Here's the next chapter, nice and quick.
Thank you everyone who reviewed the last, it always puts a smile on my face
Douglas jolted awake to the sound a glass clattering and steel scraping against the stove. His first thought was of his back, which gave a painful twinge, alerting him to the fact that he had drifted fitfully to sleep in the corner seat of the sofa. Blinking hard to clear his head, he looked blearily towards the kitchen, and saw, not to his surprise, Deborah's back as she shuffled around preparing what he assumed was coffee and breakfast.
It made sense that she was up, humming under her breath in a not unhappy manner, moving without any sense of lethargy; Douglas himself had never had any problems with mornings. True, he cared not for punctuality, but that was less because he slept in of a morning, and more because he had a myriad of things to do in the morning before work.
Martin on the other hand slept in until he was aroused by person or clock, and even then was grouchy and sluggish until coffee had entered his system; no, the Captain managed to be horrifically early to everything through pure force of will.
Deborah glanced over her shoulder, and Douglas was encouraged by the small controlled smile that she shot him before turning back to the stove-top, lifting away the now whistling kettle from the flames; last night's events aside, there did not appear to be any residual discomfort between them.
With a groan as his joints protested, Douglas heaved himself from the cushioned confines of the sofa and, taking a moment to allow the blood to rush away from his head and for the momentary dizziness to subside, wandered into the kitchen and leant tentatively against the counter. Deborah continued to pour four mugs of coffee as bacon sizzled at her elbow, but the humming had ceased, and Douglas waited patiently for her to engage him; he knew well enough that should he enter into the conversation that he wanted the wrong way, she would clam up and refuse to take it seriously – as would he.
After a few moments of indeterminate clattering, which Douglas was certain was a stalling tactic, Deborah turned on her heel, leaning back and gripping the counter behind her, meeting Douglas' gaze with a no-nonsense glare; she was dressed for work, with her shirt untucked, but her hair was loose and fell lightly around her shoulders, making it appear a lighter shade of chestnut as it floated with the movement.
"Right…well, I'm not going to grasp at words to explain or defend myself; I don't see why I should need to." Deborah stated plainly, but Douglas could detect a steely edge to her otherwise clipped tone; her eyes were wide and unwavering, "So I suggest that you say whatever it is that you've been working on since last night."
Douglas swallowed back the indignant retort that formed at the tip of his tongue, and settled instead for nodding respectfully at the woman in front of him, who accepted this without a word, the tension leaving her shoulders as she siphoned off some of her attention to mind the bacon. He couldn't deny that he had been unsettled by Deborah's entrance the previous night; it had thrown him through a loop, and he still wasn't sure if he was comfortable with the idea. But it wasn't any of his business, not really, and save for his precious sensitivities, didn't need to affect him; after hours of running every confrontation and denial through his head, Douglas had eventually come to realise that all he could ask for was to understand for his own peace of mind.
"Exactly what are your feelings regarding your Martin…and why Martin?" Douglas inquired stiltedly, realising only once he had said the words that they had been unnecessarily harsh and accusatory.
Deborah took this in her stride, maintaining her stern façade while quirking a solitary eyebrow in recognition, nodding imperceptibly in a way that Douglas was sure was reassurance that she knew he didn't mean to be cruel. Inhaling measuredly, ducking her eyes to gather her thoughts, Deborah folded her arms neatly over her chest before meeting Douglas' gaze. There was no trace of guilt, but perhaps some uncertainty, and…Douglas thought it might have been pity, but he couldn't be sure.
"Martin is my closest friend…I…am extremely fond of him, I care about him as a friend and in regards to certain…romantic feelings." Deborah reeled off a list, and the way that she held Douglas' gaze, he was sure that she was being deliberately provocative, "What would you like me to say? You saw how I feel about Martin."
"I just don't understand how!" Douglas replied testily, squaring his jaw and knuckling down in order that he could face Deborah without wavering, despite the tenseness of his voice; his grip on the counter behind him increased, "How does one – one who is in essence me – connect the ideas of Martin and romance? I've spent as long as you have with mine, and I have yet to fall in love with the man!"
Deborah rolled her eyes, and a small but almost unconscious smile curled the tip of her lips.
"Love doesn't happen over time, that just solidifies the relationship." She remarked, as if this were common knowledge that Douglas should have been aware of; as loathe as he was to admit it, the sentiment did appeal to his inner romantic, "Falling in love with someone happens in a split second; all the time after that is just realising what you're feeling, acknowledging that, accepting it, and then deciding whether or not to act on it."
Douglas pursed his lips at the self-gratuitous smile on Deborah's face, and then stopped when he realised how petulant that made him look, and that it only confirmed his agreement.
"My point still stands that I have yet to encounter any such moment with my Martin, and doubt that I ever will..." he argued, and held Deborah's brown eyed gaze; if that was how it felt to argue with him, then he actually felt sorry for all the times that he had glared so condescendingly down at Martin and Arthur; shoulders sagging, Douglas asked with genuine cautious curiosity, "What do you think made you fall so head over heels for your gallant Captain?"
"I, uh…" Deborah trailed off, mouth opening and closing delicately, and her eyes dropped to trace the floor, glazing over slightly; when she answered, it was in a slow measured tone, which was tinged with a subtle wondering sentimentality, "We were on stand-by – this was about a year after Martin joined MJN…and he made me laugh, I can't remember what about, and then he said," at this she broke off and released a nostalgic, sighed laugh before continuing, "he said he'd wanted to be an aeroplane…it was just such a Martin thing to say, I just...it was such an 'oh darling' moment, and I…well, I was far nicer to him after that." Deborah concluded, finally meeting Douglas' eyes again, "I can't say that in that moment I thought I was in love with him though."
Douglas swallowed awkwardly, nodding without much more of an idea as to how to respond; he eyed the edge of the faux marble counter where his fingers currently picked at the same spot that it appeared Deborah had picked many times.
"I know that Martin has certain…redeeming features- he's my closest friend for a reason – but really," Douglas sighed, shaking his head at his own inability to understand Deborah's motivations; it was the fuel underneath the fires of his own internal conflict, "why are you so enamoured by him?"
Deborah shrugged and took a moment to adjust the temperature on the stove, shifting the bacon around in the pan and inhaling deeply to breathe in the wafting scent; Douglas didn't push, but he wished that she would see the urgency of his requests…perhaps she did, and thought that he would be better for the wait. To the soundtrack of fizzling crackles, Deborah turned back to Douglas and shrugged again, her face open as if their discussion were no serious matter.
"He's just…he's Martin…he's…he's funny." She explained, and Douglas' temper flared inconsequentially at the banality of the statement.
"I know for a matter of fact that Martin is terrible at jokes, in fact he actively fails in his execution of them." Douglas remarked , pressing himself back into the counter for a lack of anything better to do.
Deborah had to audacity to laugh at this, a low, trilling and curling sound. Douglas raised his eyebrows in warning, but Deborah ploughed on, posture slumping as her arms extended in their hold upon the counter behind her, and her head actually tipped back, making her hair catch in the light coming in through the window.
"But that's funny!" she insisted, ignoring Douglas' contemptuous frown, "He messes up so beautifully, it's funny – not just in a ha-ha way…he's just funny. And he does manage to be deliberately funny when he's relaxed; when there aren't any passengers and it's just us."
Douglas exhaled loudly, just so that he could expel his frustrations adequately without storming out in a strop, which he was very much inclined to do in that moment; he thought that he heard a growl escape his lips, but he couldn't bring himself to care – it was that or feel like a grounded child in a warped reflection of his own home.
"I still find it hard to believe that someone with my feelings, my personality, my…self-ness, would fall in love with Martin on the basis that he's funny." Douglas muttered, loud enough for Deborah to hear, and nod, letting out an 'ah' of understanding.
"Oh, I see what your problem is." She announced, and Douglas glanced up at her, staring expectantly for her to reveal whatever sizzling epiphany she had come to, "Regardless of how we're the same, Douglas, I'm not you. And you are not me, and so just because I love Martin, does not mean that you have to…I mean, you might, but I don't think you do."
Despite her assurance, Douglas was thankful that she was close enough to him that he didn't have to open up himself; Deborah may be fine talking about her feelings and such, but he wasn't about to do that, not any time soon.
Douglas opened his mouth to state exactly where the flaws in her hypothesis were, regarding the radical extent of his inner conflict, the turbulent mess of feelings that he was struggling to attach to Martin, and a variety of other stray thoughts that had been haunting him in a way they had never done before he had arrived in that damned universe, but Deborah cut him off, raising one fingers elegantly into the air to shut him up while her other hand moved the frying pan from the heat and onto the colder stove top.
"Look at it this way," Deborah suggested, taking on a tone that Douglas thought she might have used when settling disputes with Other-Arthur, "If your Martin were to come to you and say that he had had a think, and that he's madly in love with you, in the physical and emotional sense…how would you react?"
Thrown off slightly, Douglas thought quickly, answering with his instinctual reaction; he thought that he could see where Deborah was going, but it was too soon to hope.
"Well… I mean, I'd be flattered, obviously; considering how often he complains about me, any declaration of affection would be a massive compliment-" Douglas caught sight of the look on Deborah's face and eased his grip on the counter behind him, clearing his throat, "But I can't say that I would return said sentiments…I am happy to have him as my friend, my best friend, but I don't wish to enter a relationship with the man-"
"There's your answer!" Deborah interjected, extending her hand before her and thinning her lips in an 'isn't it obvious' expression that Douglas wanted to wipe away and simultaneously adopt himself, as for the first time since the previous morning, chatting to Carolyn in the Porta-Cabin, he felt the choking fog begin to lift within his head.
"So what you're saying is that due to mine and Martin's genders and sexualities, I am destined to spend the rest of my life alone." Douglas verified, in a plaintive tone, edging towards sarcasm but falling at the last hurdle.
Deborah scoffed and shook her head, drawing a hand carelessly through her loose hair.
"Just because you're not in love with him in a romantic sense doesn't mean you can't love him to bits in a platonic sense." She drawled, in a melodic, all knowing lilt that Douglas supposed was meant to make her sound authoritative and confident, "You could both lose your jobs but it wouldn't matter so long as you stuck together."
Douglas hummed in assent, and watched as Deborah turned her attentions back to the kitchen, placing bacon and bread onto separate plates (taken from the correct cupboards according to his kitchen), and muttering that if they (Douglas assumed she meant Martin and Arthur) wanted to eat they'd have to get up and find it.
An almost peaceful calm, or as near to it as he could get given the circumstances, seemed to settle over Douglas; with the internal conflict over his own feelings towards Martin apparently so easily laid bare before him, it was like a weighty cloud being wafted slowly but surely from the backs of those beneath it. Another thought occurred, and spurred on by his regained sense of universal certainty, Douglas threw tact to the wind.
"So do you think your Martin would still fancy you if you were male?" he inquired, allowing some of his usual swagger to enter his voice.
As he had expected, rather than reacting with offence or throwing something at him, Deborah took it in her stride and actually smirked lasciviously.
"I actually asked him that last night, after we got past the fumbling and spluttering," Deborah revealed, and Douglas thanked the fates that she didn't elaborate, though the glint in her eyes told him that she could have if she pleased.
"And?" he prompted, earning another self-satisfied smirk.
"After saying 'yes of course I would like you, we're friends'." Deborah, Douglas had to admit, was as excellent a mimic as he was, and mirrored Martin's accent with a practiced fondness, "he did comment on my far superior aesthetic appeal and, um, well," she dropped her voice into a sultry drawl, "made some other rather naughtier comments before remembering that he was a professional and an upstanding gentleman and spluttering out an apology."
Deborah's expression had lit up into one of complete adoration, as her eyes darkened and misted as she gazed somewhere between her hands and the opposite counter, and her lips melted into an involuntary seductive smile.
"It was very funny." She concluded on a lighter note; Douglas, however felt a familiar surge of victory and the charming thrill that came with possessing a hand full of metaphorical cards.
He knew exactly which side of Martin Crieff Deborah was talking about, he had seen it many a time, when the Captain let his guard down and joined in the games, or the schemes. He also recognised that look on her face, even if it was distorted through the less of contorted gender.
"Oh, I see." Douglas drew out the syllables as well as he could, savouring each one as Deborah raised one eyebrow delicately, daring him to go on, "All that rubbish about Martin being funny was just a cover up for what you really like, and that's-"
"He's a little shit." Deborah interrupted, unabashed; Douglas halted, looking the woman up and down appraisingly; he wouldn't have worded it quite like that, but he was intrigued to hear what point she was going to make, "On the surface Martin's all prissy and assertive, and a bit of an arse, but underneath…well, he's still an arse," she conceded, earning a cursory nod before she continued, "but he's also a mischievous little shit, with a very naughty mind."
"I can believe that," Douglas added with a low chuckle, "On one of our recent trips he actually came up with a scheme involving fraud and kidnapping Mr B."
"Oh Darling," Deborah muttered wistfully, as if Martin could hear her say it, before meeting Douglas' gaze with a cheerful grin, "He is a sweetheart though."
"Really?" Douglas retorted; his back gave a cursory twinge, as if to tell him that if he didn't move he would suffer later, but Douglas couldn't bring himself to walk away from the most fruitful conversation he had had in a very long time, so he settled himself as comfortably as he could against the faux marble.
Deborah crossed the space to place a warm cup of coffee in his hand, and place a plate of still steaming bacon beside his elbow (which he ignored, still too unsettled to want to eat – he'd see how the coffee went, and then have a go). When she rested against the counter opposite him, hands curled around her own mug, it was with another adoring, wistful glow that she started speaking, slowly, as if testing the words.
"A while ago, I think it was the trip before the bird-strike in St Petersburg, we were in this bar in Madrid, and I'm not sure how it happened, but some pilots from another airline must have seen the stripes on Martin's sleeve and they joined us at the bar." Douglas watched the way that Deborah's smile slipped and her eyes darkened, but remained silent despite his misgivings, "I think Martin was counting his lucky stars that they just assumed we were a proper airline, so he was having a good old laugh with them – as much as one can when one is terminally oblivious to proper social traditions…anyway," she shook her head as she shook away the tangent, "they were a bit leery, stared a bit too much at my chest, which I can cope with – I'm used to it. I went to the other side of the bar to get Martin and I another drink each, partly to get away from the bloody misogynists, and when I get back," at this Deborah's face lit up slightly, and she adopted a look of detached amazement, which only piqued Douglas' curiosity, "when I get back, they're all standing apart, and Martin has got his grumpy Captain face on and is telling them, and I quote, she is a skilled and talented professional, and will be treated with the same amount of respect as any other member of my crew. And then he decided that we were leaving."
"Martin said that?" Douglas asked, trying not to sound as if he had just been told that unicorns existed. It sounded like a Martin-y thing to try and say, but the sentiment behind it was off – then again, if he was in love with her, then the man had taken a golden opportunity to level the playing field.
"Well, there was a lot more spluttering, and he made that funny noise with his throat." Deborah answered with a conspiratorial smile, which Douglas nodded in return to, sharing his inward despair, even as Deborah regained the swooning glow that Douglas was starting to resent once again, if only because he wanted her attention in that moment, "It was good though…he's really learnt to be assertive without coming across as such an arse."
Douglas let out another warm chuckle, and Deborah took this as her cue to begin sliding the used pans into the sink. It was strange, he thought, that just a few hours previous he had been tearing himself apart over the idea of Deborah and Other-Martin holding even a lingering affection for each other, and now here he was, accepting it to an extent.
He had been have some sort of crisis about whether he should be in love with his Martin, and well, it was clear now just how ridiculous he had been. That said, they still needed to have a long talk about what Douglas had gleaned; Martin was still in the dark, but Douglas wasn't and that would affect everything he said to his friend from then on.
All that left was the small problem of getting a knackered old plane back to its own universe. A problem which Douglas was now feeling mildly prepared to tackle.
Douglas looked back to Deborah, who was staring, forehead crinkled, at the two cooling plates of food. He knew that she was inwardly scolding herself for forgetting that neither of them would awaken without intervention; at least, he assumed that she was – he thought that it was fair to assume that her versions of Martin and Arthur were equally lazy people in the morning.
"I should go and wake them up, shouldn't I?" she asked ruefully, not bothering to meet Douglas' gaze this time, pursing her lips instead.
"Only if you want to be at the air-field at a sensible time." Douglas noted, smirking at the judgemental glare that he received as the woman sighed in a put upon manner, and strode purposefully from the kitchen and towards the hall, where the guest room was hidden. He decided a second later that he might as well follow, for the laughs if nothing else.
I hope that this has put a smile on a few people's faces. Douglas has been getting a rough ride so far, and needed a good chat - and Deborah's got some good stuff going on too