I did it again - I need to stop writing this so quickly, but the ideas for interludes were in my head...so, enjoy
It was one of those merciful days when the crew were on standby, Carolyn had locked herself away in her office with no apparent inclination to check up on her employees, and Martin was content to sit and work his way through the sparse paperwork that had accumulated on his desk.
The sun was shining, Harry had departed that morning in a cheery mood, dropping a kiss on her cheek in a way that she hadn't realised that she had missed, and all in all, Deborah was in a mood so high that little could puncture its lazy flight.
She was so amiable in fact, that when Arthur had mentioned wanting to alleviate his boredom, she had been all too pleased to join him.
Which was how Deborah found herself, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows until they scratched at the inner flesh, smart shoes abandoned by the porta-cabin door so that her feet wouldn't ache, standing with one hand on her hip, the other tilted against her forehead against the tickling rays of sunlight, waiting for Arthur to throw a Frisbee that he had found behind his sofa.
They had moved onto the grass a short distance away from the porta-cabin in order to avoid smashing any windows. Deborah hadn't admitted it to Arthur, and he hadn't thought to ask, but the decision had been made in part to avoid letting Martin hear what they were up to; it wasn't that she didn't want his company, quite the opposite in fact.
If Martin were to remove the stick from his backside, he could have been a fun addition to their impromptu game. As it stood, the stick remained firmly wedged, and Martin would only try and order them back to work.
That didn't matter though; it had been just she and Arthur for a while before he arrived, all those months ago, and sometimes it still felt as if nothing had changed. Sometimes it didn't, but Martin didn't make it easy, even when he tried.
"Okay, Arthur!" Deborah called out over the sizable gap between them, "This time, I might find it easier if you throw the Frisbee towards me."
It wasn't the most thrilling game, but it passed the time. She might even get a tan if she was really lucky, as she often was.
Harry might like that…though he probably wouldn't notice.
Martin would definitely comment when he noticed; as he had become just a fraction more comfortable with his colleagues he had developed a tendency to point out each and every thing he noticed that didn't fit his scheduled world. At the very least, it was an attempt at friendship, and Deborah wasn't going to stop him.
"Right…" Arthur replied, grimacing sheepishly as he met Deborah's gaze, "Sorry about that."
"No, no, that's perfectly alright." Deborah assured him with a brief smile and a truncated nod; she kept her one hand pressed against her forehead as a temporary visor, and extended the other to hang at her side in preparation.
Expecting that she would need to run given Arthur's shoddy aim, she rocked between her heels and her toes, noting with a blast of nostalgia the sensation of the grass sneaking softly through her tights to stroke at her toes. It didn't hurt, she supposed, to stoop to Arthur's level of childlike enjoyment in an attempt to remain young at heart.
She watched Arthur, whose scarlet sleeves were also wedged up to his elbows, as he navigated his too long arms around his too tall torso, twisting and bending his too gangly legs, while a focused, single minded expression adorned his face.
He glared at the disk in his hand; if Deborah hadn't known that it was Arthur, she would have said he was weighing up mass alongside speed, angle, and the effect of the light breeze of Frisbee trajectory.
"Hurry up, Arthur," Deborah called drearily, "I'll sprout roots if I stand here much longer."
"Sorry!" Arthur shouted back; with an almighty backswing, and an apparent forgetting of any preparation that he had just made, Arthur hurled the disk into the air, tripping ever so slightly as his feet hit the ground.
To Deborah's surprise, the Frisbee did actually soar in her direction, soared in a perfect line towards her…only about six feet above any height that she could ever hope to reach. She made a leap for it anyway, stretching her hands into the air above her head and hopping onto the tips of her toes.
She caught Arthur's eye as she turned to follow its path, rolling her own in what would have been simple companionable despair, had she not seen at the last moment where the toy landed. It collided with a clatter on the roof of the porta-cabin.
Deborah didn't hear the rustle of movement that she would have expected from Arthur, so assumed that he too had frozen mid wince at the sound. She waited for another few seconds, but when it seemed that neither Martin nor Carolyn had noticed the noise, Deborah allowed her shoulders to sag and turned back to Arthur.
Arthur was still pinched, his shoulders near his ears and his hands raised as if to begin an objection or out forward a suggestion, his teeth showing as he held his grin awkwardly at his mistake.
"Sorry…" he offered, and then the light in his eyes shifted as it was wont to do, "I've been saying sorry a lot today; I'll stop now, sorry – oh, oops, sorry, oh sorry-"
"Arthur, please do stop." Deborah sighed, pressing her hand over her eyes for a brief respite, "We'll just have to find something else to do…preferably something less active; I'm not quite as fit as I used to be."
It was true; now that she wasn't focused solely on a thin sheet of plastic, she became painfully aware of the fact that her breathing was just a little too laboured to be good considering how little she had actually done. The heat beating down on them didn't help. If she was honest, Deborah was actually thinking about returning to watch Martin do paperwork; it would allow her time to clear her mind after listening patiently to Arthur's sometimes profound, mostly inept chatter.
While she remained stationary, wrapping one arm around her chest to mask her breaths and the other returning to its place shielding her from the uncomfortable strips of light, Arthur wandered to her side, providing a small amount of shade to make up for his next request.
"But Deborah, what about my Frisbee?" Arthur emphasised his discontent with the very idea of doing something else, "What if I need it later?"
Deborah looked up at Arthur, meeting his imploring gaze with nothing but disapproval; she extended her arm and pointed sharply at the porta-cabin, making sure that he was following the gesture and facing the right way rather than staring her down from his superior height.
"Arthur, it's on the roof." She stated plainly, "What would you like me to do? Climb up on the porta-cabin and fetch it?"
"That would be great actually." Arthur remarked, making it sound as if she had just offered to do him a massive favour.
Damn him, Deborah thought bitterly, damn him and his stupid face. She didn't want to climb onto the roof, probably scuffing her knees and greasing her skirt while she was at it, but when he gazed down at her, with such a fixed expression of trust (and presumption), she just didn't have to energy to say no.
She'd like to see Captain Crieff try and argue his way out of it; perhaps she could engineer a situation where that was possible. Later though; now she had to exhale in a put upon manner and make Arthur realise just how much she did for him.
Deborah's shoulders sagged and she made a point of rolling her head back as she stared up at Arthur with as much weary fury as she could muster while maintaining an air of eloquence.
"Fine…but you have to lift me up so that I can reach." She conceded; Arthur's face lit up, which made it at least partly worth the effort. Let no one say that Deborah Richardson never did anything for anyone.
Arthur led the way back to the porta-cabin, looking this way and that as if they were about to perform an illegal feat. Deborah followed a second behind, slowing as she approached and placing her fingers delicately around her chin as she peered at the gutter and edge of the serrated iron that rimmed the top. It wasn't too high up, and with Arthur's help, it wouldn't be difficult for her to scale.
"Put your hands out," Deborah muttered, thumping Arthur gently on the arm to prompt him into action; he obediently placed his hands together, but she had to push them down, "No, down – like a foot hold-" it took a few minutes, the two of them huddled together in front of the porta-cabin door, Deborah hooking one hand around Arthur's shoulder so that she could balance a foot on his laced fingers, but they managed eventually to settle into a comfortable position; Deborah made sure to hold Arthur's gaze and tell his seriously, "Now, lift me up, and I can get a hold of the gutter to pull myself up. It is very important that you do not drop me – do not let me fall backwards, or slip, or plummet to my death, do you understand?"
"I understand – I won't drop you, I promise." Arthur reassured her, raising his eyebrows demonstratively.
Deborah nodded and allowed him to begin lifting her up; he may have been a clot, but she could trust him not to let her injure herself. He was very careful about that kind of thing.
She kept a tight grip on Arthur's shoulder, detachedly worrying that she might be hurting him, but more concerned about the fact that she was wobbling a substantial amount, and noting inwardly that she could do with increasing her upper body strength.
After much heaving and huffing, Deborah managed to hoist herself into a sitting position on the edge of the porta-cabin roof; she could feel the cold leaking through her skirt, and her stomach ached from where it had pressed against the sharper edge of the iron, but there was something fulfilling about her feat. At least as far as she was concerned.
"You alright, Deborah?" Arthur called up to her in a stage whisper; he was being extra cautious in case his voice carried through the door.
With all the noise they had made getting her up there, with her feet clipping the chipped wood a couple of times, she wouldn't be shocked if Martin knew they were outside, but simply couldn't be bothered to check what they were up to. A fine superior officer he was turning out to be.
"Just fine Arthur." Deborah replied; she leaned across the metal, making sure to keep her torso raised at least an inch from the filth, and plucked the Frisbee from where it lay tauntingly, "Here, I hope you're happy now." She flung it off the edge, and was fleetingly pleased when it bounced pitifully off of his head.
"Brilliant, thanks Deborah."
She sighed as Arthur grumbled at the impact on his skull and preened at the return of his toy, taking a moment to admire the view. The airfield did look lovely from this angle, and at certain times of day, she supposed that it might be nice to sit atop the porta-cabin and watch the smaller private planes whizz about doing their circuits. Then again, that was more Martin's idea of fun.
It was time to get down; if anyone saw her up there, there would be hell to pay in terms of health and safety.
"Arthur, help me down would you?" Deborah instructed, motioning with both hands towards herself.
"Righto." Arthur muttered, dropping the Frisbee to the ground and turning to extend both arms upwards in a sort of expectant embrace; even he didn't look too sure about it, his eyes scanning the rooftop as if picking the faults out with a thread.
Deborah watched him from the corner of her eye, and as she shuffled towards the edge of the roof, she realised that descending might not be as graceful as ascending had been. She wasn't afraid of heights, but there was a small, rather rational side of her, that was afraid of breaking her ankle. Leaping into Arthur's awaiting arms seemed likely to precipitate such an event.
"Um…Deborah, I don't think jumping down is a good idea…" Arthur remarked uncertainly, scratching the back of his neck with one of the hands that he was still holding out just in case. They seemed to be hanging in the air more as a precaution than a provision.
"I gathered." Deborah drawled; there was no sense in delaying the inevitable, so she gritted her teeth and began turning as slowly as possible in preparation for her potential plunge, "Arthur, I need you to stand right next to the door, and keep your arms up to help me down. I'm going to lower myself backwards using the gutter, you just need to help me with the last drop."
Arthur nodded in agreement, and uttered a few words that meant little to Deborah, save that he would be there should she actually fall. She didn't think she would, good luck and all that, but it was nice to have the option of safety should failure chose to take her at such an inopportune moment.
Everything went fine; Deborah lowered herself awkwardly, painfully over the drop, keeping a tight hold on the edge of the roof and the gutter, and felt her lower half knock against Arthur's waiting form. It was just as she was lowering her upper half, dropping down so that she was hanging from the roof by her arms that things went wrong. Typical, she thought to herself in the moments that rushed past before she could do anything to stop them.
The suddenness of the drop and the change in balance was enough to break her grasp on the gutter. Thankfully, it wasn't a long drop, and Arthur had a tight hold on her, but Deborah cursed nonetheless, releasing some of her less the ladylike language. The force of the drop send the two of them crashing into the door to the porta-cabin…and then through the door, which cracked horrendously as the lock bent, and they both fell with a thud to the floor, all in the space of a few seconds.
Deborah landed partly upon Arthur, who ended up back to the floor, wincing at the impact; she pursed her lips indignantly, and tried to hoist herself into sitting position, only to find that their legs were still untangling themselves. She managed to sit up, legs splayed either side of her, and arms held stiffly to each side, hands firmly on the ground.
It was only when she glanced upwards that she remembered that Martin was at his desk, staring at the two of them with a barely contained affronted flush, and utter confusion in his eyes.
"What are you two doing?" he demanded, though the usual heat was vacant, replaced by bewilderment; he rose from his seat to stride across the room, and Deborah scrambled to her feet so that she could intercept him.
It was a hastily executed plan, she realised, but it had to be done; Arthur could pick himself up.
"Are you not familiar with toppling, Captain?" Deborah drawled as Martin slowed to a halt before her, peering around her shoulders at the door that hung open, allowing the slight breeze to waft in; she almost went so far as to place restraining hands on his chest, but held herself back, her palms hovering about an inch above his shirt, "It happens when one loses their balance."
"Yes, I see that you fell over – my question was what were you doing?" Martin shook his head as he continued to look past her, "And did you break the door?"
"Ah, funny that you should focus on the door, as that if actually more important than what we were doing-" Deborah deflected; as Arthur kept his head down and wandered over to the other side of the porta-cabin, a wise move, Martin placed a hand on Deborah's shoulder and moved her out of the way so that he could stride to the door.
He ignored Deborah's statement, and her indignant huff at being positioned, and instead, with narrowed eyes, pushed the door shut; it fought back a fraction, as it hadn't done before, and when he went to open it again, the lock jammed, and he had to jiggle the entire block of wood, making it rattle ominously before popping open with a more violent swing. Martin slammed it shut again before turning back to Deborah, who had remained in the centre of the room.
She couldn't even start to formulate an excuse before she was sure how Martin was feeling regarding the whole event.
"You did, the two of you have managed to break the lock." Martin nodded towards the door; so it seemed that he was worried about property damage. That was an easy bullet to dodge.
"Arthur, leave us." Deborah instructed; something about her tone of voice was enough to stop Arthur was putting up a fight as he might have otherwise, and he quickly vacated the room, disappearing into Carolyn's office; not the best, but it would do for a short while.
That just left Martin to deal with, who had taken Arthur's exit as a chance to walk back to his desk and perch upon the outer edge, staring expectantly at Deborah, one eyebrow quirked as high as his hairline.
"Before you come up with any excuses-" Martin began, sounding as if he were about to exact his captainly duties against his will; he even gestured his hand in the air as if to placate her for the inevitable blow.
"No excuses Martin, simply a proposition." Deborah interjected swiftly, folding her arms over her chest and treading closer, until she was standing a few feet in front of him, smirking confidently.
Martin's eyes widened suspiciously, and his hand fell to grip the desk unconsciously. But he didn't protest immediately at the prospect of manipulating proper procedure; not that there was any proper procedure, he wasn't even in charge of property damage.
"What sort of proposition?" Martin inquired, his frown growing as her smirk increased.
Deborah chuckled lowly, making sure to hold his gaze. This was good; she could get him on side, and perhaps keep him on side for the future.
"A proposition in the sense that you don't tell Carolyn about this little incident." She explained, watching for his reaction; he kept his expression inquisitive, and he rolled his eyes at her statement, but he was listening, "If none of us talk, then she can't charge us for repairs; it's such a small job that she'll probably just leave it rather than try to split the bill between us."
"And what do I get?" Martin asked, nodding in understanding, "If I keep quiet. What do I get in return?"
Deborah sighed; she had known that she would get nothing from Martin for free. She smiled salaciously and, glancing momentarily to Carolyn's closed door as if the woman might hear them, took another step towards Martin.
"I'll do the next walk around." She promised.
"And pay me a compliment about how good a Captain I am." Martin added, raising his nose ever so slightly as his features turned smug.
Of course; well, Deborah knew better than anyone when sacrifices needed to be made.
"Oh Captain, my Captain, you're such a wonderful Captain." She drawled, making sure to let her eyes bore into his; if he wanted a compliment, he could have a compliment, but she didn't have to mean it, "I truly have never had a Captain quite like you…you are, a super Captain."
Martin's lips thinned into a line, and his cheeks hollowed enough that his cheekbones became particularly prominent; he looked unhappy, but Deborah wasn't going to retract her statement.
"Good enough." Martin said eventually, he pushed himself to his feet, closing the space between them and extending a hand; Deborah had to supress a scoff at his attempt at taking the high road, "You do the next walk around, and we have a deal."
"Deal." Deborah agreed, and with that, she grasped his hand in hers.
His hand was firm, and larger by far than hers, large enough that his fingers could wrap fully around hers during the shake. Deborah glared wickedly into Martin's eyes as he glared back, obviously trying to impress upon her the fact that he had won, even though he hadn't really, even as their arms moved between them.
As a last thought, just to throw him off, just to freak him out, as Deborah felt Martin begin to remove his hand from hers and step back, she squeezed it even tighter, feeling her smirk growing. To her surprise, save for a widening of his eyes, and a splash of red on his cheeks, Martin's only reaction was to squeeze back twice as hard, continuing the up and down movement, lips pursing as he glared challengingly down.
Oh, he was fighting again. This was hilarious. It was also extremely unnerving to be standing so close, shaking hands far beyond the point of social correctness, no matter how much Deborah wanted to battle with Martin in that moment. He clearly felt the same way, as his steely determination was dissolving into a nervous smile, and his eyes leapt to a spot of the floor somewhere near his feet.
Without a word, Deborah broke away, and Martin cleared his throat; they both wandered back towards their desks on opposite sides of the porta-cabin. If they spent the next few hours making faces at each other, then no one was any the wiser.
This is completely random, and doesn't quite fit anywhere, but I thought that it was a nice idea for what they got up to on their less interesting days
I'm not entirely pleased with it, but it's a start