For all my lovely readers and reviewers, here's the next chapter, based on one of my favourite episodes.
Ipswich
For once, Deborah wished that Carolyn or Arthur would make an appearance and cause some sort of a distraction. But no, Carolyn had swept her son away on some sort of errand, leaving her alone with Martin in the middle of one of his neurotic breakdowns.
She didn't understand why they needed to take another SEP course in the first place; it wasn't as if the CAA had shown any kind of interest in MJN for years. Deborah was sure that with her exceptionally positive luck, and Martin's disastrous tendencies, the company had settled into an equilibrium in which they were never visited by the prying eyes of the outside world.
So there was no need to worry. Martin however was of the opposite mind, and no matter how many times Deborah told him that there was nothing to worry about, he just became more intensely focused on whichever area of aerodynamics that he was holding at the time.
It was difficult to be truly annoyed with him though, especially as his fraught anxiety seemed to extend to all their benefits; Martin had expressed such extreme concern over her future if she didn't pass the safety exam that all she could do was pat him on the elbow and nod in the hopes of appeasing him.
Deborah now sat on the floor, leaning back against the sofa, propped up on the cushions from its top, inspecting her nails as she listened to Martin's reedy drone and watched him move frantically from one subject to the next. She could have wandered off and let him be, but she supposed that he needed the company for his own peace of mind, and it wasn't as if she'd be happier on her own.
Martin had discovered hours ago that his books wouldn't fit on his desk, so now he was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the porta-cabin, every flight manual and operations manual that he could find lying open in a semi-circle around him, like some sort of overzealous satanic ritual.
His jacket had been slung over the back of his chair but he hadn't pulled up his shirtsleeves; his ginger hair was ruffled from where he had been running his hands through it, and Deborah had entertained herself briefly by watching the spackled light from the small window dance across the strands, while he gnawed at his bottom lip with a vehemence.
She wouldn't have said that she was bored, per say, but Deborah found that though she was mildly content, Martin was far more fun when they were paying each other equal amounts of attention, rather than talking at each other in the hope of solidifying information that the other didn't care for.
"Deborah!"
Deborah looked up from her nails, to the blue eyes of Martin Crieff, staring expectantly at her. She realised belatedly that his last murmurs must have been directed at her.
"Yes Martin?" Deborah replied, adopting the tone of an obedient squaddie. Martin rolled his eyes, but remained hunched over, manual in his lap.
"What are you going to do if you fail these tests?" Martin demanded, as if he genuinely believed that it was a possibility. His stare was unwavering, and Deborah mused that he was scanning her expression for any sign that she was fearing for her job.
"I'm not going to fail, Martin." Deborah assured him calmly, exhaling loudly and slouching further back into the sofa, "And neither are you."
She didn't know why she had thought that that would set his mind at rest. Martin bit down harder on his lip and shook his head, glaring down at his manual before flicking his eyes back up to her.
"We might do." He stated seriously, in a raised whisper, fingers curling around the book, "That's why we need to revise."
With a pointed groan, Deborah rolled her eyes and sat forward, crossing her arms over her knees after shoving her hair behind her ears as it flopped over her face. No only a foot or so from Martin's own face, she was able to address him with the utmost sincerity, and a little bit of exasperation.
"Martin, you know all of this. You know the manuals inside out." Deborah explained slowly, making sure to hold his gaze even as he huffed, "There is no way at all that you could do badly."
"But what if I'm sat there and my mind goes blank – or if they ask something that they came up with the night before?" Martin insisted, sounding more and more like a man suspecting a conspiracy had been formed around him; Deborah couldn't help the wan smirk that settled about her lips, "What then, hmmm?"
"This is the last time I'm going to say this Martin – that will not happen." Deborah stressed; she dropped her head into her hands, elbows propped on her knees; it lessened the gap between the two of them, and made it so that she had to tilt her head back ever so slightly to meet Martin's gaze, "Now can we please leave this and do something else?"
"Anyone would think you wanted to lose your job." Martin muttered, exhaling through his nose, but snapping the manual closed and dropping it to the floor nonetheless; he mirrored Deborah's posture, resting his arms on his legs, one hand propping up his head while the other fiddled with the pages of another book.
"Neither of us are losing our jobs." Deborah sighed dully; she simply raised an eyebrow at Martin's tight-lipped nod of acknowledgement.
"I suppose it wouldn't matter to you if I did." He retorted, shrugged carelessly, although Deborah could practically feel the petulance beginning to prickle from his pores, "It's not like you'd miss out."
Deciding that it was better to nip the issue in the bud, and feeling just a little insulted that even after everything that they had struggled through, Martin still had such a low opinion of her. She wasn't foolish enough to think that it was low self-esteem; it was purely and simply an innate dislike that wouldn't fade, no matter how much Martin was coming to trust her.
"I can assure you Martin, the very last thing that I want is for you to stop working here." Deborah responded tautly to his accusation; she watched his face, and was comforted just a fraction by the slight widening of his eyes, and the pleasantly surprised smile.
"Really?" Martin inquired, aiming for nonchalance, but missing the mark completely as his eyes focusing in on the book that he was fiddling with rather than meeting her gaze; Deborah couldn't repress a pleased smirk, or the strange, yet unnervingly frequent, flutter of warmth somewhere near her chest.
"Really," she drawled, enjoying the light blush that danced across Martin's cheeks; she sat back, holding her arms over her head and stretching her back much like a cat would, sighing a yawn as she did so, "I've grown rather fond of you."
As opened his mouth, then closed it, and nodded stiltedly in touched acknowledgement, Martin's eyes followed her movement, lingering at the v-shaped space where her jacket met the flesh exposed by her too tight shirt.
When Deborah placed her arms back over her lap, aware of exactly what he had been doing, Martin's mouth snapped shut and he put on a forced smile over his red cheeks, shoddily masking his embarrassment.
"Well…that's good – you should bear that in mind so that the SEP examiners can mark us up for good…team working skills…" Martin remarked, pouting his lips when nothing else constructive came to mind.
"Team work?" Deborah repeated, "What? Should I walk arm in arm with you? Call you my dear, darling Captain?"
"You could mention what a fine, outstanding commanding officer I am, or-" Martin shook his head, his lips threatening to curl into a smile, as he tried to look as authoritarian as possible.
"It might be less painful to just have sex on their driveway." Deborah remarked in an offhand manner; the last thing she would ever be caught doing was slathering compliments over Martin, no matter how well they were getting on.
Martin spluttered, eyes widening comically as he managed to choke on air; it hadn't occurred to Deborah that her remark might have had the effect that she has wanted all her recent teases and snipes to, but the sight of Martin, sputtering, cheeks scarlet, was thrillingly perfect.
She giggled warmly, covering her mouth with the back of her hand to hide that and her small smile; to her great pleasure, rather than scold her as he had been, Martin was fighting a sort of struggling smile that wobbled under the weight of his shock. Finally – all she had wanted was for him to be a good sport and have some fun.
"They, uh…, they-" Martin started, but had to cut himself off, straighten his back and steady himself, barely meeting her eyes despite the wry smile, "Well…it would definitely get their attention."
Deborah didn't lower her hand, hiding her widening grin unsuccessfully as Martin's blue eyes met hers, and the day finally seemed to brighten just a fraction.
oOoOoOo
"Now, I don't know if either of you have ever flown with anyone like that …" Dr Duncan was an irritating, but overall, bearable man, but Deborah knew the moment that those words left his mouth that Martin, Martin who could recite the '6 Deadly Is' with an air of frantic superiority, would grasp the opportunity to lord it over her.
She wouldn't hold it against him, Deborah was aware that it was only the constant observation that made him want to appear the very best, and not a sudden reversion to his previous feelings towards her.
But that didn't mean that she wouldn't fight back when he did. Deborah had a sense that Martin rather enjoyed the challenge of bickering with her, if the wicked smirk that he sometimes got in the midst of a meaty debate was anything to go by; she couldn't blame him, she was exactly the same.
The cause of many problems it may have been, but it was also the crux of their friendship.
"Yeah, me! I have! Yes, I definitely have." Martin announced, laughing as if at some fantastic joke. Deborah folded her arms loosely over her chest and turned in the cheap plastic seat, crossing one leg over the other, so that she could face him properly.
"Right. Well, d-don't name any names." Dr Duncan instructed cautiously, obviously well versed in crew member feuds, if the grey patches in his mutton chops and moustache were anything to go by.
"Oh, no-no-no! Certainly not, no, no, no." Martin assured him, smiling thinly and waving his hands nonchalantly; then he turned ever so slightly so that he was facing Deborah, and she could just feel the 'look at me, I'm winning, ha ha' radiating from his every breath, "Let's, um, let's call her Demmie." Deborah sucked in a breath, and held her tongue, raising her eyebrows as she held back an audacious smirk, "Demmie ignores safety briefings, tech checks; he can barely be persuaded to file a flight plan. He basically thinks he's always right."
The cheek of the man; and he knew he was pushing it, he absolutely knew, it was written all over his face. He was pushing her to see how she'd react. A tickling warmth flickered in the pit of her stomach, leeching upwards as she straightened her back and leaned in pointedly.
"Has it occurred to you that maybe Demmie is always right?" Deborah inquired tensely, not sure whether she was grimacing or grinning at the challenge.
"It's definitely occurred to Demmie!" Martin retorted, leaning in in turn, folding his arms over his own chest; his eyes never left hers, as if he were trying to stare her down, a wicked smirk pulling at his lips.
The warmth flared in her chest.
"O-kay. Great!" Dr Duncan said awkwardly, clearly unsure of what to do other than continue with his lesson, Deborah spared him only a fleeting glance before fixing Martin with a galre as fiery as his, "Well, next: Impulsivity – that's the tendency of some pilots to panic under pressure, to do the first thing they think of just for the sake of doing something. Now, again, you may never have …"
"Actually, that does ring a little bell." Deborah noted, watching with glee the way that Martin's eyebrows pinched in confusion before settling in playful contempt. He was still leaning in, waiting for her.
"Oh, well – again, without naming names." Dr Duncan instructed, his hands raised as if in fear of some sort of altercation.
"No. That would be the height of iniquity." Deborah drawled, smirking and quirking her eyebrows at Martin, making a point; the way that he pursed his lips and continued to bore his eyes into hers made the burning sensation roar somewhere between her chest and her throat, and she leaned in demonstratively as she continued, "Well, this chap – could be literally any of the other pilots in MJN Air; let's call him Marvin – once requested an emergency landing because his watch went off."
"It was a new watch with a very odd alarm." Martin insisted curtly; he wasn't arguing for Duncan's sake, that much was obvious.
"Oh. Have you flown with Marvin, Martin? Curious chap, isn't he?" Deborah remarked, making sure to smirk extra darkly and even wink salaciously, thoroughly enjoying the indignant huff that he let out as he refused to lose and look away.
"Then there's Insecurity –" Dr Duncan ploughed on, "always trying to prove he's as good a pilot as anyone else."
"Marvin." Deborah answered swiftly.
"Impatience – sacrifices procedure or even safety to save time …" Duncan continued.
"Demmie." Martin interjected, smirking and glaring defiantly at Deborah.
"… and finally Indecision – getting caught in the headlights of a problem and being unable to settle on a plan of action." Duncan concluded; Deborah supposed he might have been glancing anxiously between them, but she didn't take her eyes from Martin's.
"And Marvin." She replied, the heated sensation burning in her chest, increasing as Martin's expression contorted and he retorted indignantly.
"I thought you said Marvin impulsively did the first thing he thought of." Martin argued, as if she had cheated in his favourite game.
"Amazingly, he manages to combine both: doing whichever is least appropriate to the situation." Deborah drawled, relishing the contained outrage on the Captain's face.
The feeling in her chest was roaring, like a hand sinking through her ribs and trying to yank her forward. She was detachedly aware of how close she and Martin were, both having leaned in heatedly as they tried to one-up each other.
Martin still hadn't taken his eyes from hers, and his chest was heaving ever so slightly, as if he had been running. Before she was truly aware of it, the only thought in her mind was the raging, fiery one telling her to lurch forward, to grab hold of the lapels of Martin's jacket, to be as close as possible to him and…
And then realisation hit, and Deborah's back snapped straight as she sat back hastily, trying to maintain some sort of elegance as she dropped her eyes, and then raised her head, chest fluttering still, to watch as Martin's cheeks flushed scarlet, and he slipped the arm that she hadn't noticed was slung across the back of the seats between them back to curl the hand into a fist and clear his throat, turning back to the instructor.
Mind racing in a hundred different directions, all leading back to one place, Deborah cursed herself inwardly. There was no reason, no damn reason to be thinking that.
She had been ignoring the enchanting sensations in her guts, the fluttering feelings, not even sparing them a moment of consideration. And now she remembered where she had felt them before…and it wasn't good, at all.
"… Okay." Dr Duncan placed his hands together over his lap, looking uncertain of himself, "Well, what's good here is that we're fostering a real openness between the two of you."
"Yes. That is good, isn't it?" Deborah snapped; that was the last thing she needed in that moment.
"Mmm…Well done, us!" Martin grumbled, slumping back in his plastic seat.
Well, if nothing else, at least Martin was as frustrated as she was.
oOoOoOo
Deborah spent the next hour or so putting the terrifying realisation from her mind. It wasn't anything to worry about…not at all.
She didn't fancy Martin. She absolutely did not. She wouldn't deny that he was an attractive man…and one of the few people that she actually wanted to be friends with…but that was beside the point.
She had been attracted to her first husband. She had been very attracted to Verity's father, to the point that she'd have jumped into bed with Chris at a moment's notice; then again, she had been drunk for a large part of that relationship. And she had fancied Harry at the beginning.
It wasn't a new feeling, it was just one she had had trouble recognising.
But it meant nothing. Deborah was one hundred percent certain that whatever strange impulse she had felt regarding Martin had been purely a mixture of the joys of a well matched verbal duel, and many months of sexual neglect and frustration.
That was a reasonable excuse, and Deborah could accept that entirely, even to the point that she could enjoy the fluttering, safe in the knowledge that it was meaningless.
Unfortunately, at that particular moment, Deborah was distracted by the revelation that when soaked to the skin after a dip in the pool, Martin's pale blue shirt turned almost entirely transparent.
Carolyn and Arthur had left to find food, as Arthur was filled with cheer from the impromptu dip in the pool, and Carolyn was fed up enough to want to just sit down and consume whatever was put in front of her.
Dry and clean, Deborah perched on one of the benches in the shared changing rooms, watching Martin as he rifled through his flight-bag for a clean shirt. He had left the wet one on, but it did nothing to hide every detail underneath.
There was a part of her that was simply admiring the slim, yet definitely present, layer of muscle, over both Martin's chest and arms, and across his stomach, that shifted pleasantly as he bent over; however, for all the timid arousal, Deborah's nose was crinkled, and she was more concerned as to trying to devise how?
For all intents and purposes, it just didn't make sense.
Deborah rose to her feet, and sauntered nonchalantly over to the set of lockers that Martin was using as a balance, pushing his arm against them as he pulled off one shoe after the other, towel wrapped around his shoulders.
Leaning back against the steel, Deborah took one more glance, sweeping her eyes over Martin's figure, before folding her arms over her chest.
"Martin?" she inquired, making sure to sound politely inquisitive, lest the Captain retract into his prim and proper safety shell; Martin stopped wobbling, and looked across at her, nodding and humming in recognition, no trace of distrust or suspicion, "Are those actually muscles I see before me?"
Martin looked momentarily confused, and then he glanced down at his torso, 'ah'-ing in realisation. When he looked back up, it was with a sheepish, pale smile that seemed completely out of place considering what Deborah assumed he should have been quite proud of. Very proud of, in her opinion.
"Well, yeah…I mean, they're nothing special – but they do…exist." Martin explained lamely, rubbing at the back of his neck as he blushed.
"I'm intrigued as to how?" Deborah purred, smirking innocently.
"Oh, well – a magician never reveals his secrets." Martin remarked, shrugging lopsidedly and pulling at the soggy wrists of his shirt. Deborah allowed herself to laugh shortly, to make him feel slightly better about whatever was bothering him, and carried on when Martin smiled and looked down at his fingers.
"Are you telling me that you acquired your physique via secret means?" Deborah drawled, leaning in ever so slightly whilst remaining against the lockers.
Martin rolled his eyes, but then a calm seemed to settle over him, and he leaned in in response.
"Why?" he asked playfully, "Do you like it?"
Deborah scoffed, but looked away all the same. Martin would be grinning, she knew it, thinking that he had won that round of whatever game she had started without he full knowledge.
"Just get changed." She instructed, shaking her head. She heard Martin chuckling, but he began changing from his wet clothes to his dry set while she didn't quite turn her back, but wandered a few feet away.
"You know, it would be best for everyone if you just did the pool drill." Martin commented offhandedly, petering as he hopped about readjusting his trousers.
Deborah had any number of ways to reply to that, not all of them pleasant, but the retort at the front of her mind was tailored deliciously to make Martin splutter and blush, to reassert the status quo.
"What? So that you can see me topless as well?" she drawled airily, turning back to Martin just as he bent down to tie his shoes, observing how instead of quivering, he was laughing and shaking his head, making his hair ruffle.
"I wouldn't dare." He remarked as he stood back up, rolling his shoulders back with a groan as they clicked back into place, "Your husband would have my head."
That didn't sound quite like a denial, but Deborah assumed that she was hearing things. Martin wasn't good with his words as it was. She would have replied with a joke or a snipe, but instead she paused.
The mention of Harry brought forth a bitterness that clashed ungainly with the happiness that she was feeling spending time with Martin. It provided the perfect response, and in truth…she really wanted to be honest with Martin. She hadn't before, but now she did. But she couldn't, so she made it a joke.
"I don't see why you couldn't," Deborah remarked jauntily, meeting Martin's gaze pointedly, quirking an eyebrow, "It's not like he does much looking."
Martin nodding, lips pursed in humorous understanding, then took a step towards her, his hands in his pockets as he didn't quite meet her eye.
"Maybe I should then." He replied tentatively, a smirk flickering on his lips as his cheeks flushed even darker.
Deborah was partially frozen in place, caught off guard by both Martin, and the return of the ever present tingling in her chest. It sounded like Martin was flirting, but she knew that he couldn't be. Hell, the man was only just getting to like her, flirting was hardly on the table. Not that she wanted it to be.
But he was still smiling down at her, his face open and warm, expression playful.
"Oh, shut up." She scolded him, without any of the bite; Martin chuckled, but did as he was told, stepping up beside her with his flight-deck slung over his elbow; she began leading the way from the changing rooms, "Come on, I'm hungry."
oOoOoOo
Martin was finally awake and focusing on the room around him with some sort of lucidity. That did little to dampen the claws of worry that had clambered from Deborah's stomach to her throat, but it was a start.
The bloody man had only gone and passed out in the fuselage. No warning, just gone. It had scared the life out of her. Martin deserved the bruises that he would have as a result of her having to drag someone heavier than her from a metal shell.
The group had reconvened in the lounge area of the test centre, and between them, they had propped Martin up on a chair in the far corner of the room, away from where Mr Sargent was scolding the rest of them.
Deborah had clambered into the seat beside him, checking his forehead with the back of his hand and making sure that when he awoke groggily, an open bottle of water was thrust into one of his hands, and the other was clasped in hers.
She still hadn't let go, but Martin's fingers wrapped around hers steadily, giving her no reason to.
"Are you sure you're alright?" Deborah whispered, keeping her voice down for his sake, and so that Carolyn wouldn't pick up on her worry, "I mean, absolutely sure? Drink some more water."
Martin rolled his eyes, but brought the plastic bottle to his lips, taking a sip while glaring at her as if to say 'look, I'm doing it, now stop nagging'. When he lowered it, he squeezed her hand gently.
"Yes, I'm fine." Martin muttered, eyeing her warily; she was aware that it was probably a disconcerting image, her knelt on the adjoining seat, leaning partially over the Captain, one hand clutching his for reassurance while the other rested on the elbow of the same arm, "Are you alright?"
"Yes of course I am." Deborah hissed in exasperation; she had no idea what he was getting at, but it was irritating to say the least. Martin simply cocked his head to the side and crinkled his forehead.
"It's just you seem…" Martin trailed off as he pondered for the right word, "You seem a bit…worried is all."
"Worried?" Deborah demanded, remembering at the last moment to keep her voice down; she glared at Martin, but in his groggy state, he didn't quaver, "Martin – you just keeled over! I had no idea what was wrong – you could have dropped dead for all I knew!"
She realised that she was gripping his hand too tightly, and reflexively released the tension in her joints; she didn't pull away, and couldn't have, as Martin's fingers flexed, and then curled back around hers.
"Oh…well…I didn't know you cared." Martin remarked quietly, offering a little, comforting smile. It achieved nothing, save to reignite a flare of indignation in Deborah, and she scowled at him furiously.
"Of course I care!" she snapped, aware that her lips were trembling with anger, "I'd be devastated if anything happened to you. How could you think otherwise?"
Martin glanced guiltily down at the bottle in his hands.
"No, I'm sorry," he said hastily, "that was…uh…that was silly of me – to think so, I mean."
"Yes it was." Deborah stated plaintively; deciding that he was alright after all, Deborah slid her legs from underneath her and slumped back in her chair, turning away from Martin.
She stayed just close enough that her arm pressed against his, so that she could help if anything went wrong, and he still had a hold of her hand. Martin was now playing with each finger in turn between his, apparently unconsciously, as when she glanced over, he was watching Carolyn in deep conversation with Dr Duncan.
"Do you have any idea how to fix that?" Martin asked, nodding towards the exhausted pair across the room.
Deborah had only been listening in part to what was being said, but she had heard enough that the answer to all their problems seemed simple. Readjusting her usual, self-satisfied smirk, Deborah aimed it at Martin and sighed dramatically.
"I've been tossing about a few ideas," she drawled, "perhaps one of those might come in handy."
I actually really liked writing this one - it was a nice break from psychology revision, and splurging down my Ipswich headcanons made the hours fly.
Please do enjoy - it was made with love