Here is the Douz Chapter - thanks as always to my fantastic reviewers, who make my day with their kind words, and make writing this worthwhile
Douz
Deborah winced as her foot collided with the underside of her bed, sending shards of pain shooting up her toes. The pain was bearable, but the shock of catching oneself when clattering about in the dark was never pleasant.
It was an early flight today, early enough on a Saturday that Harry was still snoring softly in the pale light from the hall, sprawled out on his side of the bed; though he had been considerate enough to leave a sizeable line of space between his side and hers, so that was something.
They didn't fall asleep wrapped around each other as they had in their first few years, but Deborah found that it didn't bother her as much as she thought it might. It meant that either of them could leave the bed early, or enter it late, without rousing the other.
That, and the fact that after not seeing each other for long periods of time, there was something uncomfortable about clinging to the other; Deborah supposed that she would feel differently if they had much time to connect before the night fell, but with dinner and activities and late arrivals, there was barely time.
Deborah paused in the process of doing up the top buttons of her pale shirt to run he eyes over Harry's sleeping form; she briefly entertained the idea of clambering over to draw her arms around him from behind and wrapping him in an embrace, but decided against it at the last minute. He was already unhappy that he wouldn't be spending breakfast with her (the only piece of routine when she was at home and not abroad), and he would be much more amiable given a few more hours sleep.
Then again, it may have been an early flight, but she would be there in the evening, and needed to talk to him in preparation for that.
Biting her lip, Deborah tiptoed over to the bed, dropping lightly down onto her knees. She reached over, so that she was leaning gently over Harry, who grumbled a bit at the dipping of the mattress, and placed a hand over his shoulder, shaking and squeezing at the same time.
A fizzle of affection simmered in the pit of her stomach as the tall, blonde man groaned, eyes first opening and then clamping shut, arm curving drearily about until it hit her stomach softly, briefly feeling the buttons of her shirt before dropping to rest on the duvet as Harry rolled onto his back, blinking blearily up at his wife.
"Mmmm…Debbie?" Harry's voice was rough with sleep; Deborah smile thinly at the bewilderment in his eyes, "You off out then?"
His head darted to the side in search of the clock, but Deborah tapped his arm to draw his attention back to her.
"In a minute, I just wanted to check a few things." She explained quietly, keeping her voice to a raised whisper for his sake, "So that I'm not rushing around when I get home."
Harry nodded, lifting the hand that wasn't playing with the blankets beside Deborah's knee to paw at his tussled hair.
"That's this evening yes?" he verified; Deborah saw the thoughtful pursing of his lips and the way his eyes shifted from her face to the ceiling, and though there was a sensation similar to stones being thrown in her chest, she nodded, "I'm not going to be home until quite late."
Deborah continued to nod, unable to quite stop herself without the risk of frowning petulantly. She didn't know why she bothered, it wasn't as if Harry was looking at her in the dark; or much at all. He hadn't even noticed that she had let her hair grow out just a little longer, allowing it to curl naturally without straightening it.
Martin had noticed; he had commented on it about half-way through their last flight. He had even reached across to flutter his finger through an almost non-existent wave, before retracting his hand as if burned, with similarly burning cheeks.
"And what will you be doing to keep you out so late?" Deborah inquired politely, feeling herself tense against her will; unlike her husband, she kept her eyes on his face, registering every twitch.
There was no reason to be so cautious, she knew that. But…she had been deceived and left alone once before, and her lifestyle hadn't changed too much since then…though she hadn't been sober then.
There was nothing to worry about. She and Harry may not have been inseparable just then, but he loved her. He thought she was fantastic. They were fine because no matter what was going on in her head, he loved her.
"I've got a Tai-Chi lesson tonight." Harry answered, scrubbing at his eyes with his now fisted hand.
"Surely Tai-Chi isn't so strenuous that it would keep you from home hours into the night?" Deborah noted; she pulled her legs ever so slightly closer to her body, tucking them underneath each other.
Fortunately, Harry must have caught the movement and not seen it for what it was, as the hand that was fiddling with the duvet drifted up to rest on her exposed knee, clenching soothingly.
"It's not that; after the lesson I'm going to the pub with a few of the other men from the class." He explained reasonably, smiling contentedly up at her, "I might be a while because…well, it's not like I can go out for a drink any other time, is it?"
Deborah jerked her leg away from his grasp, tucking it under herself without thinking about it. He didn't mean it like that, she told herself, it was her problem besides, it wasn't fair that he should suffer or miss out for it.
"No, of course not." Deborah drawled, smiling as far as she could without grimacing, "You have fun tonight…I suppose this means that you won't want any food left out?"
"No, no, don't worry about that, Love." Harry murmured, clearly drifting back into the clutches of sleep if the way his fingers curled the blankets around his torso were anything to go by, "I'll get something while I'm out." He let out a yawn, and Deborah tried not to exhale derisively, "You just enjoy your night in, watch some of that tele you like – I'll try not to wake you when I get back."
"Sure." Deborah retorted; without another word she slipped from the bed and to her feet, snatching her uniform jacket from the chair in the corner of the room.
Harry simply rolled over and drifted back into his dreams, or whatever he thought about when he wasn't awake; Deborah didn't want to venture into those waters. She stood for an immeasurable moment, watching his chest rise and fall.
He didn't look any different from when they had first met. The scene was even the same; hi still in bed, her making a hasty departure in order to get to work before the plane left without her.
It shouldn't be so difficult to make it feel the same. She didn't think on it for too long though; she was sure to find something to spark the connection again, even just a conversation with some depth…she wasn't even entirely sure what was going on in his life…he didn't talk about his job often, and was closed off about his extra classes.
That was fixable…
oOoOoOo
Deborah wasn't sure how she would classify the day so far.
She was in a fairly decent mood, if not a little annoyed at Martin, but that was hardly abnormal; as successful as they were at getting along, and getting to know each other, Martin was, and always would be, a monumental prat that felt the need to take control and highlight his 'superiority', while also criticising Deborah's shortcomings.
It wasn't something he was doing on purpose, she didn't think at least, it was merely a facet of all that made up Martin, and if she wanted to get to know him, she would have to accept that Prat came as part of the package.
There was no point stewing over the fact that he had taken her landing; no, she could just sit back and let him be in control when things inevitably went wrong. That was revenge enough, no need for unpleasantness on top of that.
Martin had stormed from GERTI to confront the airfield manager over the bill. Deborah was under no illusion that he would be successful, but it might be interesting to see the results.
She slouched back further in her seat, kicking her feet up to rest on the edge of the control panel and folding her arms behind her head, exhaling slowly for the sake of something to do.
"Take your feet off of my control panel before I cut them off." Carolyn scolded her in a calm and contained tone of voice, never taking her eyes from the camera that Arthur was holding inches from her nose, showing her the pictures that he had taken over the course of the day.
With an exaggerated sigh Deborah let her feet fall to the hard grating and turned to watch Carolyn with a pout on her lips. It seemed that there was nothing else she wanted to criticise, as the only thing she said was that Arthur's picture of the wing was hardly usable.
In Martin's absence, the older woman had taken his seat, and Arthur was currently leaning between the two pilot's seats, one arm over the back of Deborah's, the other held aloft for his mother's viewing pleasure. Neither of them were paying her much interest.
"Carolyn…" Deborah drawled lazily, elongating the vowels until Carolyn deigned to raise her eyes and push the camera away from her face, meeting her pilot's gaze with an expectant stare, "If Martin messes this up…can I be Captain?"
Carolyn scoffed, her eyebrows knitting together in delighted derision, a smirk invading her cheeks.
"Deborah, this is the third time you've asked that same question, and the answer is still no." she retorted.
"I don't think Skip would be too pleased if you got to be Captain instead of him." Arthur chipped in, conceding to slip his camera into his pocket, and looking down at Deborah thoughtfully, "and what if he quit because he didn't want to be First Officer? Then we'd be a pilot down."
Deborah swivelled in her seat so that she was kneeling over the back, making it easier to talk to both Arthur and Carolyn at the same time. She plucked her hat from where she had slung it on the control panel and twirled it on the tip of her finger.
"That's easily solved." Deborah said decisively; without warning, she reached up and placed her hat atop Arthur's head, "You can be my First Officer."
Arthur's face lit up as his hands shot towards his head as if to check that the hat was really there, and not a figment of his imagination. Deborah couldn't help but grin at Carolyn's exaggerated sigh as she rolled her eyes.
"Aw, brilliant!" Arthur exclaimed, chest puffing out proudly, "You know, Deborah, I'm starting to like this plan just a little bit more."
"Oh dear lord…" Carolyn shook her head in despair and swept a wrinkling hand over her eyes; Deborah slipped back onto her backside and continued to smile at her employer, "If you two mutiny, I will not be pleased."
"I don't know Mum, Deborah does make a persuasive argument." Arthur prodded, leaning more heavily against the back of the First Officer's seat.
"No, she does not." Carolyn stated firmly, eyes widened to the point where Carolyn-watchers knew not to challenge her, especially as she pointed aggressively at Deborah, as if to grind in the knowledge that the issue was dropped.
Deborah rolled her eyes, smirking cheerfully and lifting her hand to drape across the back of her seat, fiddling with the button on the cuff of Arthur's sleeve.
"You know, Carolyn, I don't understand why you keep me if you're not going to give me a promotion." she remarked, aiming for nonchalance; the fact that her eyes remained firmly fixed on Carolyn may have given away her interest.
"Because I hate having to interview enthusiastic tweens and decrepit invalids who have decided that flying a plane might be nice because they no longer have other job options." Carolyn shuddered at the thought, scowling at the very memory, "I'm hardly about to sack the only pilot with no job options that happens to be of a sensible age and actually good at flying."
Deborah's smirk threatened to spill into genuine pleasure, as beneath her ribs there surged a wave of warm tingles that she had almost forgotten, as it had been so long since any sensation of the sort had overcome her.
To compensate, she collected herself, sliding upwards so that she was straight in her seat, and folding one leg delicately over the other.
"Hmm…you say that, Carolyn…" Deborah drawled, waiting for Carolyn's attention before she continued, "But I think it's actually because I'm your favourite."
"Favourite pilot?" Carolyn retorted, snorting a little, though Deborah thought not to mention it.
"No, favourite person." Deborah elucidated, "You won't admit it, but secretly I'm your closest friend."
At this Carolyn huffed and rose to her feet, anchoring herself on the arms of the seat as she hoisted herself up.
"You can believe what you wish." She announced, gesturing with both hands into the air as if welcoming the winds to her command, "Now, I've got to go and fetch our passengers – what joy."
As she passed through the gap between the seats, Carolyn swatted Deborah over the back of the head. Deborah made only a half-hearted attempt to avoid it, tilting her head upwards to meet Arthur's gaze as he turned back from the flight-deck door, smiling up at him.
Perhaps the day wasn't so bad.
She wondered when Martin was getting back; she felt in the mood for a good old debate with him. There was something thoroughly enthralling about seeing how many times she could make him splutter and blush.
oOoOoOo
It had got worse. Martin had somehow, despite all the stars aligning in such a way that nothing could possibly be worse, Martin had managed it.
It was so extraordinary that Deborah didn't even have the energy to be mad about it. She was simply possessed by a bemused wonderment at his apparent subversion of superhuman abilities.
That…and an almost sadistic desire to see him try to undo his mistakes. Martin wanted to be in control, Martin could be in control.
It was like watching a train-wreck, but a fantastic one.
Deborah observed in silence, hands pressed together on her lap, as Martin and Carolyn tried to decide how to get to Kebili without fuel or permission to take off.
A crash sounded from outside the flight-deck, and Deborah turned in her seat just in time to see Arthur stumble in, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, hair out of place, and the word 'BEER' scrawled in large block letters across the insides of both his wrists.
"Yeah, yeah, I'll tell them, okay…" Arthur insisted, back to the crew and arms raised as he reversed into the flight-deck as quickly as he could.
Deborah had enough time to muse that she had never seen Arthur look so put-out or irritated as he did in that moment, before another bottle flew through the air and bounced off of his upper arm.
"Ow!" Arthur exclaimed; he pulled the door shut before any more missiles could pass through, and turned to the three of them with a harried expression on his face, hands raised in an illustration of despair, "Um, the passengers have a few requests."
"What?" Carolyn replied, her nose crinkling as she took in the appearance of her son.
"Um, well, more beer. They were very clear about that." Arthur explained tensely, as if unsure whether he was in the wrong or they were, "Look. To make sure I remembered they wrote it on … me."
Deborah spared him a sympathetic glance, which he smiled back at, naturally.
"Oh yes, so they did." Martin noted, also leaning around his chair to peer at the marks on Arthur's arms; he seemed far less concerned about that, Deborah observed, than passingly interested as he peered down his nose, chewing on the corner of his lip.
"Yeah. So: beer, definitely; um, water, some of them are keen on; uh, and … an umpire." Arthur reeled off the various requests that had been set to him.
"An umpire?" Martin repeated, eyes narrowing in confusion.
Deborah straightened to attention immediately, fingers curling over the edges of the controls that she had been clutching. Cricketers that want an umpire…that can only mean that they're playing cricket.
It had been ages since she'd played. It took less than a moment for her to decide to abandon her crew; so long as she was very deliberately not being helpful, she might as well go and have some fun.
While Martin was still interrogating Carolyn and Arthur, holding their attention in a way that only prissy and demanding can, Deborah slipped quietly from her seat and tread lightly to the back of the flight-deck, snatching her flight bag from its spot, and opened the door as silently as possible before disappearing through it.
She couldn't do physical activity in her uniform, that much was certain; a running race with Arthur had proved as much.
Luckily, she always wore a white strapped top under her shirt, a precaution against passengers that thought spilling water over her was the key to a happier flight, so she simply unbuttoned her shirt and tucked it into the bag. Followed by her skirt and tights, which were swiftly replaced by a pair of shorts that could be worn on the beach, or more likely, when lounging in bed during the day.
The change took less than a minute; Deborah had never really appreciated the Galley before, but it really was spacious enough to move in, while providing a nice, hidden area for times when covert operations needed to be undertaken.
When she strode into the cabin, Deborah had expected for the men to ogle, and she was not disappointed. What did surprise her was the fact that they were all in swimming trunks; smart men, she thought, but why they needed swimming trunks on a rugby tour was beyond her.
Though the eyes of her chest and legs were uncomfortable, they were nothing that she wasn't used to, and she wasn't going to let that get in the way of a bit of fun; honestly, she normally did really well around 'blokey' blokes.
"Alright, eyes up lads, show the lady some respect." One of the men spoke above the light murmur; a tall, stocky one, with a crooked nose and bruised chin.
Deborah nodded her thanks as the rest of the team looked away sheepishly, murmuring apologies, one even clapping her on the back in a companionable way. Plastering on a smirk, Deborah held out her hand to the man holding the cricket bat, spotting the wicket half way down the aisle as she did.
"Let's have a go then," she suggested, wiggling her fingers when the bat with withheld in the air, "I bet I've got a better swing than at least three of you."
"Nah, I doubt it." Another man retorted in a thick Scottish accent, causing his fellows to chuckle around him
"Well, let me have a go, and we'll see." Deborah drawled persistently, hand still aloft, waiting for the bat.
The man holding it was clearly game, as with a shake of his head and a reluctant smile he placed it in her hand and stepped aside for her to take his place, bowing playfully as she positioned herself.
It turned out that Deborah had a fantastic swing, that made at least two thirds of the men cheer as she clapped her hands together and raised them in the air in a show of victory.
The celebration didn't last long though, as the intercom buzzed, and Carolyn's voice caused all to fall silent.
"Deborah, I wish to have a little word – under the wing. Now."
oOoOoOo
Carolyn's revelation had tilted Deborah's world ever so slightly on its axis. She had always mocked and slightly resented Carolyn, despite her affection for the woman…yet, now she sort of understood her….wanted to be a good worker for her so that MJN wasn't a failure.
It was horrible.
And to top it all off, she really, really wanted to set fire to the manager's office. She hadn't been thinking about it before, but when Carolyn mentioned it, it seemed like the best thing in the world.
Then again, maybe the heat of the desert beating down on her had frazzled her brain cells.
That seemed very likely as it appeared that she and Martin had not only come up with a plan together, but were working together to execute it as well. They were getting along extraordinarily well actually; even the ribbing was contained with no suggestion that they were actually trying to hurt each other.
Deborah directed the rugby players to the fire-truck, keeping an eye out for any airfield officials that might wander by. Martin was at her side, watching the proceedings.
What gave her pause, was the fact that Martin had shirked off his jacket, and was holding it out to her, a focused expression on his sunburnt face that would have looked apt on an electrician humming over a daily job, not on a pilot trying to roll up his sleeves in the middle of the desert while one hand was occupied.
"Deborah, could you hold onto that for me?" Martin asked, sparing her only a glance.
Deborah was too distracted by bewilderment to consider the fact that she took his jacket from him as requested and folded it over her elbow.
"Martin, what are you doing?" she inquired, no drawl, just plain confusion that she made no effort to hide.
Martin quirked an eyebrow at her, as if to say that she was the one behaving unusually, as he bared his lower arms and stepped away as if to follow the team.
"I'm going to help lift the fire-truck." He explained, as if it were obvious, "you did say all hands on deck."
"But your hands Captain?" Deborah remarked, following him a few steps, fingers closing over his jacket where she held it; she didn't want to say that she was concerned, but she began to suspect that she might be concerned at Martin's sudden shift into 'normal bloke', "You're not exactly a sportsman…are you not afraid you might break your back?"
Martin let out a noise half way between a scoff and a chuckle, a throaty noise that only he could manage.
"No," he answered, and Deborah was surprised (and impressed) to see that he was smirking smugly, the bastard, "I have quite good upper body strength actually."
"How come?" Deborah pushed, but Martin merely shook his head and tapped the side of his nose, his smile growing as he began to tread backwards towards the other men.
"None of your business." Martin retorted; then he winked, bloody winked, the smug sod, and turned to stride away from her, rounding the truck just as the rugby players had.
Deborah shook her head to dispel any stray thoughts; there was no point puzzling over the enigma that was Martin Crieff, not in that moment anyway.
She raised her voice and her hands, making sure to hold onto Martin's jacket.
"Places, places! Okay, remember, bend from the knees, not from the back. And three, two, one, lift!" she instructed, and there were grunts and cries as the vehicle creaked, but slowly and surely, the truck lifted from the ground, "Yes, it's coming! It's coming! Yes! And … carry … carry …bit more, nearly there, nearly there! And drop!"
"Hey! Hey!" the sound of the airfield staff could be heard even as the truck touched the ground again and the men released equally pained groans, rubbing and rolling their muscles, as Deborah rushed up among them and tried to hurry them along.
"Back on the plane! Back on the plane! Go, go, go, go!" she called, going so far as to push some of them when they didn't move fast enough.
Martin was the last to climb the steel steps, allowing her to pass before him, waving a hand at her as he gasped for breath and jogged up after her, retrieving his jacket from her arm and sending her a relieved smile as he did.
oOoOoOo
They actually managed to pull it off. This was the type of adventure that Deborah could tell to Verity, and have her daughter grin with unabashed admiration.
As they drove GERTI down the highway, to the tune of many men singing remarkably well in the cabin, Deborah couldn't help but feel they'd done quite well. They had done quite well.
She glanced sideways at Martin, who for the first time looked relaxed on the flight-deck, his shoulders without tension, his hands loose on the controls, and a contented, cheerful smile on his flushed cheeks.
"Two miles to go, Martin." Deborah informed him; it was necessary information, but it also acted as a way to start a conversation, to try and keep the mood up while it was nice.
"Thank you, Deborah." Martin replied confidently, shooting her a dashing grin before checking the dials again.
They were having fun, of that Deborah was sure. They were actually acting like friends, rather than people trying to be friends. She had come to realise over the course of the day, that said friendship did not exclude a little harmless prodding; in fact it thrived on it.
She couldn't resist; teasing was just one step away from harmless flirting among friends. It felt natural; if Martin didn't react well, then she would let it lie, but if it made being friends with Martin easier, she would flirt until the world ended.
"D'you want me to drive for a bit, darling?" Deborah drawled, making sure to gaze somewhat playfully at Martin.
Martin turned to meet her gaze, and to her delight, he smirked wickedly; his cheeks also flushed scarlet, but it was hard to see under the burnt skin of his face.
"No thanks, dear. You know I get car-sick in the passenger seat." He replied, quirking his eyebrow and holding eye contact for just long enough for it to be successful.
Deborah's smirk spilled into a genuine smile that she tried to hide, though this only led to the release of a giggle that she had been holding in. If Martin had noticed, he didn't say anything; the only sign that he had was the sideways glance he stole before clearing his throat.
"Good…uh, today was good, good, uh, good teamwork," Martin stuttered, not as if he were nervous, but as if he wasn't sure what to say, "We…we make a good team, we did, good, good teamwork."
Deborah watched him grasp for words, licking her lips as she waited for him to finish.
"Yes…we weren't bad were we?" she replied; the moment had gone, so she rolled her shoulders back and settled down in her seat.
"No…not bad." Martin agreed; then he inhaled sharply, and asked, "Are they ready for us in Kebili?"
"They are." Deborah informed him dutifully, flicking a control that was on the verge of crying wolf.
It would be a shame to break up such a peaceful mood, she mused; perhaps, if Harry wasn't expecting to be home until after she was asleep, she could stay behind after her shift was over.
Martin always did, and she supposed that sitting and filling out a few bits of paperwork with him would be far less dull than slouching around her house on her own. It would also mean that she could spend more time with Martin before the pleasant atmosphere wore away.
That could be nice.
This strayed far further from the script than usual purely because I couldn't find much in the script that I might alter
As always, I hope you all enjoy it, and your feedback would be much appreciated
: )