Thank you so much to my 3 reviewers.

Here's a short interlude, which I couldn't get out of my head.

Interlude 4

Deborah groaned and dropped her head onto the tattered cushions, closing her eyes and doing her best to concentrate on the feel of MJN's sofa, scratching against the slithers of exposed skin around her wrists. The resounding emotion of the day was one that screamed 'I can't be bothered'.

She was never one to complain about this sort of thing, or make any kind of fuss, much more likely to just get on with her job…but it had been years since it had hurt so much. Deborah clutched at her abdomen, pressing down as securely as she could as she opened her eyes and surveyed the porta-cabin.

Arthur and Martin had been sent off to perform various errands, and Carolyn, obviously spotting her distress with the keen eye that only other women seemed to possess, had instructed that Deborah do paperwork…only to allow her to curl up on the sofa for twenty minutes or so instead.

Carolyn hadn't said a word directly, but she had definitely seen Deborah hunch over clutching at her stomach as one moment she was fine, making herself a coffee, and the next, she was fighting abdominal cramps and a burst of dizziness.

Deborah could only find it in herself to be irritated; it was never this bad. To make things worse, it wasn't even a constant pain, it was a waxing and waning ache that meant she could work cheerfully for hours at a time, only to be struck down when actual thinking needed to be done.

To her relief, Carolyn had retreated to her own office to work, so at least there was some peace and quiet to go with the dull buzzing at the back of her mind.

The moment that the thought crossed Deborah's mind, the door to the porta-cabin creaked open, and Martin stepped through, whistling a grating tune as he kicked the door shut with the back of his foot, and wandered towards his desk, not noticing her for the sake of the papers that he was rifling through.

"Martin, charming a tune as that is, could you perhaps refrain from sharing it?" Deborah sighed, shifting so that she was lying on her back, making it easier to watch Martin without having to endure the uncomfortable warmth of the sofa squashing her face.

Martin paused, looked around the room with pinched eyebrows, and then jumped a little when his eyes fell upon the sofa.

"Deborah?" he asked, quirking his eyebrow; when Deborah only huffed in response, his expression shifted to concern, and he deviated from his course to place the papers on his desk before approaching the sofa slowly, "Are you alright?"

Deborah turned her head to meet his as he crouched beside her, placing his hand on the cushions just beside her hip and scanning her as if for defects. She pouted drearily, hardly energised enough to be anything more than exasperated.

"I'm fine, Martin." Deborah assured him, swinging her arm out sluggishly to pat his elbows, before returning it to her stomach, "Just a less than pleasant time of the month, is all."

Martin's eyes widened in realisation, and he winced in sympathy, nodding with thinned lips as he rose to his feet, crossing over the room to shuffle the papers on his desk.

"I have painkillers if you'd like some." He offered, already rifling through the drawer where his knees would sit if he were seated.

Deborah hummed in relief, smiling and nodded swiftly, eyeing Martin's acknowledgement and making an effort to place her hand atop the back of the sofa and drag herself into a vertical position, closing her eyes as the blood rushed into her skull.

She thanked whatever deity that Martin was one of those mature men that didn't grimace and make a fuss at the mention of menstrual cramps and the like; Harry had been a fine culprit, putting his fingers in his ears and joking that he didn't need to hear whenever she asked him to pick up supplies for her. Arthur was the complete opposite; she had made the mistake of complaining to him only once, and never again, as she had spent a week drowning in hot chocolate and cakes, and pulled into far too many hugs. She couldn't see Martin doing that.

Just one more thing that she was discovering about her Captain that was making it slowly but surely easier to accept him as part of the family.

The sofa dipped as Martin came to sit beside her, slipping a plastic pot of pills and a bottle of water into her hands. Deborah smiled gratefully, and went about administering the medication. The only complaint that she could have placed at that moment was the fact that the spell of dizziness and agony seemed to have gone away for now. Typical.

When she looked up, it was to find that Martin was watching her with an indecipherable crinkle on his face, his bottom lip gnawed between his teeth as if he were revving himself up internally. Deborah raised her eyebrows, but said nothing.

"Is it really that bad?" Martin inquired finally, sounding genuinely interested; Deborah thought that it was likely that he had come out on the wrong side of many women by behaving the wrong way, and was trying to fill some gaps in his knowledge using the one woman that he was unlikely to need to worry about upsetting.

"My internal organs are tearing themselves apart and then ejecting themselves." Deborah explained curtly, taking a perverse pleasure from the horror that washed over Martin's face as he tensed, and then aimed for nonchalance, linking his fingers together on his lap.

"Oh, right…that bad then." Martin nodded, pursing his lips and barely meeting her eyes, "Shouldn't you…I don't know…do you want to go home? Get some rest until you feel better?"

Deborah chuckled warmly, smiling and leaning back into the sofa, keeping her gaze fixed on Martin as he followed the movement.

"Oh, Martin, if women took time off of work every month because they were in pain, the world might stop turning." She drawled, slinking her arms loosely around her chest, "But I appreciate the thought. Just be extra nice to me."

Martin rolled his eyes and exhaled at length as he crossed his arms behind his head and sank back to mirror her; apparently the paperwork could wait. Deborah assumed that he had already filed everything that needed to be done, as if he would ever be behind schedule.

"I'm always nice to you." Martin insisted, grinning down at her.

There were many choice things that Deborah could have said to that, but she let it be. If she was able to keep him in a good mood, he might even be convinced to fetch her some coffee and cakes from the Costa down the road.

oOoOoOo

To his credit, Martin did make an effort to even nicer than usual. He had fetched cups of tea, and played every game without complaining about his losses; Martin had even let her take a particularly tricky landing, as if he thought that it was something that might lift her spirits. She had to admit, the man was getting to know her.

To top it off, he kept up his efforts for the best part of a week, long after Deborah was feeling cheerful and healthy again; not that she hadn't stretched it out, just to enjoy the rare peace that settled over GERTI as Martin seemed unwilling to prompt an argument that might upset her.

Which was why, after a flight to New York, where they would be spending two nights, returning home on the third day, Deborah had agreed to accompany Martin on an exploration of the city. It might be nice, she had told herself; they usually went their separate ways, but after all of his efforts, she reckoned that he deserved to be pandered to in the smallest of ways.

So, tucked up in an old dress and her coat, she had let Martin interpret the map that he had got hold of, eyes narrowed and nose scrunched as he neurotically made sure that they were lined up exactly as the page was each time he checked it, and they had ventured out.

There wasn't much of interest that she hadn't seen before, and the things that they did find weren't Martin's scene; inevitably, they had ended up in a steady cross between a bar and a nightclub. Not too loud, but not too sedate.

Martin had been wary about drinking, as Deborah couldn't, but after some convincing, he had given in and was enjoying himself, on the promise that Deborah would make sure he got back to the hotel safe and sound.

By midnight, Deborah wasn't regretting the decision. Martin when drunk was hilarious to be around; he talked a lot of nonsense, but she was genuinely enjoying listening to him, a blossom of warmth fluttering in her chest that she suspected was the effect of too much smoke in the air and delayed exhaustion.

Martin for his part talked with a wide smile on his face, light blush meeting his freckled cheeks without overflowing, making fluid arm movements and leaning comfortably against the bar as he described some contraption made of cardboard that he had once tried to fly from his parents' roof. Deborah wasn't sure that the story was quite correct, as she didn't think his sister had telepathically dared him to jump, or believe for a minute that his plane had soared the few feet that he claimed it had, but she didn't have the heart to do more than nod and laugh.

"What time is it?" Martin inquired, releasing another empty glass onto the bar behind him and flopping his arm over to turn Deborah's wrist, the wrong wrist, in order to check her watch.

Deborah sighed and stepped to his side, placing her arm an inch behind his back to herd him away from the bar.

"Time to take you back to the hotel I think." She answered cheerfully, pleased when Martin allowed himself to be lead through the spattering of a crowd and towards the door.

"Oh…that's good of you." Martin replied, sounding truthfully touched at the gesture, even if his words were slurred a bit more than slightly, and he stumbled as he tried to turn and address her while simultaneously exiting the establishment, "Thank you for looking after me."

"It's my pleasure Martin." Deborah assured him, patting him lightly on the back as they crossed the road.

The walk back to the hotel was uneventful, save for the impromptu stop that Martin engineered outside of a restaurant, in which he debated out loud whether he should stop for food there, or get some at the hotel, apparently looking to her for advice, but continuing to talk the moment that she tried to offer any kind of consolation. Deborah just had to shake her head and simply take him by the sleeve to drag him obediently behind her; even drunk, Martin was still pragmatic to a tee and incapable of just letting things be.

Martin behaved once they were in the hotel, obviously understanding the unspoken rules of the establishment and remaining pointedly hushed as they rode the lift up to their floor; Deborah had to bite her lip to stop from laughing at the seriousness on his face as he peered decisively down his nose the entire time. Then as they wandered towards his room (Carolyn had booked them separate ones this time), she caught him staring at her every now and then, too sluggish to turn away quickly enough, though he seemed to think that he had.

The whole debacle was amusing; Deborah found that she was practically living for the moments that she could make Martin behave as anything other than a professional, something that was both depressing and mildly hilarious in the moment.

At the door of his room, Martin leant against the wall while Deborah searched through her pockets for the second room key that he had given her at the beginning of the night, in case of emergencies.

When she finally held the plastic card between her fingers, she looked up to find that Martin was watching her intensely again, back pressed against the wall as he slouched, lips curled upwards as his eyes narrowed in thought.

"You know…" Martin slurred, making it sound as if he were the most important statement in the world, with the certainty that was usually delivered only with important flight decisions, "You…are a stunning woman."

Deborah opened her mouth to reply, both confused and bemused, and a little put out, but held her retort, instead nodding slowly and folding her arms over her chest, deciding to humour the Captain's moment of retrospection; it wouldn't be the first time that someone had done this after all. She had just hoped that Martin wouldn't.

"Well, let it not be said Captain, that my looks haven't been noted before." Deborah drawled patiently, making sure to maintain a pleasant expression even though she was ready to pat him on the back and herd him into his room, only to look forward to mocking him the next morning.

To her bewilderment, Martin shook his head vehemently, looking put out by the fact that she didn't understand whatever it was he was hoping to transmit, but smirking nonetheless as if privy to a secret that only he knew.

"No…not the outside of you – but that's pretty too…but not just the out-outside of you…" Martin drawled, he raised his hand, fingers splayed to gesture up and down her body, seemingly blind to Deborah's raised eyebrow and pursed lips as his eyes followed his hands trail and the movement pushed his balance off enough that he had to lean further into the wall, "No…no… the all of you – the all of you's s-stunning."

Deborah inhaled slowly, unsure of where Martin was going with this; she wasn't even sure quite how she was feeling about it, but was peripherally aware of the mere foot of space between them.

"How so?" she inquired curtly, observing the thoughts visibly flittering across Martin's face as he drew his lips through his teeth.

"I-it's just you…you're so beautiful, out here –b-but also here," Martin leant forward and tapped clumsily at the side of her head; Deborah didn't flinch, but she watched his face with a reformed bemusement, "and here…" this time Martin's hand fell briefly on her breast, but she was certain that as he retracted his hand, he had meant to point at her heart, even though he did aim for the wrong side of her chest, "and also in your words…i-it's just all of you…is so stunning…"

Deborah swallowed awkwardly as she nodded to show him that she had understood; Martin smiled as if pleased with himself, and she tried not to catch his eye as she battened down the strange wriggling in her chest. Blinking hastily, and shaking her head, plastering on a tight-lipped smile, Deborah readjusted her arms over her chest, feeling oddly wrong-footed and choked up.

"That's…that's sweet of you to say Martin." Deborah said politely, sighing at the coy grin that curled Martin's lips, "Thank you. Now do you think-"

She was about to suggest that he go into his room and sleep off the alcohol, but Martin talked over her, unable as always to stop trying to cover all bases at all times; or perhaps his mental filters just deteriorated with drink, Deborah couldn't tell.

"I only say that, that you're beautiful," Martin slurred, waggling his finger demonstratively in front of his face as he refused to stop leaning against the wall, "because…in the bar, when we were in the bar, I kept thinking…I kept thinking that, that your husband…he must be a brave man."

The strange feeling in her chest stuttered, and Deborah wasn't sure what to say, or how she could reply without losing her measured patience.

"What makes you think that Harry's brave?" Deborah asked guardedly; she wasn't going to correct him, Martin didn't need to know that Harry was long gone. She was too confused at what Martin was suggesting.

Martin shrugged, unaware of the tension in his colleague's shoulders, simply gesturing in curling loops to punctuate his explanation.

"I was just thinking…that he must be brave, b-because if I was married to you, being all stunning like you are in all the ways…not just stunning outside, but really lovely as you as well…I wouldn't be able to stand being away from you for so long." Martin struggled over some words, and others dragged, but he barrelled on with his narrative; Deborah held her breath, arms stiffening, unsure of what the rippling sensation like nails scraping against her guts while moths fluttered in her chest even meant, "'Cos you're so…lovely…I don't know how your husband does it, 'c-cos I couldn't…because you're – look at you."

Martin trailed off as his hand made another sweeping motion, and he peered at a corner of the carpet, cheeks tickled pink.

Deborah wasn't sure how to react. She flexed her fingers where they were practically wrapped around her elbows. She could appreciate that Martin was just being nice…but she couldn't help but feel thrown as he shuffled his feet sheepishly.

"And…you felt that you needed to tell me this?" Deborah asked, her voice lacking its usual cadence; she was abruptly aware of the fact that they were standing in the hotel corridor, and that it was cold enough to prickle at her skin beneath her coat.

Martin shrugged and wafted his head about, in the way of a drunk man shaking his skull for thoughts that should be obvious to everyone. It was a very Martin gesture, and Deborah couldn't be mad at Martin for something so benign compared to some of the things he had said to her over the year that they had known each other.

"Just so you know…" Martin slurred pleasantly, "Your husband…he doesn't know how good he's got it…"

Deborah bit back a scoff, her fake smile wavering; she shook her head, sweeping her hair back behind her ears.

"No, he doesn't." she acknowledged; without another word, Deborah moved to the hotel door and unlocked it, holding it open for Martin to stumble through in as ungainly a fashion as was possible, made worse by his attempts to walk in a straight-backed captain-like way.

Deborah smiled in good humour as Martin headed straight for his bed, dropping onto his side with a well-deserved sigh; that was good, she thought. Better to find the humour rather than focus on a single drink addled word that Martin was saying. They would laugh about it tomorrow, so long as he could remember.

She crouched by the side of the bed, tipping her head sideways so that she could address Martin properly, fingers curling on the edge of the mattress.

"Good night, Captain." Deborah murmured, "No wandering off now; I won't come and find you if you do."

"Hmmm…" Martin groaned contentedly, smiling happily at her, face half concealed by the covers; then he ruined the moment by adding, "Your husband…he doesn't know how lucky he is…at home while…you're here with us."

Deborah rolled her eyes.

"Tell him that would you." She reprimanded playfully, smirking as Martin nodded raggedly.

"I will." Martin answered with certainty, "I will tell him that."

With that, Deborah stood, taking a moment to consider whether she should leave him there, and then deciding that he would be fine. There was something pleasurably comic about the idea of Martin and Harry facing off; Martin was no good in a fight, and Harry was the biggest pacifist she had ever met. It was a strange image…

Shaking her head and striding from the room, pulling the door shut behind her, confident that Martin would be fine on his own, Deborah began making her way across the hall to her own. She tried not to think too hard about the last twenty minutes. The effort of trying to figure out exactly how she felt about it made her feel physically ill.

Then again, it was nice to hear some positive feedback every now and again. She'd leave it at that.

Never until this day did I appreciate the fact that I don't know how to write a drunk person. Hopefully it's not too ridiculous.