Hello - thank you for reviewing, those who did, it made my day, it really did.

Here's the next chapter as a reward.

Gdansk

If there was one thing that could be relied upon, it was the unpredictable nature of the English weather. A week ago Fitton had been victim to Spring showers and spattering sheets of rain that poured despite the almost cloudless skies. It had produced a handful of occasions where Arthur had entered the porta-cabin soaked to the skin, because he had assumed he could survive a run to the corner shop without a jacket.

This week, it seemed, they were going to endure a minor heat-wave, as the sun beat down upon the airfield, making the small metal walled room unbearable to sit in all day.

Deborah had decided to enjoy the weather while it lasted; Arthur certainly was, and even Carolyn had been caught humming a jaunty tune under her breath. Martin seemed on edge, but she assumed that the heat was giving him headaches, or something of the sort.

It was mid-week, and they were on standby for another client that was unlikely to turn up until the last day of their contract, so Deborah had hunted down some picnic blankets that she kept in the back of her cupboards in case of emergencies, and brought them into work. Once Carolyn gave them the okay, she and Arthur had set up camp on the grass outside the porta-cabin.

Having shirked her jacket hours beforehand, Deborah lay back on one of the picnic blankets, stretching her arms out either side of her head after unbuttoning the top two buttons of her shirt, which was already too tight around her chest. It didn't make her any more comfortable, but it was less restricting than the alternative.

She sighed, closing her eyes against the scorching rays of the sun; she had spent the last day filling out as much paperwork as possible so that she could do nothing today. Carolyn had gaped, but it was worth it just so that she could have one day of mindlessness. Martin had been more of a pain than usual, and Arthur never shut up, so it was nice.

"Hmmmm." Arthur hummed contentedly, where he was laid out a few feet away, shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows as he grinned at the sun, skin already browning, "You know Deborah, if we got some food, we could have an MJN picnic."

Deborah opened her eyes and tipped her head to the side, blowing the hair from her eyes where it fell so that she could observe the steward from the side; the world seemed out of sorts, with the ground tilted sideways, Arthur's face shone regardless.

"Are you going to get the food?" she inquired pleasantly, plastering on a practiced smile, "I think that as your idea, you should take responsibility for that."

"Well I was thinking it could be a joint effort." Arthur replied, shrugging nonchalantly.

Deborah shook her head and hoisted herself up on her elbows, smirking as Arthur frowned, slightly.

"Oh no, if you want a picnic, then you shall have to devise it yourself." She drawled, reaching over to prod his side, but upon discovering that he was too far away, let her hand drop to the ground to prop her up, "I shall merely reap the rewards."

At that moment, a crack signalled the opening of the porta-cabin door. Deborah shifted to glance over her shoulder, and had to blink against the harsh light of the sun, but was able to see Martin shuffling through the doorway, arms full of files, before having to settle back as she was.

She was mildly surprised to see the Captain, as though he had made excuses about sensitive skin burning in the sun, she had been sure that he just didn't want to slack off of work with them, seeing outdoor lounging as too unprofessional.

Deborah watched with a repressed amusement as Martin wandered into the space between she and Arthur, and lowered himself until he was sitting cross legged on the grass, laying out the papers before him with his bottom lip gnawing between his teeth.

"Did you finally decide to emerge from your dreary den?" Deborah asked playfully, making sure to maintain eye contact when Martin glanced up from his work, lips pursed as if it were beneath him, but there was an air of sheepishness about him.

"I just thought that I might as well make the most of the sun while it's out." Martin replied, propping a file on his knees and pencilling in here and there. He was definitely avoiding playing today, Deborah thought.

She simply scoffed softly, smiling faintly and ignoring him if he was going to be so petulant; she didn't have to be a master in translating Martin's moods to know that he had started to feel lonely indoors, after making such a fuss of staying there to work, and now he was taking their company without admitting to it.

That was fine by her; it gave Deborah a chance to tickle him with her new game.

Since the night in New York, when Martin had delivered his slurred soliloquy, he had been on edge. It wasn't difficult to see; he had been tight-lipped, and just a little sharper with her than he had been in recent months, snapping at her when she had thrown her feet up on the control panel the week before.

The next morning he hadn't said a word, but Martin was hardly subtle about the sideways glances that he kept stealing; if he was regretting what he had said, it would be up to him to make it known. Deborah wasn't going to bring it up.

On a completely unrelated note, Martin's petulance had invoked in her the prickling impulse, that she hadn't felt in a while, that promised to bring forth a slippery pleasure at making Martin squirm.

It was his fault really. He had put the idea in her head. If Martin was going to remark loudly on her looks, then she was going to flaunt them and watch him flush and look away and splutter; he was awfully funny when he was feeling wrong-footed.

Deborah leant back, her arms still extended behind her, supporting her weight, and tipped her head back, feeling the tips of her hair tickling her lower back. What this achieved, was to present her unbuttoned chest to the beating rays of the sun…and Martin's line of sight.

See, she had discovered that the one thing that made Captain Crieff blush, was anything even slightly sexual. And Martin was just naughty enough that he couldn't stop himself from looking, or using innuendo every now and again, even though he did try not to stare. He was a failure as the lustless gentleman, but he did try, which was what made it so funny.

There was no doubt after New York that Martin fancied her, just a little. He probably hated himself for it, but he did. Which Deborah thought was the perfect opening for some harmless joshing.

Deborah made a show of fanning herself with her hand, and as she had expected, Martin's gaze wandered from his work to her breasts, lingering before his eyes snapped up to hers. She quirked her eyebrow, and Martin huffed, pulling his files closer to his chest and filling out whatever form he had with a newfound violence.

Laying back with a sense of victory, Deborah's only complaint was that Martin's current brand of embarrassment wasn't the spluttering bemused one of late, but the irritable one of old.

It was only a game after all; no reason to make such a fuss.

oOoOoOo

Another good day, another plane full of oddball passengers; this time, a handful of neurotic orchestra members and their instruments.

Which was probably why Carolyn and Arthur were playing with them in the flight-deck, Deborah mused. Truth be told, she was rather enjoying their list game. Perhaps it was the joy of winning time after time, although that did get old. More likely it was Martin's consternation at losing…time after time.

His mood hadn't improved over the past few days, and Deborah might have been curious and sympathetic…if he hadn't been taking it out of her. As it was, her game continued, and he just became more agitated.

"Uh, everyone ready?" Arthur checked, holding the game book in his hands and glancing between them, "Get set: the Seven Deadly Sins."

While Carolyn leant against the back of her chair, Deborah scribbled down her answers swiftly on her notepad, and proceeded to spend the next minute or so watching Martin clasp at his own notepad, making the paper crinkle as he hunched over, writing furiously. She couldn't help teasing him, but rather than laughing it off like he usually would, Martin snapped at her.

He was obviously very into the game, she assumed. It was almost endearing…in the sense that it only made her want to tease him even more.

"Okay, let's see." Arthur announced, dropping his hand like a man at the start of a race, and leaning across the gap between the seats to take Deborah's pad from her, "Um, yeah, Deborah got 'em all."

Martin sighed dejectedly, slumping sideways in his seat and handing Arthur his own pad, which he tucked underneath Carolyn's for the moment. Deborah raised her eyebrows at Martin, smirking deliciously to get a reaction. She wasn't disappointed, as Martin scowled and turned his sights over the top of his seat.

Arthur dutifully checked the scores, debating with Carolyn over the difference between wrath and anger. Deborah chipped in helpfully, trying to catch Martin's eye and prompt a smile, but to little avail.

"Sorry, Carolyn, we have to go by the book, I'm afraid, so I come second." Martin stated primly; Deborah supposed that his foul mood might just be a phase in which he was feeling once again insecure as Captain. If so, there was little she could do; perhaps he might cheer up if she kept prodding.

"Yeah, looks like it, Skip. Uh, let me just check …" Arthur muttered as he scanned Martin's list; then he frowned in sympathy, handing back the notepad, "Oh, bad luck. You've got Lust down twice."

"Oh, for …" Martin huffed, dropping the pad onto his knee and running his chin with his hand, looking through the front window in favour of facing his crew.

Deborah couldn't resist the opportunity.

"Naughty Captain Crieff!" she drawled, winking flutteringly when Martin turned back to her; he flushed, but just scowled even harder, making his cheeks wrinkle with the effort, "Which one did he miss out?"

"Uh, Pride." Arthur answered, having to peer down at the book in his hands.

"Irony upon ironies." Deborah purred, smirking as Martin straightened himself up indignantly, pushing his hat down on his head and addressing Arthur, ignoring her completely.

"Let's do another. I'm gonna win this one." He declared, brimming with self-righteous confidence.

There was a brief discussion, in which Deborah was told in no uncertain terms that she would not be betting on their games, and that Arthur was not to bet anything at all, and then Carolyn allowed them to continue. Deborah smarted a bit at the implication of distrust, but she merely rolled her eyes and accepted without further comment.

Arthur rifled through his book, and his eyes lit up as he found a prompt that interested him.

"Um …. okay, here's one. On your marks, get set: the Seven Dwarves." He declared, acting the part of umpire to his utmost best, hand motions and all, looking between them as if something exciting were actually occurring.

As the sound of scribbling filled the flight-deck, merging with the whirring and beeping that always formed the background hum, Deborah settled back in her seat, turned so that faced Martin.

In a moment of impulse, she decided that she could tease just a little more; Martin wasn't quite playing along as he usually would, and it was becoming annoying.

"Martin…" Deborah drawled as seductively as possible, making sure to make her gaze as burning as she could, "Don't forget Lusty."

With that she traced the tip of her toes along his lower leg, as one might under the table during a successful date. It was swift and brief, and she didn't move above his knee, but it was enough that Martin physically jumped in his seat.

"Shut up!" Martin hissed through his teeth, clearing his throat awkwardly, bringing his curled hand to his chest. His eyes flickered to hers, and she was pleased to see that his cheeks were scarlet; he gave her a cursory scan, and then looked pointedly away.

He was still angry. It wasn't quite what she had wanted, but it was somewhat enjoyable.

oOoOoOo

Deborah stormed into the Galley, pushing aside the curtain with a jangle and hopping onto the sideboard without further ado, holding her arms over her chest and squaring her jaw as she glared at the dulled corner of one of the cabinets.

Carolyn and Arthur were already in there, probably hiding from their difficult charges, and at the abrupt entrance, they both fell silent and turned to stare at her with eerily similar expressions of confusion.

"Are you alright Deborah?" Arthur inquired cautiously, drying his hands on the tea-towel that he held, and dropping it on the microwave.

"I'm fine." Deborah stated plainly, in no mood for chatting; she was fuming, completely livid. And insulted, and hurt. She had thought that they were past all of the sharp digs and cruelty, but apparently not.

"Oh, pull the other one Deborah." Carolyn retorted, leaning back against the counter and fixing her with a glare that couldn't be argued with, "You've got a face on like someone stole your favourite plush toy."

Deborah shook her head, refusing to meet Carolyn's gaze, but then she couldn't find the energy.

"Martin's being an arse again." She muttered, letting her shoulders sag as she slumped, folding her arms over her lap.

"Oh, for god's sake, I thought you two were friends now." Carolyn snapped, throwing her hands in the air demonstratively.

"Friends don't bring up each other's failing marriages for the sake of cheap shots." Deborah replied bitterly; she knew that she was pouting but couldn't be bothered to stop. The Galley counter was uncomfortable, and it was only making her mood even fouler.

Carolyn, to her credit, did not mention that her marriage had already failed in front of Arthur, but instead rolled her eyes and sighed, placing her palm over her forehead before shrugging in despair.

"Well sort it out." She instructed, stepping towards the cabin, "This flight's miserable enough as it is without the pilots making it worse. I'm about ready to kill that bassoonist."

Once Carolyn had disappeared, Deborah watched from the corner of her eyes as Arthur played with his fingers for a bit, and then cleared his throat. She looked up, raising an eyebrow, demanding that he continue or don't speak at all.

"I know Skip has been a bit…down…at the moment, but you have been messing with him a lot more recently." Arthur reasoned, rubbing at his wrists as if worried about her reaction, "Maybe he's just had enough."

"I'm only playing." Deborah snapped, regretting it instantly but not wanting to take it back; it wasn't her fault that Martin was reverting to his horrible self, "I don't remember asking your opinion."

"Okay, fine." Arthur raised his hands in surrender, "I'm only trying to help."

"Well how about you help Skip win a bet for once." Deborah suggested darkly, wrapping her arms roughly around her chest, "Perhaps the two of you together might find yourselves partially capable."

Arthur simply nodded, picking up on her temper, well versed in her various moods; he left the Galley, stopping only to pat her distractedly on the shoulder, in what she supposed was supposed to be comforting, but lost its vigour.

Deborah inhaled and exhaled a few times, reigning in her feelings. It wasn't her fault that Martin was in a bad mood. It wasn't her fault that he was taking her games the wrong way. Detachedly, she decided that it was probably best to drop her most recent game; it wasn't working anyway.

She'd give it a few more minutes, then she'd go back to the flight-deck.

oOoOoOo

The plane was landed, and Martin was grinning faintly to himself, having just announced the names of the seven dwarfs over the intercom, triggering some sort of bassoon meltdown in the cabin. That was alright; Carolyn would deal with that.

Deborah ran her hands over one control, focusing on the sensation of the metal against her palm as she tried to process the fount of new information.

When she had been betting higher and higher stakes, it had been to wind Martin up, to make him suffer, just a little bit. Unlike Martin though, she wasn't cruel, and she had never intended to take three months' salary from him. That was why she had offered an amnesty on discussing her marital problems.

It was a clever ploy to make Martin realise some humility, and bring her out on top.

Now though…now she was stewing somewhere between residual irritation and hurt, and an uncomfortable degree of sympathy and concern. Martin wasn't getting paid – at all.

That explained a lot actually.

Every now and then for the last stretch of the flight, Deborah had been sneaking glances at him, trying to reassert some sort of idea of Martin in her head, trying to see something she hadn't seen before in the set of his jaw, his freckled cheeks, and light flush.

Her mind was whirring, and it was as if a forbidden conflict was taking place, and against all odds…the part of her that liked Martin was winning. In fact, the fondness was beginning to tickle somewhere near her chest again.

The silly, ridiculous man wasn't even getting paid for being there. He was actually there because he loved flying.

She had known that he did; the seven tries at his licence and his admitting that he had 'always' wanted to be a pilot were evidence enough.

But Martin loved flying so much that he was doing it for free.

As much as Deborah wanted to dislike his attitude, his demeanour, his arrogance, every annoying quirk (and she could only claim to dislike them when she was already in a rut where he was concerned)…she couldn't help that tiny fluttering feeling that she absolutely didn't want to be admiration.

Hell, she'd wanted to do about thirty things over the course of her life, but she had never been that devoted to anything; not even her marriages.

If anything, and she was aware how stupid the idea sounded in her head, this made Martin even more real. As if he had morphed from the prissy Captain to a tangible person that she spent her days with, rather than the personification of everything that made her want to avoid working all together.

That kind of perseverance and determination was…very Martin.

If Deborah had to choose the most unfair thing to happen that day, it wouldn't be Martin's rudeness, or her disdain, it would be the fact that even after all of that, she had come through the day liking him even more.

Bloody Martin Crieff.

As Martin was adjusting his uniform, ready to see the guests off, Deborah bit her lip, then sat back and addressed him quickly, feigning nonchalance.

"So…Martin…if you're not getting paid to be here," she inquired, tracing her finger along the edge of the arm of her seat, "Does that mean that you actually…like it here, with us? I mean, I know that you like flying, et cetera, but…to settle for MJN of all places."

Martin sat back, mirroring her position, and nodded slowly, gazing into the distance in thought.

"Well, yes…I like it here. I mean, I'm not saying I wouldn't like a paying job if I was offered it-" he explained, sounding as if he were trying to temper something that he knew might not be taken well.

"So you'd leave if you got another offer?" Deborah interjected; the idea of Martin leaving wasn't a pleasant one, but she was also ready to leap on the suggestion, to tell him where to stick his platitudes if that were the case.

"Well, that's not going to happen is it." Martin remarked bitterly, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, and then sighing with a long held shrug, "Besides…" he continued, offering her a small smile, "If I get to fly planes then…it's worth all the trouble, isn't it?"

"Is it?" Deborah replied sharply, genuinely curious.

Martin's eyes narrowed, and his forehead crinkled; he turned ever so slightly so that he could look at her better, and then his expression clouded over as if he suddenly realised something that only he was privy to. A small, coy smile tugged at his lips.

"You're not so bad." He answered, as if that were enough.

Deborah couldn't answer straight away; she nodded stiltedly, tightening her hold on the arm of her seat. Rather than focus on the trickling sensation from her nose to her chest, like feather-light fingertips, she smirked her practiced smirk and stiffened a fraction.

The day wasn't over yet.

"Not stunning?" she asked lightly, shrugging one shoulder in a show of nonchalance.

Martin's face flushed scarlet, and his eyes widened in shock. She knew he had remembered, Deborah thought with a flash of victory.

Martin opened and closed his mouth, pointing his finger demonstratively at her. But unlike recently, when he would snap and growl, Martin retained the good-natured embarrassment that he had developed in recent months.

"S-shut up!" he instructed firmly, but he was forcing down a mortified smile, and trying to avoid eye contact, turning back to the front window and fiddling with his epaulets.

Deborah's smirk slipped into a grin, and she allowed his retreat. They didn't need to talk about it. With a sigh, she accepted that things were as they were….and reluctantly allowed her mind to wander back to its musings on Martin's situation while he shuffled about the flight-deck, preparing to leave.

It was like seeing him in a new light…but Martin was still unremarkably, remarkably Martin.

So as you can probably see from the length of this chapter, Gdansk is not my favourite episode, so I struggled a little finding things to write about.

Apart from that, I hope you enjoy it.