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This next bit may seem disjointed and a bit weird, but I promise, it will make sense in a minute

Interlude 5

GERTI had been in the air for hours. They'd left Fitton to go to Newcastle, and it was taking a long time. The plane kept sort of…rocking, but that was fine. Deborah remembered Carolyn telling her about it last week. So the rocking was fine.

She wasn't sure where Martin was, but Arthur was in the Captain's seat, feet up, while Deborah fiddled with the dials. If she adjusted them just so, they could fly steady near enough to the ground that they could see individual houses. It only made sense; all the other planes were doing it.

"Where's Martin?" Deborah inquired, turning her head to peer questioningly at Arthur, who was flicking through one of the flight manuals. It was a new manual, four times as thick as the usual. Deborah mused that Martin would like it.

"He just popped down to the Costa to get some tea." Arthur replied, chewing on the end of his pen. He was scribbling something on the pages. Deborah could see the underlined bits even though she was on the other side of the cabin.

"But we're in flight." Deborah retorted, narrowing her eyes at the steward, who shook his head and pursed his lips.

"No we're not, we're on the ground." Arthur told her, as if talking to a small child. Just as promised, when Deborah glanced around, they were indeed on the ground, and through the front window she could see the squarest airfield that she had ever seen.

Never mind.

"Well when's he coming back?" she asked, sighing heavily and slumping back in her chair; she shot Arthur a pointed glare, "You're sat in his chair."

"Yeah, Mum said I was Captain while he's gone." Arthur remarked, grinning bemusedly, but paying her far too little attention for her to be pleased with.

Deborah groaned, but closed her eyes and slumped back in her seat. It was too uncomfortable, not squishy like she had been forcing it to be, by kneading the padded bits every now and again.

"Oh, there he is." Arthur stated plainly. Deborah opened her eyes, and glanced at Arthur, who simply nodded into the bustle of the airport. There were so many people, and they were moving so fast.

She sat up straighter in the metal rimmed chair, ignoring the buzzing from the arrivals screen, and peered into the crowd. A tap on her shoulder made her spin around, gripping the back of the seat with the lengths of her arms.

Deborah inhaled sharply as Harry smiled shyly down at her. She rose to her feet in an instant, glaring at her ex-husband as he ran a bashful hand through his hair.

"What do you think you're doing here?" Deborah demanded, shouting despite herself. Harry blushed and shrugged.

"I flew here," he explained, "I thought you'd like it."

"Why would you ever think that I'd like it?" Deborah retorted, throwing her arms to her sides in exasperation, "You're not even allowed to be at the airport for the pilots!"

"I know, I know!" Harry insisted, raising his hands in surrender and stepping forward, coming to a stop just a foot from her, gazing down at her with imploring eyes, "But I love you, so, so much, and I just want one last kiss, or one hug, just one more, even if you don't want me back."

Deborah exhaled raggedly, pushing her hand against her eyes. It was a good thing the crowd had gone quiet, she didn't think she could stand it if all those people had been watching and whispering things about her.

"Fine…just one hug…okay…" she conceded, opening her arms as Harry beamed, slipping his arms around her waist without further ado. It wasn't horrible; Deborah squeezed her eyes shut. She just needed to be held for a while, rocked back and forth.

The arms around her curled around her back, stroking circles in the dip of her spine while the other stroked through her hair. Deborah turned her head so that he face was pressed into the curve between his shoulder and his neck.

Sighing and lifting her head to peer up at the freckled face gazing down at her, Deborah tightened her grip on Martin's shoulders.

"I could have sworn I was talking to Harry." She murmured, peering around the porta-cabin.

Martin scoffed briefly, and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"No, just me." He assured her, his fingers continuing to tangle in her hair, "He's long gone, you don't need him."

"Hmmm…alright then…" Deborah hummed, hugging closer to Martin, letting her chest press against his; he was such a good hugger, it was so nice, she didn't want to let go at all. And he was looking especially nice today, hair brushed back, cheeks rosy and eyes confident. And he was gazing down at her so warmly.

"Hmmm…" Martin hummed in response, not quite smirking, the smile was too nice.

Deborah didn't move as he swept the hand in her hair down to her face, and pushed the loose strands behind her ear, returning to cup her cheek. It was nice. She wondered briefly what Martin was doing, then was filled with a tingling excitement of lovely anticipation.

Martin leaned down and pressed his lips against hers, lightly, then again, then again for longer, and all that Deborah could concentrate on was the sensation of his lips, soft against hers, his cheeks rubbing against hers, and the hands, one at the back of her neck, the other still curling around her waist.

All she wanted was to lurch forward, to have him more, to have him completely, for Martin to have her completely, be as close as possible. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling them taut and wonderfully together.

She didn't know how, but her back was being pressed into the sofa, and Martin was pressed on top of her, on hand stroking and holding down her torso, leaving infuriatingly fantastic prickles in its wake, while the other slid from her calf to her thigh, pulling her as close to him as humanly possible.

Deborah's lips never left Martin, and everything was moving in such vivid, tangential colours and feelings that she wasn't entirely sure of time of place, but god Martin was holding her so tightly, and she refused to release her grip on his back, fingers curling in his shirt.

Then it was completely dark, and Deborah's flesh was cold, tickled only by an imaginary feather light breeze that faded in the patterns of her mind's previous trails. For a moment she was completely disorientated, conscious enough to know that the clumping fabric in her hands was her own duvet, but taking a few seconds to connect that fact with her own bedroom.

Even then, her mind was blank, and she couldn't quite work out why she was breathing so heavily…or felt so…

Deborah thrust a hand through her hair, which was astoundingly knotted despite the fact that the red numbers to her right said she had only been asleep a few hours.

Then images came flooding back to her. Most of it was garbled, techni-coloured nonsense with a hint of sepia and airports, but there was one thing that stuck out in clear, high definition, sounds and smells and tastes and all…

Deborah felt her cheeks burn, and knew that a fount of blood had just rushed into them. She had never been more relieved to be at home and not an overnight job. Both hands flew to her face, and she ran them from her eyes to her cheeks, trying to force the images from her mind with pure aggression.

She really needed to sort her life out.

At least enough that her subconscious had something other than Martin Crieff of all people to fantasise about.

oOoOoOo

When she entered the porta-cabin later that day, it was half an hour late, with no intention of apologising. If today was another one of those days where she had to up the number of years that she had been on the earth, then she was damn well going to take a morning to bemoan that fact.

Ignoring her lateness would be Carolyn's birthday gift. Rather than scolding her on entrance, Carolyn simply nodded and rolled her eyes, flinging an expenses card across the desk for her to receive. Her desk, Deborah noted; if she didn't know better, she'd have said that the woman was fond of her unique organisational system.

Deborah accepted the offering with a charming smile; excellent, she could buy herself a decent dinner in Greece that evening, and wouldn't have to shell out of her own pockets. She might even take Martin with her if he was good; better that than sit on her own in a strange restaurant, and besides, it might be nice.

Across the room, using Martin's desk, was Arthur, shooting her furtive glances as he placed and grabbed what looked like cardboard tubes and scraps of paper. It didn't bear thinking about, but then again, Deborah was never one to shun curiosity.

Deborah wandered around her own desk and sidled to Carolyn's side as she dropped her coat and bag, that was falling to pieces, onto its top.

"Where's Martin?" she inquired absentmindedly, as she tried to work out what Arthur was up to. He had his sneaky face on, which was never a good sign.

"He's filing the flight plan and preparing GERTI for the trip to Greece." Carolyn informed her, making no effort to get up despite the hints that Deborah was sending her, nonchalant nudges on the wheelie chair included.

"Ah." Deborah sighed; leaving Carolyn to her own devices, Deborah strode across the room to address Arthur across Martin's desk, placing both hands on the top to support her weight as Arthur hurriedly bent down, retrieving something from the floor and holding it behind his back as he rose, "Arthur, dare I ask what you're up to?"

Arthur grinned, and then whipped his hands from behind his back, presenting a colourful and oddly wrapped lump, copious amounts of tape reflecting the light from its ridges.

"Ta da!" he announced, extending his hands either side of the gift. Deborah nodded and smiled appreciatively, hoping that she didn't look as baffled as she thought that she did.

"You didn't have to do that Arthur." Deborah told him, picking up the object regardless, and ignoring his lopsided shrug in favour of shaking the package. One never knew what Arthur might pull from his sleeves, but this time, his surprise seemed benign; light and clunky, but benign.

"Of course I did, it's your birthday!" Arthur insisted, leaning across the desk and staring in anticipation, gripping the edge with the tips of his fingers as if some great event were about to unfold.

Deborah raised an eyebrow, but said no more. She held the gift up to the light streaming in through the window, and when that revealed nothing, she gave in to temptation and pulled delicately at the paper, making sure to send Arthur pointedly suspicious stares every few seconds, just to see him squirm in anticipation.

To her pleasant surprise, wrapped and trapped in amongst the paper was a bag, new and sturdy and a deep shade of purple. She had been complaining for months about the state of her current one, about how she kept having to stitch up the inside, and apparently Arthur had listened.

"Thank you Arthur, this is lovely." Deborah said honestly; placing the bag down, she walked around the desk and opened her arms, allowing him to pull her into a brief hug, before releasing her.

"Aw, it's nothing really." Arthur remarked, taking one of the cardboard tubes, which Deborah now assumed were the carcases of his efforts, and turning it between his hands for the sake of nonchalance; then he added with a smile signalling its importance, "And it's purple – your favourite colour."

"That it is," Deborah replied, than thinking that she didn't give Arthur enough credit, well, ever, "Thank you."

"No problem." Arthur let the words pop from his lips; as Deborah began to walk away, she felt the tip of the tube in his hands 'boop' on the top of her head, and when she spun around, Arthur was swaying it behind his back, attempting to look innocent, and failing entirely.

Without a second thought, Deborah leant across the desk to grab another cardboard tube, and despite Arthur's efforts to retreat, she jabbed him in the ribs, smirking in triumph as he yelped in offence.

Of course, Arthur jabbed back, and before she was entirely sure how it had happened, the two of them were treacherously close to toppling over Martin's' desk, and Arthur had managed to pin both of her arms to her chest, while her wrist still snapped violently up and down, making the tube in her hand thwack against his cheek as he scrunched up his eyes against the onslaught.

It wasn't how she had expected to spend the morning, but she supposed that they were both laughing to an extent, so she couldn't complain.

The clearing of a throat was enough to make them freeze, but not release, and Deborah quirked an innocent eyebrow at Carolyn, who was eyeing them with unhidden despair.

"Yes Carolyn?" Deborah inquired nonchalantly. Carolyn rolled her eyes, and fixed her with her most exasperated glare.

"I'm am about to say things that no one should ever have to say to people over the age of eight." Carolyn remarked in a measured tone, pacing herself, "Arthur, please remember that Deborah is half your size, and likely to snap if you are too rough with her." She shook her head and rolled her eyes to the heavens, as Arthur took his arms from around Deborah and rubbed the back of his neck, apologising guiltily, "And Deborah, as much as I respect your right to abuse your body as you wish, a broken pilot is no pilot at all."

Deborah widened her eyes dramatically, but threw the tube to Arthur nonetheless, watching just long enough for it to bounce off of his upper arm, and for him to scramble on the floor to retrieve it.

With little else to do, she decided to go and find Martin. Surely it didn't take long to run all of the errands that he had set himself. If Deborah was honest with herself, she was a little put out by the fact that he had yet to lavish upon her the minimal amount of attention expected of the day, as even Carolyn had managed to bat an eyelid.

oOoOoOo

Martin it seemed, had decided to catch some moments of peace in the flight-deck, a book in his hands. When Deborah pushed the door open, and he heard the scraping against the grating, she watched with offended bemusement as he hastily bundled his feet down from where they had been resting atop the control panel. Dirty hypocrite, she thought fondly.

"Deborah, hello-" Martin greeted her, smiling sheepishly, his cheeks flushing as he dropped his book onto the control panel, and sat up straighter in his seat, adjusting his hat on his head; as Deborah slipping between the seats into her own, she was hit briefly by images of the dream she had had last night, but pushed them away.

The random firing of neurons held no ground next to the tangible form of her Captain, looking genuinely pleased to see her as he dug in the flight-bag by his feet. And that was all it was, she was reassured by the settling of flutters in her chest, just a dream. She was pleased to find that she felt no different about Martin than she had the day before.

"Hello Martin." She replied, slipping her legs through the gap in the arm of her seat so that she could face him properly, leaning against the arm so that she could peer across and see what he was doing, "Is everything ready for today or have you simply given up already?"

Martin sat up, smirking fleetingly and shrugging, as he let his bag be for a moment, turning himself just enough that he was no longer facing forward.

"No, everything's ready." He answered; he paused, making Deborah raise her eyebrows as he squared his arms and thinned his lips, as if preparing for something; then Martin grinned, "Happy birthday…"

A minor flurry of affection swelled in her chest, and Deborah couldn't quite hide a pleased smile, instead folding her hands delicately over the arm of her seat as Martin bent down once again to retrieve whatever he had been searching for in his bag.

"Oh, you did remember," Deborah drawled gratefully, eyeing the plain, but clearly ceremonial paper bag that Martin clutched between his fingers, pressing out the creases that had inevitably occurred, before placing it in her outstretched hands, "Thank you…" then despite her curiosity, Deborah held back from opening it and fixed Martin with a concerned look, "I hope you didn't spend too much on me."

There had been an unspoken agreement between them that Martin's lack of a salary was never to be mentioned, but she couldn't accept him wasting what he did have on her. As sweet as the thought may have been, it wouldn't have been ethical.

Martin drew his bottom lip through his teeth, but shook his head, jaw locking just a fraction as he reached out and pushed the bag further into her hands.

"No, no, it wasn't expensive…" he muttered, and adopted a slightly rigid smile, swinging his arm a fraction in forced joviality, as he added in a louder tone, "But sentimentally valuable – you know, thoughts count more than pennies…just open it."

"Alright, alright…" Deborah conceded, rolling her eyes playfully and using her nails to pick away the tape securing the top of the bag; when the contents were revealed to her, she had to place the bag on her knees, holding it down out of sight as she met Martin's eager gaze, unsure of whether it was affection swelling in her throat, or tears threatening to well in her eyes, "Martin…"

"Do-do you like it?" Martin inquired, aiming for nonchalant, but his smile was wavering between nervous and anticipatory, as he leaned in, fiddling with his epaulets.

Deborah shook her head, unsure of how to vocalise exactly how she felt, mouth open. She peeked again at the gift, taking one of the three worn books from the bag and examining the cover.

"Where did you find these?" she gasped, keeping one eye on the books as if they might disappear, and one on Martin, who was rocking even so slightly as if trying to remain unconcerned but failing to hide his pride.

"I remembered you talking about them, so I did some research and found a whole set." Martin explained, now smiling full out, pleased with himself, relishing a job well done.

"But I did some research!" Deborah insisted, placing the books on the control panel and addressing Martin, eyes wide; the gesture was so wonderfully lovely, but she couldn't help the shards of concern, "They're a rare set, I could only find about six in the whole world, and they were £300 each! Please tell me you didn't-"

Martin raised his hand, and for once Deborah fell silent, placing her own hand over her chest in touched worry.

"I didn't." he explained firmly, holding her gaze, "I found a second hand set that was cheaper…a lot cheaper….in fact I think the original owner was glad to be shot of them so that he could fit more books on his shelves, he sold them so cheap – not to say I wouldn't have paid more."

"Martin, it's okay, it's lovely," Deborah assured his quickly, wrapping her arms around her chest momentarily for something to focus on, and then retracting them, "It's really shockingly sweet of you – thank you."

Giving it little thought, Deborah sat forward and leaned over the arm of her seat, opening her own arms and tipping towards Martin. Martin obviously saw the movement, as he sat forwards and met her half way, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into an awkward hug.

The foot of space, barred by two metal bars, made it a disjointed and uncomfortable embrace, but Deborah didn't mind, enjoying the comfort of having Martin's arms around her, rubbing and patting distractedly at her shoulders as she pressed the side of her face against his.

It only lasted a moment, and then she pulled away, falling back into her seat and smiling a little too wide. She was aware that her cheeks were probably pink, but she was too taken aback by the effort that Martin had gone to just to make her happy.

She pulled her hand through her hair, where she assumed that Martin had messed it up, and then offered Martin a small smile, which he returned, kicking his flight-bag under his seat as banging and clattering could be heard somewhere in the cabin.

It sounded as if their client had arrived. Though Deborah would have liked more time to lounge about, she couldn't deny that today was probably going to be a good one. And Martin had definitely earned that dinner later, courtesy of Carolyn.

So the dream sequence was interesting to write - I don't know about anyone else, but I find that setting and people tend to shift without warning and dream-self tends to just roll with it.

And some fluffy character stuff, just to pad it out.

Hope you liked it

: )