffle her feet, but it was extremely tempting, "He's left me to sort out all of his normal jobs."
"You mean the calculations and ordering more fuel?" Carolyn snorted, cocking an eyebrow and surveying Deborah's petulant posture; she shook her head and smirked with a sour enjoyment, the sort that she always got when she thought that Deborah was flailing, "I think it's wonderful seeing you scrunch your face up as you try and force Martin's menial tasks through your brain."
"I'm perfectly capable." Deborah retorted, rolling her eyes and fixing her expression and blinking back at the older woman; it was a terrible habit that the others had gotten into, doubting her abilities and teasing her for once, "I was doing all of this on my own when I was your only employee."
"I remember those days…" Carolyn remarked nostalgically, grinning sadistically and gazing into the distance, a hand over her heart, "MJN was at its most sluggish and debt ridden."
"I'm done with the hovering." Arthur announced as he appeared at Carolyn's shoulder, before Deborah could do much more than scrunch her nose up and sneer at her; he seemed as proud of his task as he ever did, and oblivious to Deborah's disdain, "Are we heading to the hotel now?"
"I don't know." Carolyn replied cheerfully, placing her hands in her pockets and shifting to fall into place beside Arthur, "Are we finished Deborah, or do you need more time to do your sums?"
"We're done here." Deborah sighed, taking one last look at the bustling hangar; there was no point putting off the inevitable, "Let's go and see how much damage Martin's managed to cause on his own."
oOoOoOo
Deborah's day just kept getting odder, and by now, she would be perfectly happy just getting into bed and going to sleep; it would be so much easier if Martin was either treating her well, or badly, but as it was, she had no idea how she was supposed to be reacting to him. It wasn't that she wanted to fight…but it would be simpler to sort out in the long run.
The moment that they had entered the hotel lobby, Martin had rushed to her side, grinning and rocking on his heels, his cheeks flushed with the excitement that he was practically vibrating with; he handed Carolyn and Arthur their room keys, and then took Deborah's flight-bag from her against her protests, throwing it over his shoulder and taking her hand in his, entwining their fingers and pulling her towards the lift.
She had tried to ask him what was going on, but Martin had simply brushed her off; it wasn't even like Deborah could complain, as he was being warmer to her than he had been in a week, to the point where the aura of affection surrounding him was tangible, warming her from the centre of her chest as he fiddled with her hair, standing behind her and massaging her shoulders almost subconsciously.
The one thing that Deborah could complain about was the way that Martin's hands moved to cover the upper half of her face the moment that the lift doors swished open; her own hands had darted up to pull his back enough that only his long fingers covered her eyes, but Martin's frantic and comforting murmuring and stuttering in her ears stopped her from spoiling whatever it was that he was doing.
Whatever he was doing…at the moment, his plan, whatever it was that he had been thinking over for the best part of a week now, seemed to involve a lot of tripping and bumping into walls, which was enough to stop her from truly lowering her arms, so Deborah allowed Martin to guide her half way down the hall, the tips of her fingers pressing small points into his wrists, before saying another word, while Martin kept up a litany of 'this way', 'here', 'there', 'that's it'.
"Martin, that's the third time you've tripped me up since the lift." Deborah noted as her elbow caught on another corner, and Martin stumbled into her back, only managing to keep their balance by some sort of miracle, "Why can't I see where we're going?"
"Because, I said you can't." Martin replied curtly, the beam evident in his voice as his breath brushed past her ear, and his arms curled more securely around her, as if to guide her more certainly through the halls.
"But I know what the room number is." Deborah reminded him airily, smirking when he ground to a halt, making her stumble as his arms remained fixed around her; she was sly enough to know that he must have something lined up for her, and she dreaded to think what it was.
"Oh…sorry." Martin mumbled, and stepped away from her; Deborah had to blink hard against the harshness of the hotel's overhead lights, but her vision returned swiftly enough for her to lay her eyes on Martin digging his hands into his pockets, cheeks scarlet, bottom lip pink between his teeth, "I suppose you can look where we're going."
"Thank you." Deborah replied, genuinely relieved to have her sight back; she stepped back to Martin's side and hooked her arm through his, stroking her thumb over the crook of his elbow, just the way he liked it, "Now, what is this all about? An hour ago you were barely saying a word to me, now you can barely keep your hands off me; I'm actually starting to worry about you."
"There's no need to worry – absolutely no need to be worried." Martin assured her in his most un-reassuring tone of voice, as he started up his sluggish pace of before, swaying with each step he took; they were nearly at their room anyway, so Deborah chose not to rush him, "It's a nice surprise, really."
"Hold on, Martin." Deborah instructed, tugging on his arm until he looked down at her, giving her his full attention for the first time in a week; after a week not knowing where she stood, he deserved a little interrogation, "All of this has been because you want to surprise me?"
"No, not yet!" Martin exclaimed quickly, and he lurched from her grasp to thud into the door to their room, pressing his arm against it as his other hand rifled through his pocket for the key card, "J-just wait, just one more moment…here."
The door swung open, and Deborah rolled her eyes, shaking her head and folding her arms loosely at her front as she smiled fondly at him and strode inside; she had been expecting their usual brand of shoddy room accompanied by whatever Martin had lined up for her, but she was proved wrong. Deborah came to a halt so suddenly that Martin bumped into the back of her as he pulled the door shut behind them and flicked the lights on, revealing the full extent of his surprise.
The room was actually…nice…it was a lovely room, with lots of space and a double bed, a wide window that didn't look out over the car park or some other horrible scene; the lobby hadn't been that impressive, so it must have been one of the nicest rooms that the hotel had to offer. And the rest of it…the rest of it made a surge of warm affection swell in Deborah's chest, and her hand wander up to cover her lips and hide the stunned expression that she was sure she was making.
It wasn't like a scene from the terrible movies that Harry used to be so fond of, but coming from Martin, it was lovely; there were no petals scattered everywhere, because she just knew that Martin would have thrown a fit at the idea of the mess, but there were vases here and there, and on the dressing table beside the television, bottles that looked like they might contain champagne, or something similar.
"Oh…wh…" Deborah found herself a little breathless as she tried to turn back to look Martin in the eye, only to have him step to her side, his arm curled around her waist, his hand a comforting weight against the centre of her back, rubbing small circles into her skin, "What's this for?"
"For you." Martin replied as if it were obvious; he gnawed on his bottom lip and blushed furiously, and even nudged her slightly into the room, hugging closer to her as he guided her in.
"Why?" Deborah asked faintly, unable to move past the jarring in her brain and the sudden stillness of her lungs; it was lovely, and romantic, and explained his evasiveness the past week, but she couldn't quite get her head around the suddenness of such a display of affection; that…none of her previous partners had ever just done things, "Martin-"
"Before you say anything, we're still financially in the clear." Martin declared hastily, slipping away from her to step between her and the room, his hands raised in surrender, "I've been saving up for years now, and this was hardly anything really-"
The lack of his usual pride in such matters, the brutal honesty of it all delivered with a tentative smile, was enough to wash light breath back through her veins, and Deborah had to press her palm a little harder against her chest to hold in the flood of emotion that threatened to drown her as the romance of the moment finally, finally crashed down on her shoulders.
"I wasn't going to ask, darling, that's alright." Deborah sighed, shaking her head and fighting a smile, her lips pressed together in case too much emotion might make her tear up, and ruin the whole thing; instead she tread towards him, dropping her hands and lifting them imperceptibly towards him.
"Good, g-good." Martin managed to say through shuddering breath, his chest heaving as he took her hands in the tips of his fingers, winding them together and swinging his wrists ever so slightly; the pleasant tingle that that produced made the smile spread from Deborah's lips to her cheeks, and she dropped her eyes to trace the places where their hands were linked, "So, what do you think?" when Deborah didn't answer, Martin's voice dipped lower, and he cocked his head to try and meet her gaze, "Dear?...love?...Deborah…?"
"I-I…it's lovely." Deborah replied, inhaling sharply as she tilted her head back to meet his gaze, thrown again by the depth of emotion in his eyes; logically she should have accepted the gesture, but she needed to know, for her own peace of mind, "Martin, what is this for?"
"It's for showing you how much I love you." Martin explained, his eyes narrowing as if he were confused as to why he had to explain at all.
"I know that you love me." Deborah remarked, letting out a silent laugh when Martin quirked his eyebrows and smirked that devious, self-satisfied smirk that sat attractively on his face, "I love you too."
"Yes, but, I wanted to show you without words for once." Martin shrugged lopsidedly, as if it were no matter, but Deborah knew otherwise; they still weren't particularly well off, so as a rule, expensive gestures were off the table…and Martin was the type of man who gave all or nothing, so she was well aware how hard it was for him to restrain himself.
"So this is why you've been secretive." Deborah murmured, leaning forwards and bridging the gap between them to place a soft, but lingering peck on the curve above his chin, as his cheeks heated even further under her lips; she took a step back, slipping her hands from his, and turned to survey the room, wandering to trace the tips of her fingers over the velvety edge of a rose.
"Yes." Martin responded brightly, and although she couldn't see him Deborah could imagine him hooking his hands behind him and rocking on his heels, a freckly smile on his face; the thought alone made her pause and her lips tremble slightly as she fingered the flower, and Martin must have picked up on that, as she heard him treading closer across the carpet and asking, "Debs…Deborah what's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong, I'm flattered." Deborah assured him hastily, spinning back to face him and stopping him in his tracks; she had to ask though, "What-why today - I'm not complaining, but we were in Rome two weeks ago….we could've done this at home."
"I know, but I wanted to do this tonight." Martin acknowledged, nodding solemnly; with a sigh, he turned to check behind him, and then stumbled back to drop onto the edge of the bed, folding his arms at the wrist over his lap, "It's important."
"Why? Deborah inquired softly; she walked slowly to perch beside him on the bed, so that their knees bumped against the other, and their arms could rest against each other, a comforting presence no matter what the context.
"Because, a week ago, it was a year since we got back together…" Martin explained gently, turning his head so that he was gazing into her eyes; he didn't sound stressed or upset, so Deborah supposed that she hadn't thrown too much of a wrench in his plans, "So a year since we moved in together as well."
"Oh…" Deborah sighed, more of a breath released against her will; she felt her lips curl at the cornered without her permission, and her chest filled with the roaring flutters that still made her stomach do flips and her throat itch with the need to say something, "that's…sweet. Why not do this last week then?"
"Because today, it's been exactly two years since we got together in the first place." Martin elaborated simply, his eyes tracing the lines of her face as if she were part of a cross-examination, his lip pink under the onslaught from his teeth gnawing nervously at it; it was beautiful, he was beautiful, and Deborah couldn't believe that he would remember something like that, "N-not our first kiss, because that was…"
"It was a farce." Deborah choked out a laugh, and felt her smile grow so bright that she though it must have shone, as Martin's face lit up as if in response, the corners of his eyes crinkling with the effort, "We, um, we messed that one up a bit."
Their first kiss…now that was a memory that had been pushed away when more taxing problems had taken their toll; on the surface, a farce…but now that Deborah thought about it, the images of exhaustion and fun, and of tentatively dipping her toes into the swirling pit of emotions that a failed van job had stirred up from the already extremely present mess…she almost missed the days when she and Martin had first been exploring the something between them, prodding and poking until one of them reacted.
"Yes, exactly." Martin chuckled, and his hand slipped between them to take hers again, a tentative curl around her fingers, like a knight lifting the hand of a lady, "B-but that other first time, wh-when we first, uh, when we first talked about how we felt, a-and started all of this- i-it wasn't a farce, that was great, and I haven't forgotten the date because…well, it was a weird day."
"Quite helpfully weird if I remember correctly." Deborah remarked wryly; so weird in fact, with such weird people, that they had sworn never to speak of it, even when alone, or even to think of it. Of course, every now and then something would remind Deborah of the odd people that had appeared that day, but for the most part, it was a moment in her life that faded into obscurity, kept alive in part by the memory of what it had led to.
"Yeah…it was a bit." Martin murmured, his thumb stroking idly over the back of her knuckles; he was jolted back into slow action when Deborah lifted their hands and pressed her lips to the back of his hand, "So…what do you think?"
"I…I'm not entirely sure what to say." Deborah replied honestly, lifting her head from where she hadn't realised she had dropped it to glance around at the adornments to the room; she was blown away by Martin's wonderful ability to try and sweep her off her feet, even though it had been proved years ago that it was a hard task, so much so that her other partners had just thought that she was mysterious and enigmatic enough not to need it.
Martin…they had known each other for years, from near hatred, to cautious and untrusting friendship, to complete devotion…he still managed to surprise her.
"Just be really happy and smile?" Martin suggested, wincing sheepishly as he grinned at her, "That would be sort of what I was hoping for."
"I am extremely happy." Deborah drawled softly, unable to muster her usual brand of sarcasm; Martin made a little sound that might have been a squeak of triumph, shifting so that the mattress dipped and knocked their legs together more, which only made her laugh all the more, gripping his hand and ducking her eyes, "Is my smile quite what you wanted?"
"It's beautiful." Martin almost hummed, his voice reaching that lower register that made something in Deborah's chest clench and shiver with pleasure, and he leaned in until their foreheads touched, "I mean, you're beautiful."
"You're not bad yourself." Deborah purred, enjoying the intimacy of the moment; then she remembered everything that Martin had set up, and how dismayed he would be if he didn't get to make the most of it, "So, Captain, what was the plan for tonight? Charm with me flowers and then…?"
"Well, I thought that we could go out for dinner, or…" Martin sat back, putting the space back between them as he bit down on his bottom lip, his eyes wandering to his arrangements and then back to her, a sheepish crinkle tugging at his otherwise besotted expression.
"Or what?" Deborah prompted, giving him the little push that he always needed to leap past his lingering insecurities; one day he wouldn't need the push, and she both anticipated and dreaded that day.
"Or, I thought that you might prefer to stay in." Martin concluded, the words coming out as if they were trying to scramble over each other in their bid to kneel before her, "I got roses, and non-alcoholic champagne so that you can drink it too, and we can just relax, be together...watch some of your favourite films – not romantic ones, just ones that you like."
"Ooh, you know me well." Deborah drawled, her eyes wandering unashamedly down to Martin's lips as she wetted hers, and shifted to sit more business-like on the bed, crossing one leg over the other, though she kept a hold of Martin's hands, "I think I'll take the latter offer, thank you very much."
"Right, great, that's good!" Martin responded vigorously, hopping up so that he was kneeling on the bed, and releasing her so that he could reach for the flight-bag that she hadn't even seen him discard, only to begin rifling through it, "I-I've brought some of your favourites – at first I was going to pick out some romantic operas, o-or films, but then I remembered that actually, even though you're classy, and you've got good taste, you love cheesy movies far better."
"So what you've done is snatched some of my DVDs from under the TV?" Deborah inquired fondly, crawling to sit at his shoulder, hands slipping around his bicep, and peer into the carefully arranged contents of his bag as his dextrous hands dug through them.
"Under the bed." Martin corrected her smugly, pausing only to send her a proud little smirk over his shoulder, before he retrieved a stack of worn out boxes, and placed them on the bed, "I know that's where you keep your favourites."
"Alright." Deborah replied, sitting back comfortably and kicking out her legs so that she could watch him bring his legs around to sit cross-legged, facing her with the eagerness that he brought to particularly difficult flights; if he wanted to run things, then perhaps, tonight at least, she could let him, "So which ones have you brought with you?"
"Um…The Addams Family…Batman…" Martin began to reel off distractedly as he glanced at each cover; it became apparent immediately that what Martin had actually done was dig out her favourite films from childhood, all of which had been in a box quite obviously labelled by a teenager, before the video tapes had had to be replaced, "Star Trek ones…Top Gun?"
"I think that's more for you than me." Deborah remarked, poking his thigh with her toe; Martin rolled his eyes, but put Top Gun aside nonetheless, so that he could carry on flicking through the veritable stash that he had managed to sneak past her.
Watching him mutter to himself, so engrossed in his task that romance must have completely abandoned his mind save for as a box to be ticked, Deborah couldn't help but find herself overwhelmed by the warm and pleasant spread of affection that leeched through her veins and prickled at her pores, making her chest swell and ache to pull her as close to him as possible. Maybe it wasn't the most romantic pastime, watching him, still in his uniform, pinch and scrunch his nose as he inspected the objects in his lap, but Deborah thought that she could do it forever, which only served to make her long to be closer to him now.
"Shall I put something on then?" Martin asked after a while, once there were at least three piles of DVDs scattered strategically on one side of the bed; he looked up at Deborah, where she was lying back, propped up on her elbows having shirked her jacket, watching him 'work', and blinked at her patiently.
"No, that can wait." Deborah replied warmly, as she pushed herself up and onto her knees, and shuffled close enough that she could sit in front of Martin, their knees touching, and move the boxes that she had displaced to a safe distance before drawling, "You know Martin, there's no reason that we couldn't cuddle up and watch films later, with some food."
"What do you want to do until then?" Martin asked, wonderfully oblivious as always as his eyes followed the path of her hands, his attention still quite firmly on the task at hand.
"I'm sure we can think of a few things." Deborah purred, shifting a little closer and lifting her hand to brush the back of her knuckles against his cheek; that seemed to get the message across, as immediately Martin pushed the bag from his lap, and she felt his hands move slowly to her waist, "After all, you did put a lot of effort into tonight; I can think of a lot of ways that I could reward you for that."
"Oh, really?" Martin attempted a salacious drawl, but as always, it came out far too Martin-ish to be anything close; nevertheless, that, and the way that the wicked light glinted in his eyes, was enough to convince Deborah that he was absolutely on board for her change of plans. He deserved it after all of his effort.
"Hmmm…" Deborah hummed, and her eyes lidded as Martin pulled her onto his lap, arms wrapping loosely around her waist as his eyes dipped down her face, snapping back up to her eyes as if to prove that he was listening; she must have stilled, physically as well as mentally, as she felt the question at her tongue before it came out far more tentative than she had imagined, "Martin?"
"Yes?" Martin replied, halting in his inspection of her to give her the benefit of his full attention, albeit with hands still playing idly with the material of her shirt.
"I really love you." Deborah said gently, as if withdrawn from even saying such a thing, as she tipped her head down enough to brush the tips of their noses together; she might have said it all the time, but at times like this, when she felt like this…sometimes it still made her falter how much it was actually true.
Martin, it seemed, didn't have that problem.
"I love you too." Martin replied, in that tone of voice that said 'I absolutely mean what I'm saying, but why do you even have to ask?'; it was comforting to know that his steadfast confidence in himself, perhaps not his skills, but himself, was ever constant, "Now, come here."
With that the arms around Deborah's waist tightened, and laughing at the suddenness of it, she found herself being pulled forwards, lips colliding with Martin's as he chuckled, and they flopped back onto the bed.
This is one of the ones that I write and think 'clunky', but I reckon it's worked out alright. A bit more schmoopy than the last one, because I think that's what everyone was hoping for.
I hope you enjoyed it.
