Hello, and here is an extra long interlude, based on comments I've had here and on AO3 - do relax and enjoy the show

Interlude 9

One of the things that Deborah had learnt about the weeks that she was left alone with her daughter, was that even though at first they both would want to spend every moment together, catching up and the likes, they also both possessed the sort of personality that demanded hours of silence and isolating.

That didn't necessarily mean being apart, but it did mean that Deborah could sit on one side of the sofa reading a book, and Verity could sit by the coffee table entertaining herself, and the two of them could coexist peacefully, trading the occasional snippet of parent-child conversation, while enjoying the feeling of being somewhat sociable.

The whole set-up was wonderful really. Deborah could watch her little girl, her fluffy brown hair and wide eyes seeming to sparkle more each time they met, nattering away to herself, without worrying about the fact that having to keep her entertained for every second of the day was…suffocating…for both of them.

But, she supposed, that was what happened when you didn't see one another for extended periods of time.

She had allowed Verity to sleep in until ten that morning, but as the girl was an active seven year old, Deborah suspected that she had heard her talking to her stuffed animals at half six when she had wandered past the bedroom.

Then after a morning of unpacking, which Verity insisted had to be done every time she stayed with her mother, regardless of the fact that everything she owned was returned to her father at the end of the week, Deborah had given in to the slightly whiny demands for sweets, and put all of her efforts into dramatically revealing her cookie recipe bit by bit, as Verity darted about the kitchen.

Perched on a chair around the kitchen table, an oversized apron wrapped and tied at her back, Verity allowed her Deborah to pull up a chair less than a foot away, and supervise her creations; Deborah had been told adamantly that she could do it by herself, but then in a whisper, that secretly subtle helping might be allowed.

An all-round cloak of contentedness settled over Deborah, like the golden toes of butterflies warming her skin, as she kept one eye on Verity's focused expression, and the other on the mess of bowls and whisks, and held one hand daintily underneath the little girl's elbow as she tried to thrust piles of flour from the hefty bag and into the mixing bowl.

"I think you might need a little more flour, dear." Deborah remarked, as Verity made as if to plop the bag down; she stiffened her hand as an extra imperative, as she suspected that the carelessness with which the child was about to drop the flour might send it flying in all directions.

"No, Mummy, that's enough." Verity answered, pouting her lips as she smiled knowledgably; despite Deborah's efforts, the bag was dropped unceremoniously onto the table, but only released spiracle little clouds, "I want it to be gloopy."

"Yes, but if it's too gloppy, you won't be able to roll it and cut it into shapes." Deborah retorted lightly; she shifted so that she could lay an arm over the back of her daughter's chair, and scooched in closer.

Verity rolled her eyes and let out a dramatic exhale, shaking her head as if despairing her mother's foolishness; nonetheless, she grasped the bag of flour and hoisted it into the air, dropping lumps here and there as her tiny hands battled for grip.

"Fine!" Verity groaned, tipping the bag up over the mixing bowl, sending far too much into the mix, her eyebrows dipping to meet above her nose, "Lots and lots and lots of flour. For extra roll-able cookies."

"Good girl." Deborah congratulated her, leaning her chin on the girl's shoulder; Verity tapped a grimy hand against Deborah's cheek and smiled as if petting her cat, and Deborah sighed, reaching out to wrap one arm around her little waist, while the other took the flour from her, "Now…I think we should add more butter and sugar to join all that extra flour."

"Hmm…" Verity hummed, and nodded severely, leaning her cheek against her mother's, and eyeing the mixture, whilst patting her hands together, compounding the mess to Deborah's silent despair, "I'm going to make a hundred thousand cookies with the extra flour."

Deborah chuckled, and continued moving the ingredients to where Verity could reach them, keeping a loose hold on her daughter.

"If you can make a hundred thousand cookies, I will be very impressed." She drawled, unable to keep the faint smile from her face; children were difficult, and talked a lot of nonsense, but Deborah could have held onto her forever given the chance.

Verity grinned and lurched forwards, sinking her hands into the mixture with glee, nattering about how she could definitely make a hundred thousand if she was given some time. Deborah merely watched in silence, humming here and there.

It wouldn't do to discourage her. That was something Deborah's father had always been a champion of.

Where other parents in the playground had been telling their children that they didn't know the answers to the strange questions they asked, or echoed 'don't be silly' at their erratic exclamations, Mr Richardson had followed up every inquisitive (or sometimes derisive) remark with the words 'I don't know, maybe, if you work hard enough, you'll find out'.

'I don't know, maybe you can become a scientist and work that out for us'

'I don't know, maybe one day you could travel the world and find out, paint enough pictures that you find a new colour, write so much music you discover the most beautiful sound, talk loud enough that you change the face of politics…'

Even so many years on, Deborah didn't know if she had lived up to her father's expectations. True, she had excelled at everything she had tried and had at least fifty talents to her name, and so ticked that box.

But she was also having to relish a week with her own daughter because she had frittered away her youth on drink and wavering educational choices, lost two marriages and the father of her child, and lost said child for all but only 15% of the year.

Deborah supposed that she was content. He'd have liked that at least.

The shrill whine of the phone rang out from the sitting room, and Deborah rose swiftly to her feet, giving Verity's shoulders a quick squeeze as she passed; she stayed mercifully quiet as Deborah took the phone in her hand and pressed it to her ear.

"Deborah-" Carolyn's voice rattled into her ear before she had time to say so much as hello, and Deborah shook her head, pursing her lips at the slight edge in her employer's voice that screamed 'do something for me'.

"No, Carolyn, whatever it is, I'm not doing it." Deborah said tartly, placing one hand on her hop and turning so that she could see Verity, completely engrossed in her baking, an intense concentration clouding her eyes, "I booked this week off to spend with my daughter, and I'm not cutting it short."

"I know, and I wouldn't ask if it could be done another time," Carolyn had the decency to sound almost apologetic, and Deborah paid allowed her to keep speaking in a show of silent gratitude, "I don't need you to fly, or sit on standby – you could bring your daughter with you, but I just need you to be at the airfield tomorrow."

"I don't understand," Deborah replied, shaking her head even though she couldn't be seen, "What's so important that I have to be there, but so unimportant that a seven year old could attend?"

She heard Carolyn sigh down the line, and felt a flicker of pride at the ease with which she had beaten her down.

"I've managed to snaffle a proper photographer to take company photos, but he can only do tomorrow, and no other time." Carolyn explained; Deborah could have thwacked her for all that she had been inwardly worrying about how Martin and Arthur would cope performing some terrible job without her, "I need the three of you here…your daughter can come along, bring some colouring books, or whatever it is children do these days – you're not going to be so busy that you can't look after her. The photographer says that his style is…relaxed, whatever that means."

Deborah sighed and closed her eyes, placing the back of her hand over her eyelids; as ridiculous as the proposal was, she quite fancied the idea of pratting around in front of a camera with Martin. And it was entirely true that Verity could be easily entertained.

Placing the receiver over her chest to muffle the sounds, Deborah considered briefly her options, and then came to a decision.

"Verity?" she called, and the girl lifted her head immediately, proving that she had in fact been listening all along; not that Deborah would have expected any different, "How do you feel about going to the airfield tomorrow?"

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!" Verity squealed, before Deborah even had time to note that she could play with the plane and have her picture taken (she wasn't doing it at all if she didn't get at least one nice one taken with her daughter).

Blinking in bewilderment, Deborah lifted the phone back to her ear.

"I'll do it." She remarked, still bristling slightly at the disturbance, but willing to play nice seeing as Verity was in the other room, well within earshot, and more than likely to repeat anything untoward that she said, "But bear in mind that if my daughter had said she wanted to stay in tomorrow, you'd be taking your company pictures without a First Officer."

"I will make a note of it." Carolyn replied, and Deborah smirked at the words that she knew were very probably being restrained; she was under no illusions that Carolyn would feel guilty, but it was nice to dream, "Just make sure that the two of you are here bright and early…I'll have Arthur pick up some paint or something on his way in."

And just like that Deborah was the one feeling a mite sheepish; she scratched at her elbow and let her gaze slip from her daughter as she wandered over to the window.

"That would be good, thank you." Deborah acknowledged, sighing, "I'll see you tomorrow."

With that she cut off the call, unwilling to talk any longer; it was a childish act of defiance, she was aware, but Deborah just about managed to relish the moment of triumph, for what it obviously wasn't.

Putting on a cheerful smile, breezing her hands through the air and down her form, Deborah wandered back into the kitchen, where Verity was trying unsuccessfully to mush her mixture onto a now well-floured table. The little girl peeked conspicuously up at her as Deborah dropped back into her seat.

"Dare I ask why you're so excited to go to the airfield?" Deborah inquired softly, reaching across to rub away a splodge of gloppy mess from her daughter's cheek with her thumb; Verity pursed her lips, and her eyes widened as if she had been caught red handed at the scene of a crime, but she carefully adopted a prim expression.

"Because of some reasons that I'm not telling you, because they're not important." Verity answered delicately, shooting her sideways glances as she pointedly kneaded the cookie dough, pouting when it crumbled and diverted her attention.

"Oh really?" Deborah drawled, nodding sagely as she tutted and moved to push Verity's sleeves up her arms, though it was already too late, and the sleeves were matted with flour and egg, "That sounds quite interesting to me."

"Nope." Verity popped the syllable from her tongue, eyes never leaving the mess between her hands; without pausing or wavering, she asked, "Will Martin be there?"

"I think he will, yes." Deborah replied suspiciously, letting her lips curl into a smile at her daughter's attempts at furtiveness, as she rested both arms on the table, content to simply watch the child play, "Why?"

"No reason." Verity chirped, and then to Deborah's bewilderment, she continued in the low mutter than children seem to use when they think that they're talking to themselves, "I just want to know if he looks like what I think he looks like."

oOoOoOo

By the next morning, Deborah had forgotten Verity's words. Which was why when the two of them were at the airfield, Deborah in uniform, Verity in the smart dress that she had been told she didn't need to wear, and they gathered in the porta-cabin to wait for the Knapp-Shappey clan and the photographer to arrive, Deborah was unable to censor the first thing that came out of her daughter's mouth when she was introduced to Martin.

"You're prettier than I thought you'd be, but not as pretty as you sounded when Mummy describes you."

"Oh? Really?" Martin replied in a surprised, reedy tone as his cheeks flushed a dark shade of red; he was perched in his wheelie chair, hands together, arms rested on his knees as he looked down at the little girl that stood a foot in front of him, her arms folded lightly over her chest as she surveyed him as one might a house for sale, searching for indiscretions, "That's…good I suppose…um…thank you."

Martin glanced helplessly up at Deborah, where she leant against the side of his desk, wide eyed like a baby deer; she tried not to focus on the heat in her own cheeks, and shrugged nonchalantly, winding her arms around her chest after pausing briefly to nudge at the back of her daughter's head.

"Verity, it's not polite to say things like that when you meet people." Deborah reminded her lightly, trying to stop her eyes from flickering back to Martin's; the moment that Verity was gone, he would never let her live that comment down.

"But I was being nice." Verity retorted, shaking her head and crinkling her nose in response before turning her attention back to Martin, who was still tensed, yet visibly trying to appear relaxed, "And you're Martin?"

"Um, yes – yes, I think your mother said that. I'm Martin." Martin winced slightly, but smiled widely when he caught sight of Deborah nodding emphatically through pursed lips and wide eyes; he clapped his hands together and gestured to the girl, who remained calm throughout, "And you're Verity."

"And my middle name is Rose." Verity added, oblivious to his flustering; Deborah rolled her eyes affectionately, and held her tongue as Martin nodded hastily, his posture rising slightly as he gained an inch of gravitas, as he always did when confident. She was already enjoying watching them interact; there was no doubt that Verity already liked him.

"Oh, Verity Rose?" Martin remarked, leaning forwards and tenting his hands, bringing his fingers together, as he smiled eagerly, "That sounds like the perfect name for a kind of…super secret detective."

An exasperated dread settled over Deborah even before Verity's eyes widened, and her mouth gaped open as if she had seen the true meaning of life, and found it to be good; she turned slowly, face sparkling as she gazed imploringly up at her mother, and danced towards her.

"Mummy, I want to be a detective!" Verity announced, her voice filled with wonderment as her hands gripping at the hem of Deborah's uniform jacket, "Can I be a detective?"

Deborah caught Martin's eye from across the top of her daughter's head, and quirked an eyebrow at him, swallowing to prevent herself from ripping into him as she might normally have done; Martin had the grace to blush further and grimace apologetically, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck.

"I'm sure if you try hard enough, you can do whatever you want." Deborah told Verity, unfolding her arms to place her hands gently on the girl's shoulders as she beamed, "Just make sure to learn exactly what detectives do in their jobs."

Verity nodded excitedly, and without another word, she scrambled across the porta-cabin to dig through the bag of supplies that she had brought with her for the day.

Exhaling slowly, Deborah pushed away from the desk and wandered around the back of Martin's chair, pleased to see him turn his head to watch her path, dragging his bottom lip through his teeth; when she stood directly behind him, Deborah leant down, hands on the back of the seat, until she could speak into his ear without Verity overhearing.

"In twenty years when she's being held at gunpoint by armed criminals," Deborah remarked lightly, tracing her eyes from his lips to his cheeks to his blue eyes that turned with his head to meet her gaze, "I'm going to hold you accountable."

Martin swallowed hard, and his eyes drifted down to her lips before snapping back to hold her gaze; his hands were gripping the side of his chair.

"Well, in twenty years, I'll be uh…" Martin replied, shrugging lopsidedly and attempting another apologetic smile, "In twenty years I'll be very sorry…about that."

Deborah smirked, and was about to say something that would have made Martin tremble, but she was interrupted by Verity's shrill and demanding voice, which made both pilots turn their heads to hear what she had to say.

"I need one of you to teach me how to fly your plane."

oOoOoOo

It turned out that Carolyn's 'professional photographer' was in fact a university student who wanted to be a professional photographer, and was willing to work for free so that he could note the time down as 'work experience'.

As a result, his style of work was very much, 'make it up as I go along', and though Deborah tried not to stare at his dyed black hair that made him look as if he had jaundice, or roll her eyes are stare in horror as he directed them about, the chances of her succeeding were slim.

They had all gathered on the patch of grass beside where GERTI had been parked in what was apparently a very artistic pose beneath the glaring heat of the sun, with crates (which Deborah had never seen before in her life) placed strategically here and there beneath the wings and open hold in an attempt at minimalism, or something similar.

While the young man, clutching a camera as if it contained the world, explained to the crew his vision, Deborah kept one eye on Verity, who appeared to be building herself a house from the debris left behind after the grounds people had mowed the lawn; lovely and filthy – her father was going to explode when he saw the state of her dress.

"Okay, what I'm going to do, is take some pictures with all four of you together, then I'm going to split you up and take other ones." The photographer (whose name Deborah must have missed when she was trying to riddle him out) explained, with plenty of dramatic hand movements, as he practically quivered with confident excitement.

Deborah glanced to Martin, who was standing with his hands buried deep within his pockets; he smirked conspiratorially, and cocked his head ever so slightly, swinging on his heels. She returned the smirk tenfold, and rolled her eyes towards the young man, only to have Martin shake his head imperceptibly and duck his head down. Typical.

"Right, so now, everyone move in together so that I can do the group photo." The photographer instructed, waving his arm like a runway instructor, already wielding the camera like a weapon.

One by one, the crew managed to settle into some sort of group, after much faffing about trying to decide where to stand, and then making sure that the tallest (Arthur) was near the back and that the shortest (Carolyn) wasn't on the end lest the picture become unbalanced. Eventually, with a far more dejected photographer, the movement ceased, and Carolyn stood between Arthur and Martin, and Deborah stood by Martin's side, arms folded over her chest.

By that point Verity had wandered over and sat cross legged beside the photographer, observing the proceeding in silence; Deborah smiled and waggled her fingers at her, but the girl was too busy being pensive and plotting to pay much notice.

"It's too hot to be standing around in the sun!" Carolyn announced, frowning even as she kept her hands clasped professionally at her front; she glared at the photographer with the sort of heat that made lesser men quail, "Hurry up and take some pictures before I take that camera from you and do it myself."

"Sorry, sorry…just a tick." The young man murmured, in such a way that Deborah actually felt sorry for him; he raised the camera to his eye and chewed at his lip, and then dropped it again, face pinching as he surveyed the crew, "You're all quite far away from each other…could you maybe tuck in – just so that the picture quality's better."

"Can do!" Arthur replied for the rest of them, herding Carolyn towards Martin without further ado, before noting for no one's sake but his own, "This is brilliant, isn't it?"

"It would be more brilliant if I wasn't being forced to squeeze between you two." Carolyn muttered, even as Arthur wedged himself to her side, and reached around her back to hook his fingers into Martin's jacket and pull them closer together.

The next few minutes flew past in a blur of pushing, elbows, and many 'ow's, mostly from Martin, as they all tried to arrange themselves around each other according to the photographer's vague instructions. Deborah grinned at Verity as the little girl laughed at the farce, and only stepped back to Martin's side once the fussing and prodding had calmed.

It took half the time for the photographer to lower his camera.

"Um…you, Miss – Madam- on the end-" Deborah took pity on the young man, and nodded politely, raising her eyebrow at the arm that was already eagerly escaping its master and making arcs in the air; he let out a nervous laugh, but carried on, "It's just, you don't really look like you're part of the group – if you could squish in with the others, then you'd look less like you were just dropped on the end."

Deborah rolled her eyes, but took another step to Martin's side, until her arm was pressed against his; as she heard Verity remark that 'that's my Mummy', she glanced up to meet Martins' gaze, as he smile weakly, just as uncomfortable as she was.

"Is that better?" Deborah asked dryly, feeling the weight of the sun through her jacket already.

"No, it still looks unbalanced." The photographer shook his head, and shrugged helplessly, even going so far as to glance down at Verity as if the seven year old might hold some answer, though all she did was open up her palms and shake her head around until her hair fell in her face.

Carolyn huffed, but the sound was drowned out as Martin exhaled exasperatedly and muttered.

"Oh, for God's sake!" Martin scoffed, and before Deborah was entirely aware of what he was doing, he had thrown his arm around her waist and tucked her into his side, to the point where she had to return to gesture and wrap her arm around his back, and try not to turn too far lest she was hugging him, "Is that better?!"

"That's great actually!" the photographer replied, sending them a hearty thumbs up and sticking his tongue out to pinch between his teeth as he raised the camera again and began making adjustments.

Deborah might have taken a moment to consider the fluttering that increased in her chest at the gesture, but her attention was caught so many ways, between keeping a close eye on her daughter, a hyper-awareness of the others around them and Carolyn's muttering to Arthur, and on stretching up just enough that she could make use of the flurry of sardonic remarks that splintered at the first rush of pleasant surprise.

"Is this an entirely professional pose, Captain?" she inquired, taking care not to rest her cheek on the stiff fabric about his shoulder, as a gesture caught on camera was a gesture captured forever.

"Not really, but it gets the job done." Martin replied smartly; he was standing stiffly despite how he was holding her tightly, his fingers curling around her waist. The precisely formulated expression on his face was too much for Deborah not to look at, and with a flash of sordid victory, she realised that he must have been watching her too, from the corner of his eyes, as his cheeks were growing redder, and his lips were threatening to tremble into a smile.

Deborah began to chuckle as the photographer called for attention, and by the time she looked ahead, and the electronic click went off, Martin was chuckling too, his chest vibrating against her side. When she turned back to him, he crinkled his nose at her petulantly, but with no heat to speak of.

"That was great guys! You two were even smiling!" the photographer hurried forwards to place the camera in Carolyn's hands, laughing thankfully at the two of them as the sound of Verity clapping acted as a backing track to the bundle of nerves.

It was decided, for the sake of time, that that picture would do, as everyone was facing the right way and didn't look as if they'd rather be anywhere else (although Martin had muttered in Deborah's ear that Carolyn was suffering from selective blindness where herself was concerned).

Then the photographer went about splitting them up and taking individual photos, and matching up different people depending on some scheme in his head that only he understood. Deborah made sure to follow Martin around to avoid the fuss emanating from both the young man, and Carolyn, who both grew more antsy as the day wore on.

Verity had managed to persuade the photographer to take a picture of her in her mother's arms, and Deborah had tried not to laugh at the faces that Martin was pulling behind the young man's back while beaming internally and externally as Verity practically bathed in the attention.

Now it was apparently the pilot's turn, and while Arthur and Carolyn had disappeared for the moment, Verity stood by the photographer's side as he stood just a tad too close to them, and tried to convince them to adjust their positions.

"I just need you to stand closer together so that you both fit in the frame." He insisted, visibly drooping from exhaustion, but soldiering on in a way that was almost admirable.

Deborah sighed, folding her arms over her chest, and once again shared an exasperated 'look' with Martin, who was pursing his lips and rubbing a hand over his eyes; she was sure that they were silently communicating on how best to tie up the young man and escape, but then again, when was Martin ever on the same page as her?

"Couldn't you just stand further away and use the zoom setting?" Deborah suggested, but the man shook his head vehemently, unable to even open his mouth before Verity cut him off, pressing her hands together like a wise sage.

"Maybe Martin could put his arm around Mummy like in the other picture." Verity interjected, nodding eagerly as if that might make her suggestion even more appealing.

And once Verity had suggested it, Deborah couldn't say no. So after twenty minutes, they had at least twenty pictures of she and Martin, some usable, others quite nice, with Martin's arm around her, their heads together, smiling nicely at the camera, and others that were perfect in all but their usability. As much as it made her grin, (and Martin too, though he blushed and tried to hide it beneath his hand) Deborah didn't think that Carolyn would approve of a photo of the two of them, wrapped in each other's arms, scrunching their faces at the camera, or the one in which Deborah had broken character and kiss Martin on the cheek to make him flush.

It was only when she was helping Verity tie up her shoe that she heard Martin furtively asking the photographer if he could have copies; the thought made Deborah want to fold in on herself with the warmth that it sent shivering through her, but she settled instead for snuggling her daughter.

So the day progressed, and the photographer began disappearing, allowing the crew to go about their own business, until he reappeared in the wake of a flash and a click, having just caught what he called 'natural' poses.

One such event occurred when Deborah had left Verity to teach Arthur some obscure form of hopscotch, and wandered over to sit beside Martin on one of the crates below the wing in order to escape from the sun.

The clouds vanished and harsh rays of light slashed the shade down to size, and as Deborah shuffled further onto the crate, Martin had shifted to accommodate, slipping her arm around her to help her move away from the sun without even pausing their conversation, holding her gaze the entire time.

Then flash – the photographer had appeared from nowhere and commented on how 'lovely' they looked together.

Martin had spluttered, and Deborah remained unusually silent, but the young man didn't seem truly interested. He wandered off, and Verity replaced him, charging across the grass to demand that she be allowed to fly the plane now.

And it was only mid-afternoon.

oOoOoOo

Deborah paused outside the open door of the flight-deck before going in. It was early evening now, and it was getting cold outside, so she had left Verity with Martin while she fetched her their coats from the porta-cabin for the sake of the walk to the car.

Despite all the fuss and the hassle, Deborah found herself nearing the end of the day with a rounded sense of cheer and contentment, somewhat bolstered by how joyful her daughter had been throughout the entire ordeal.

Now, it almost felt like her heart was trying to trip and fall from her chest as she took in the sight before her; they clearly hadn't realised that she was back.

Martin was sat forward in his seat, and he had one arm curled around Verity where she sat on his lap, reaching here there and everywhere as he explained what this and that did, calmly, with no sense of the trepidation that he had been exuding only hours before.

Deborah leant back against the metal framework as she took in the rapt attention on Verity's face as her eyes followed Martin's free hand around the flight deck, and the complete devotion on Martin's as he turned his head between the instruments, and her daughter, adjusting his hold to make sure that she didn't fall as she shuffled about.

He had even placed his Captain's hat on her head, and reached up every now and then to straighten it, or push back the hair that got caught in the braid.

"And this is the artificial horizon," Martin murmured quietly, compensating for the tired sluggishness in Verity's movements and directing her towards the correct point on the control panel, allowing her to tap it curiously, "That helps us see if we're flying the plane levelly."

"Will it tell you if you're flying upside down?" Verity inquired, glancing up at Martin as if he were the font of all knowledge, pawing slightly at the lapel of his jacket.

"I think it might know even before our eyes know." Martin replied, chuckling softly and giving her a little squeeze.

As he reached across to show her how the ground-proximity warning worked, Deborah pulled her arms around her chest, her palm flattening against her abdomen in an attempt to contain the lurch into the flight-deck and just take a hold of them both to see if that might temper the furious fluttering of the moths that might as well have been inflamed in her chest.

"Martin?" Verity asked severely; Deborah cocked her head attentively, as Martin ceased his explanation and hummed in acknowledgement, placing his free hand on his knee as his eyes trained on the little girl, promising his full attention; she looked thoughtful for a moment, and then blinked rapidly, "I liked you…can we see you next time I stay with Mummy?"

Martin's watery, wide-eyed nod of understanding as he opened his mouth slightly was barely a reflection of the heart-wrenching tug at Deborah's ribs, as she didn't know whether to be thrilled or ashamed at such a request.

"I think that's up to you mother I'm afraid," Martin replied apologetically, but upon seeing the droop in Verity's smile, his arm wrapped a little tighter around her and he smiled encouragingly, "But I'd like it if she said yes…I could take you both out for dinner if you-"

The rest of his offer was cut off by a little 'oomph' as Verity lurched forwards and wrapped her arms around his chest, burying her face in the fabric of his uniform; Martin's hands immediately went to her back, and began rubbing small circles.

Unable to linger outside any longer, Deborah stepped into the flight-deck, clearing her throat to alert them to her presence; the next moment she wished that she hadn't, as she wished she could have kept the image of them seared into her mind, but instead, Verity sat up straight and her face lit up at the sight of her, despite everything.

Verity extended her arms, and Deborah obediently lifted her from Martin's grasp as he supported her weight until she was properly passed over, and began fitting her into her coat and Martin stood and waited on by the side of his chair.

"Did you two have fun while I was gone?" Deborah inquired, looking between the two of them, forcing a smile that didn't reveal the tumbling that was taking place inside her head.

"Yes, I like Martin." Verity answered swiftly as she slipped her arms into her coat and adjusted herself so that she could rest against her mother's side and fiddle with her collar, "We should keep him."

"She was very well behaved." Martin added quietly, smiling warmly and nodding, hands joined in front of him; Deborah wasn't sure whether he was looking at her or her daughter, as his eyes flickered affectionately between the two of them.

"Good…that's good, thank you for watching her." Deborah replied, hearing her own voice and thinking that it came out far too clogged and low for it to be acceptable; for a moment it was like she couldn't quite take her eyes from Martin's, and she was so aware of the space between them that it seemed to shrink almost, before she cleared her throat and looked away, "Well, I should take her home now."

Martin nodded quickly and dragged his lip through his teeth, but Verity sat up straighter when Deborah made to move hastily past him.

"And Martin, you have to kiss Mummy on the cheek because that's what you do when you say goodbye to a lady." Verity said firmly, glancing between them; Deborah started to jostle her playfully and tell her to behave as Martin blushed considerably, but Martin shook his head quickly, quirking his eyebrows, so she allowed him to speak.

"But I didn't have to kiss you." He argued playfully, winking at Deborah as if Verity wouldn't see it.

"I'm not a lady, I'm a little girl." Verity retorted, and with that she dropped her head back to Deborah's shoulder.

Martin nodded slowly, and shrugged, unable to find any way to debate such a fine point, making a show of his defeat as Verity's eyes still bore into the space between them. Deborah knew that she should say something and take her daughter home, but she really didn't want to.

When with an exaggerated sigh, Martin quirked a questioning eyebrow at her, she nodded imperceptibly, and held as still as possible, head held though her eyes flittered everywhere but his face, as Martin placed a hand on her free elbow, closed the space between them, and placed a brief, small kiss on her cheek.

It was ridiculously swift, yet Deborah felt as if the air had been sucked from her lungs, as she would have sworn that it was only the child in her arms that stopped her from following Martin as he retreated to his side of the flight-deck, red cheeked and smiling nervously, and from pressing her lips against his, and not stopping.

In which case, she was in so much trouble.

"Now on the lips." Verity's voice was soft yet sharp in the otherwise silent flight-deck, and it was enough to add life back into the scene that had frozen around them.

Martin scoffed, though it sounded almost like he was choking, and he rocked back on his heels and he covered his mouth with a closed fist.

"Oi, Madam!" Deborah scolded lightly, tapping her daughter on the arm as she tried not to glance too pointedly at Martin, who watched, smile still present beneath his flaming cheeks, "You behave yourself."

But Verity wasn't listening; she had buried her face into Deborah's shoulder, and was pretending to sleep, the same tactic that she used when she wanted to go home more quickly, but knew that her assigned adult didn't have a valid excuse.

"Right…well, I'll, uh-" Deborah turned back to Martin, and found her movements weren't as lucid as usual.

"I'll see you later in the week." Martin concluded, unusually relaxed given that he should have been mortified and embarrassed by Verity's demands; he simply pushed his hands into his pockets and ducked his head, allowing Deborah the opportunity to leave without stalling any further.

So leave she did, Verity murmuring some nonsense in her ear as they exited the plane. Four more days until she had to give her back to her father, Deborah thought as her feet hit the tarmac.

Those four days wouldn't be half as good as this one had been.

Especially now that even with her child in her arms, Deborah couldn't shake the image of Martin from her head, or stop running through her head the kiss to her cheek, imagining what she might have done if there had been no reason to hold herself back.

This was really, really bad.

I have mixed feelings about this. I'm happy with the premise, but I feel like the photo scene was a bit disjointed.

What's done is done though

I hope you all liked it anyway