Somehow 'I'm just going to write this tiny prologue bit' turned into a nearly 7,000 word chapter, so I hope you enjoy it.
Thank you for reviewing.
Limerick
It was hard to decide which was less appealing. The idea of staying in Hong Kong, or the prospect of an over twelve hour flight to Limerick. Deborah supposed that the flight wouldn't be too horrible; there were no passengers, and the cargo was small enough to leave on the jump-seat, so there were few preparations to make, which would leave Martin, Carolyn, and Arthur in a good enough mood that they'd have fun so long as they didn't bite each other's heads off.
GERTI was humming, and Deborah was slouched in her seat, feet up on the control panel, hat tipped over the upper half of her face. It wouldn't hurt to catch a few moments of absolute relaxation before she was expected to remain awake for longer than was humanly acceptable.
The flight-deck door swing open, and Deborah managed to pull the hat from her head and drop it onto the floor beside her chair, but wasn't quick enough to move her feet before Martin could bat at her legs, an annoyed but bemusedly acceptant twist to his lips as he turned and dropped into his own seat.
"Did you do the walk around?" Martin asked, running his fingers over his hat and the lapels of his jacket, giving her the once over and rolling his eyes in an amused manner at the unruly state of her uniform; Deborah couldn't help but smirk fondly.
"Yes, I did it when you told me to do it." Deborah answered with a sigh, flicking the correct switches without having to be told, while Martin did the same, "And I can tell you that GERTI is as pristine as she'll ever be. Granted that's not very, but it's not as if anyone's going to notice so high in the air."
"Hmmm…we're going to be in the air for over twelve hours, we need to be sure." Martin remarked, his hands curling around the arms of his seat as he turned as if to get up and check for himself.
"Martin, I am absolutely sure that the plane is fine." Deborah waved her hands dismissively, as Martin settled himself back down, looking unconvinced, the bridge of his nose crinkled, "That's not my biggest concern right now."
"Oh don't tell me you're bored already." Martin groaned, as his eyebrows wandered up to his hairline, "I don't think I could survive the whole flight if that were the case."
"No, it would be horrible." Deborah agreed, crossing one leg over the other as she sat a little straighter, setting her shoulders back; she turned her head so that she could address Martin more directly, dropping her tone an octave, just to rib at him, "Which is why I'm relying upon you to entertain me."
"Now hold on," Martin retorted, snorting a little at the implication; he had been getting better at reacting to false japes and innocent flirting, and surprisingly, Deborah found that it was more fun when he was laughing as well, "Surely, as my First Officer, it would be your job to entertain me."
"Well that depends entirely upon what you want." Deborah drawled salaciously, fluttering her eyelashes dramatically.
To her pleasure, Martin's cheeks lit up, and he spluttered, opening and closing his mouth once or twice, eyes darting towards the control panel until he was able to clear his throat and meet her gaze properly.
"Yes, nice try." He conceded airily; then Martin glanced over his shoulder, though the flight-deck door was securely shut, and remarked that, "It shouldn't be too bad, I mean, Carolyn and Arthur will probably waft in and out, but we'll be alright in here."
There was something almost optimistic about his expression, and Deborah felt her heart go out to him. Perhaps a month or so ago, the prospect of hours locked together would have been torturous. But now, she…well, she wasn't dreading it.
They had been spending more time together, after Deborah had managed to convince Martin to talk to her about something other than aviation. Well, she had had to start by talking about planes for about a week, just to get the ball rolling, and to lay down the common ground between them.
And now…Deborah was quite confident in calling Martin her friend. In her head at least. Martin's affections for her may have been more evident, but there were still limits that she was yet unwilling to cross.
"I suppose that I wouldn't mind enduring your company, Captain." Deborah remarked cheerfully, "So long as you won't force me to remain all tucked in and professional for the duration of the flight."
Martin's eyes travelled the length of her as he peered down his nose, obviously trying not to seem as if he were staring.
"So long as you follow proper protocol, you can do what you like." He conceded, and then his eyes widened and he became momentarily sterner, pushing his hat down onto his head as if centring himself, "But let's not have a repeat of Sinai."
Deborah bit back a chuckle, knowing that Martin would only make the flight unbearable if she annoyed him now; she hoped belatedly that he wouldn't realise the temporary power over her that the potential for bored misery allowed. Sinai, as she knew Martin was remembering it, involved such hot and dry weather that by noon Deborah had stripped down to all but shorts and a thin top rolled up until it reached just below her bra.
Which Martin had taken great offence to at the time, though it was hard to tell whether he was blushing underneath the burn that stretched across his cheeks.
"I thought you enjoyed Sinai…and the sights." Deborah crooned, making sure to push her hair behind her shoulders and go about starting the pre-flight checks instead of meeting Martin's indignant pout.
"You can imply all you want," Martin said primly, shooting her a sharp glare, "But I don't make a habit of ogling married women."
At that a pang of resentment sounded below Deborah's throat, and she swallowed it down with an inward scold; she kept forgetting that Martin didn't know about the divorce. To be honest, she barely gave Harry much thought at all, only when he came up in conversation, which wasn't often.
For some reason, the idea that Martin still thought she was married to someone else made uncomfortable things squirm in her stomach, and she found herself wanting more and more every day to let him know that she wasn't.
With little else to fall back on, Deborah assumed that the guilt was down to the newfound closeness between them; Martin was nothing if not completely honest with her, and she was proud to say that she was now privy to a reasonable proportion of his life. As was he to hers…just not that part.
But telling him the truth…at no point would there be a good moment, and she didn't think she could face the embarrassment. No, it was much easier to feel the sensations like tiny claws tickling at the back of her throat at every mention of her ex.
It had been too long for Deborah to come up with a decent retort, and Martin, when he took his eyes from her, now wearing a bewildered expression, leaned across to press the intercom. As he did so, his sleeve rode up his arm, and Deborah's eyes caught hold of the glinting reflection of something new.
"This is your Captain speaking. We'll be taking off soon," Martin spoke clearly into the intercom, puffing out his chest even as he spoke his rank, "Just as soon as we've finished the checks."
"Yes Martin, we know you're the Captain." Carolyn's voice drifted neatly through the speakers, the only part of GERTI that was fully functional and flawless; Deborah smiled fondly at the way Martin's nose wrinkled, "Just hurry up and take us home."
"Ok, fine…" Martin grumbled, and flicked the switch, "Deborah, could you-"
"What's on your wrist Martin?" Deborah interjected, prodding at the offending article; Martin retracted his hand from where he had been curling his long fingers around a dial, and clutched it close to his chest before remembering that they were friends now, and relaxing his joints.
"It's a watch." Martin replied shortly, sounding awfully proud of himself, but not willing to divulge much more.
"Where did you get your watch?" Deborah pushed, enjoying the way that Martin leant forward and offered his wrist for her to inspect, clearly eager to show off whatever victory he thought that he had achieved this time, "I haven't seen it before."
"That's because I bought it in Hong Kong, yesterday; I got it dirt cheap as well," Martin explained, allowing Deborah to turn his arm over where she held it delicately between the fingers of both hands, "It's a genuine Patek Philippe!"
A quick examination of the watch, and a foreknowledge of what Hong Kong was likely to throw up gave Deborah little confidence as to that assertion, and she let Martin's wrist slip through her fingers and back to its owner.
"I hate to burst your bubble Martin, but I highly doubt that this is genuine." Deborah stated as kindly as she could manage; this many months into their working relationship, it was unlikely that Martin would retaliate as he once would, but there was always wounded pride to take into consideration.
Martin shook his head, lips pressed together until they became a thin line. He held his arm stiffly bent in the air, as if presenting it to the world would make his assertion true.
"No, no, this is a genuine Patek Philippe, and I can prove it." Martin promised, holding Deborah's gaze; she rolled her eyes, but waved her hand for him to continue, "You think of a game, and once you do, we'll time it using my genuine watch."
Deborah scoffed, but raised an eyebrow delicately, folding her arms over her chest.
"As you wish, Martin, as you wish."
oOoOoOo
Hours and hours had passed. It was so deathly boring, even with the others there. Besides, the topic of conversation had begun to shift into uncomfortable waters. Not that Deborah didn't appreciate the honesty that was beginning to seep into the relationship between the entire crew.
But Martin had decided to be kind and caring and ask about Harry, and she had made some sort of excuse. She didn't even remember what it was. All that she knew was that now she was sitting tensely in her seat, facing more forward facing than she had since Martin's first few weeks, hands curled around the edges of the seat's arms as she inwardly cursed herself for not just telling Martin the truth.
Then she had suggested that he take up internet dating. She didn't know why; it was like a compulsion! There was no reason for Deborah to want him not to find someone and be happy, yet she was itching against her own words. She just really, really didn't want him to. She supposed that she just didn't want him to fail, which Martin was destined to do.
In short, Deborah was going stir crazy and needed to walk around. Hoisting herself to her feet with a groan, Deborah met Martin's gaze as he quirked his eyebrow and sat up a little straighter, waiting for a response. After hours locked together, formalities had been thrown from the plane in an ungainly fashion.
"You going for a wander down the cabin?" he inquired when Deborah only stretched her back, rolling her shoulders and yawning.
"Only if you don't mind me leaving you on your own for a bit." Deborah answered dryly, completely willing to sit back down if Martin asked. Martin just shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, smiling wanly.
"No it's alright, I've got things here." He assured her, gesturing towards the achingly persistent sun ahead.
Deborah smiled briefly, taking one last moment to squeeze her eyes shut and readjust her mental wallowing.
"Thank you darling." She remarked carelessly as she passed between the two seats, letting her hand drop down to squeeze gratefully at Martin's shoulder. Deborah was peripherally aware of his head following the movement, but she paid it no notice, wandering into the Galley without a backwards glance.
Carolyn was nowhere to be seen, but Arthur was leaning against the counter holding the microwave, pawing through a magazine that his mother must have picked up at the airport, one filled with business advice that he probably didn't understand, but enjoyed the challenge.
Deborah ambled to his side, and slipped her arms around his middle, leaning into his arm and closing her eyes. If she wasn't careful, boredom could turn into tiredness. Just a small hug then.
"Arthur, I'm bored." She groaned, pulling away before he could return the gesture, though he did close the magazine and smile cheerfully down at her, "Would you like to fly the plane while I go and sleep away the hours?"
"Hmmm…" Arthur pursed his lips as if he were actually considering it, and Deborah folded her arms over her chest as she leant against the opposite counter; then he shrugged apologetically, "I don't think Mum would be too pleased if we did that. Nor would Skip actually."
"Are you sure they would notice if we just put my hat on your head?" Deborah teased, smirking slightly at the assumption of seriousness that Arthur adopted.
"I think they might." He replied, cocking his head as he considered her, "We look quite different."
"That we do Arthur, that we do." Deborah sighed, letting her shoulders slump; she wasn't going to go and bother Carolyn like she had planned, she didn't have enough energy for much more than sitting with Martin, and barely enough for visiting Arthur.
Arthur nodded solemnly, and Deborah watched him shuffle about a bit.
"You know, one day I might try and teach you to fly GERTI." She remarked thoughtfully, relishing the way that his eyes widened, and quickly compensating, "Try mind you."
"Really?" Arthur exclaimed, practically coming together with the energy needed to spring into a cartoon leap of joy.
"Only if you're nice to me." Deborah promised; she reached across the Galley to pat him on the elbow, before turning to walk back to the flight-deck.
"Aw, brilliant!" he declared, and that was all that Deborah stayed to hear, hiding her smile by turning her back on the steward and opening the metal door, stepping through and blocking out whatever Arthur was telling his mother now.
The moment that she entered the flight-deck, Martin rotated in his seat, slinging an arm over the back so that he could point with flourishing relief at the shades of amber shining through the front window.
"Deborah, look!" Martin announced as she manoeuvred herself into her own seat, turning slightly to her left so that she could see him more clearly, "At last! The sun's almost gone again!"
"Oh, yes, there it goes." Deborah sighed, looping her arms around her waist and smiling thinly at the Captain's weary enthusiasm, "Come on, you big red sod – set, damn you!"
"There it goes. Come on, come on!" Martin egged, his eyebrows furrowed in effort as he leant forward in his seat, gripping the ends of the arms of his seat in his palms and glaring at the sky as if he could change it by force of will.
Deborah took pity on him, listening to the tickle of warmth in her chest, and reached over to the control panel.
"Tell you what: descending fifty feet." She muttered as GERTI's engines whined at the action; Martin slumped back in his chair, and observed her from beneath the hat that was tipped forward against all professional odds; Deborah made no move to acknowledge the attention, though she was detachedly pleased to have it, "And … gone."
"That's better." Martin sighed as the light within the flight-deck faded away, leaving them in shadow, lit only by the miniscule lights on the console; then he tipped his head back, groaning and stretching both hands over his shoulders, "Oh, isn't it lovely and dark?"
Deborah watched the motion, settling so that her cheeks was resting against the back of her chair; the darkness added sharper lines to Martin's face, yet made him softer around the edges. She was fleetingly worried that if she hadn't been distracted by him removing his hat and placing it over the corner of his seat, she might have been caught staring at him, soaking in Martin's image. It was familiar…Deborah wasn't sure why she had to reassure herself, but that was it; it was nice to look at something familiar.
"Mmm." Deborah hummed in a belated response to Martin's comment, barely summoning the energy to do more than sigh, "The sun has taken his hat off. Hip hip hip hooray."
"He's taken off his hat at last and gone a-bloody-way." Martin concluded; it was harder to tell in the dark, but Deborah thought that he too slumped in his seat and turned his head to smile fondly at her; the thought filled her with pleasant feelings, even as Martin asked, "Shall I put the lights on?"
"No!" Deborah said quickly; then an idea occurred that had her sitting a little straighter, something that she recalled from their many bonding sessions, "Let's keep the flight deck dark for a while, like a fighter plane."
"Yeah!" Martin agreed with more enthusiasm than she had ever heard from him; she could imagine his face scrunching and his eyes widening with excitement, and the thought made her exhale in what might have been a giggle, but seceded to a smile.
She considered, that in another life, it might be fun to fly fighter planes with Martin; if only to see his face light up. As it was, he'd pass out if he got even a little dizzy.
Deborah didn't allow herself to linger on the fact that Martin was apparently a definite in whichever reality she imagined, or wonder when that had happened…Instead, while he took advantage of the dark to do things that he wouldn't normally, like intertwine his fingers and stretch his arms out before him, and roll his head from side to side, Deborah thought back to something they had been discussing earlier.
She supposed, that however much the idea didn't sit right in her stomach…she did want Martin to be happy.
"You know…for what it's worth…I think you should give one of those dating sites a go." Deborah suggested, hoping that her voice didn't sound as downcast to him as it did to her, "You can always make up a hobby."
"Yeah, but even if I did meet someone, where would I take them?" Martin retorted, clearly having heard nothing other than an obstacle to his success, as he motioned hopelessly with his hands exposed, "They'd expect an airline captain to be able to wine and dine them, and I'm always broke because … well, you know why."
"You don't have to tell them you're an airline captain." Deborah remarked quietly; she truly meant it; is someone actually gave Martin the chance to speak, to get his words out without worrying about whether he was living up to their expectations, then…they'd be as enamoured…Deborah shook her head lightly and rolled her eyes, though he couldn't see her, "… Oh, I'm sorry, I don't know what I was thinking." She let the indignant silence drag for only a moment, before the real issue that got in the way of Martin's love life, the one thing that he hadn't ever spoken to her about, tiptoed to the front of her mind, "Does Carolyn really not pay you anything?"
She asked tentatively, in her real voice, not a lowered and caramelised one, as she brought her fingers up to stroke through the loose curls of hair that hung around her face, but Deborah wasn't sure if Martin noticed. Likely he was wrapped up enough in the chance to vent his troubles that it didn't occur to him who was asking.
"No, nothing." Martin replied, flicking idly at one of the controls; though she couldn't see his expression clearly, Deborah thought that he must have been frowning, slouched back as he was, arms held limply at his sides.
"So, how do you get by?" she inquired cautiously, quietly, still unwilling to break the steady calm between them. She thought for a moment that Martin might not answer, but she heard his throat clear, though he didn't turn his head.
"I have another job that I fit in around the trips." Martin told her, a spring in his tone that would hardly have stood to interrogation.
"Yes?" Deborah pushed softly; she fought not to turn fully in her seat, to pull her elbows and knees to her chest and listen avidly, to beg him to tell her everything that was wrong. It was making her sad, that much she knew, and Deborah was keen enough to realise that at some point, she had come to care about Martin enough that this mattered, a lot more than it should have.
Martin exhaled reluctantly before he continued.
"I … am … a man." Every word he said sounded forced, and Deborah couldn't help but roll her eyes and interject, though it lacked its usual bite.
"Yes, all right, Martin. You're not in an Arthur Miller play." She drawled gently, a smirk flickering at the corner of her lips.
"Let me finish!" Martin insisted, raising a hand at her, and letting it rest on the arm of his seat; the laughter in his tone was enough to encourage him apparently, and he stiffened and then relaxed his spine as he declared, "I am a man … with a van. People call me up and I go round in my van and move their stuff for them."
With the darkness hiding Martin's true expression, Deborah found herself trying to picture Martin, none of the usual prissiness and pressed attire (such things wouldn't last five minutes on a van man), yet still quintessentially Martin.
And then came the rush of affection, from her stomach to her chest, leaving strange tingles in her digits; the same fondness that had flooded her senses all that time ago when she had found out how hard Martin worked purely for the sake of flying, even going so far as to work for free.
It should make her want to thwack him round the head, but it was so…Martin…
No other man could go through six re-takes and have her call it perseverance and fibre, or work wageless and have her call it anything less than stupidity, but when Martin did it, it was so endearingly Martin.
And when she looked at it that way, as her Martin that she had been getting to know over breaks and long flights…it made all the sense in the world that he was slaving away in his every spare moment, just so that he could fly the damn plane.
Captain Crieff couldn't do it, but Martin could. Deborah wasn't sure if she'd ever reconcile them as one person.
"Ah." She let out a small sound of understanding, and offered a few words of comfort, as Martin was still brooding, "That's…interesting…explains a lot actually."
"What does it explain?" Martin replied suspiciously, turning his head as if he could see her, and glaring even though she knew that he couldn't, though she could hear his hands clenching once more around the arms of his seat.
"Nothing bad!" Deborah assured him, raising one hand in surrender, keeping her tone light, retreating to the less worrying ideas that had wafted through her mind, "I just…it explains how you achieved a physique such as yours."
"It's nothing special." Martin remarked hastily, and she was sure that his cheeks were scarlet by now, flushed so dark that his freckles would have been invisible even in the light.
"No, but…I have been intrigued and…unsure of how to bring it up without sounding…" Deborah allowed herself to trail off, still unsure of how to elucidate the fact that she had literally spent hours of her life trying to work out how Martin manage to look so damn good; it was a good thing that he couldn't see her properly, but she decided to try and reassure him nonetheless, "but I suppose that I can sort of see it."
"What?" Martin asked, sounding confused for the first time, rather than suspicious or dejected.
"I can see you as a man with a van." She clarified, hoping that Martin didn't think that she was mocking him; that was still a rut in their relationship, the one thing that caused problems. Despite all her efforts, there was obviously still a part of Martin that didn't trust her.
"How so?" he snorted bitterly, rolling his shoulders again, "I can't."
"Well…you've got Captain Crieff, which is you when you're here…and then you've got Martin, who's you when you're not working, like during our breaks…" Deborah reasoned, but Martin cut her off.
"And you can see me as a menial labourer?" he remarked in disgruntled disbelief, almost turning fully as if to stare and raise his eyebrows at her. Clearly this was something that they did not see eye to eye on, even if Deborah thought that they should.
"No! I just…I can see you…putting in the effort where it's required, that's all I meant." Deborah contradicted him, her tone losing some of the lightness, but holding on to the sympathetic edge, "It doesn't matter - where did you get a van?"
"When my dad died, he left me his van." Martin answered as if it were no big deal, as if she should have worked that out herself, the silly thing. Deborah knew Martin well enough to know when he was forcing himself, and even the way that he turned back to the darkened window and began to rap his fingers of the arm of the seat, was enough to tell her that this was not a decision he had been pleased with at them time, or now.
"That's nice … isn't it?" Deborah attempted an encouraging prompt; it did get Martin to open up, as she had wanted, but unfortunately, Martin had a lot that he had been keeping in, and apparently now was the moment that he chose to trust her with it.
"Well, he didn't leave me any money. I mean, I didn't want his money but he didn't leave me any. Simon and Caitlin got five grand each, but I didn't. Suppose because he thought I'd spend it on trying to become a pilot – waste it on trying to become a pilot, because I had spent thousands by then, so … instead he left me his van, and his tool kit, and his sodding multimeter." Martin let his hands fall open either side of his for emphasis, as his head tilted with the beat of his discontent; Deborah listened in silence, giving him for once, her full attention.
"I mean, he didn't leave a note in the glove compartment saying … "For God's sake, son, give it up and become an electrician" … but he might as well have done," Deborah wanted to reach across and take Martin's hand, or pat him on the wrist, but settled for simply feeling sad on his behalf, wondering fleetingly whether his father's wish meant that Martin had some hidden handy-man skills that she wasn't privy to; he probably did, he was good at that sort of thing, "and then four months after he died I got my first job a pilot. I mean, it was a rubbish job, but four months … and then I got this job and … I was a captain, but not making money, and I went back to the van."
Martin sighed, and slumped even further into his seat, continuing as if disappointed with himself, but talking to her. Deborah couldn't help but feel flattered in amongst the sympathy that Martin was telling her all of this; he was actually letting her see him completely as himself for the first time in all the months and months that they had known each other.
"That's why I don't have any hobbies. My job is humping boxes into my dad's old van – that's what I'm paid to do. This – this is my hobby." Martin waved his hand about the flight-deck before dropping it once more; then he turned again, and Deborah thought that had it been light they might have been looking right at each other, "And it's-it's not your fault, but it doesn't help that I sit next to you with your perfect life and your happy marriage and your salary and the … well, frankly, in any figures at all, it doesn't help."
And all of a sudden Deborah couldn't do it anymore; the decision wasn't a struggle as she had thought it might be, it merely became the only option. She wanted Martin to feel better, and the only way to do that was by letting him know her how he had allowed her to know him.
For worse…rather than for what they had in common.
"Not a perfect life, perhaps." Deborah admitted, turning away from Martin for the first time since the darkness had fallen, sitting forward in her chair, allowing her arm to rest over the edge of the seat's barrier, "After all, I'm sitting next to you."
"Oh, thank you." Martin sighed in a put upon manner, mirroring her actions, and she could almost hear him rolling his eyes, "Thank you for those few kind words of sympathy."
"I didn't mean it like that!" Deborah recovered quickly, swallowing down her trepidation and reminding herself that it was Martin she was talking to, and that she was still her, "I just meant, I'm not at Air England any more. I'm here. And/you know some things about my life. You know about Harry thinking I'm the captain.
"Yes. Why did you tell him that?" Martin retorted; Deborah almost smiled at the realisation that Martin evidently hadn't surmised that she was trying to reveal something deeply personal.
"I didn't tell him. He just assumed I was." She countered; then the weight of Harry's accusations, the expectations that she couldn't quite meet all rushed back, "People tend to do that…Don't know if you've noticed…"
"Yes, I have!" Martin replied matter-of-factly; to his credit, Deborah didn't think that he sounded anywhere near as offended as he used to. Just acceptant, and…she hoped that was affection…
"And I just failed to correct him." Deborah concluded, unable to think of much else to say, staring out into the night's sky.
"Well, for what it's worth, I really think you ought to tell him." Martin told her, trying so hard to be helpful and supportive, and falling just short of the mark, "I mean, he loves you. He's not gonna care, you know, whether you're a captain or not."
"Yes. I have told him now, actually." Deborah remarked quietly, unable to force her voice much louder, not when she was struggling to get the confession through her lips at all.
"Oh, right!" Martin responded hopefully.
"Yes – quite soon after you came over that day." She continued, curling her fingers over the edge of the arm of her seat, securing herself, just in case.
"Right." Martin sounded so pleased for her, it was almost enough to make her stop, but Deborah had made up her mind, "And how did he take it?"
"Really well – very well. You were quite right." Deborah's voice sounded stilted to her own ears, despite its airy façade and forceless timbre, "He didn't mind at all. Not at all. He was glad I told him."
"Right! Great! Oh, that's wonderful!" Martin exclaimed, so happy for her that it made her heart ache for him, just wanting him to understand and take it for the show of solidarity that it was, "God – I thought from the way you were saying it, she'd hit the roof."
"No." Deborah's nails dug into the edge of her seat, but she made herself retract and lay her hand down once again, calm and collected. She wasn't going to hold in her misery, or her disdain for that matter, for Martin's sake. He would take it as it was.
"Good!" Martin continued.
"Very calm." Deborah allowed for the first time in months, the weight of Harry's departure to truly leave her shoulders. She could pretend that everything was okay, and cry early on, but at no point had she allowed herself to properly vent her anger, her visceral desire to skin him alive.
Martin was a bloody godsend, and he would never fully understand why. If Deborah had known months ago that she could talk to him, have him talk back, and have some sort of understanding…well, the poor man would have probably run for the hills.
"And wasn't I right? Don't you feel it's a huge weight off your back?" Martin asked in a cheerful tone.
"Yes and no." Deborah teased the syllables, allowing some of her disdain to leech into her voice. There was little point being mild and wounded now; if Martin got to be irritable about his shoddy inheritance, then she damn well got to be mad about her cheating husband.
"And no?" Martin repeated, finally catching on to the fact that something wasn't quite right. Deborah felt more than saw him shift to allow her more attention.
"What he actually said was, he was pleased I'd told him my secret because it made it easier for him to tell me his." Deborah drawled, rolling her eyes and shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly.
"Oh." Martin breathed, and she could imagine him dragging his bottom lip between his teeth.
"His was the more conventional sort. If I had to criticise, I must say it lacked the verge and originality of mine. I mean, "Darling, I've been lying to you about the precise rank I hold in a small charter airline" – I flatter myself that's not a confession often made." Deborah explained, taking subtle pleasure in finally getting to damn Harry and having someone else know what he had done (Carolyn didn't count, not really), ""Darling, I've been having an affair with my Tai Chi teacher" – bit more run of the mill."
"Oh." Martin chorused again, now sounding guilty, as if it were his fault; she didn't think to reassure him though.
"I mean, fair enough: points for Tai Chi teacher rather than tennis coach or dancing instructor, but basically familiar territory." Deborah concluded, taking a deep breath to steady herself.
"Oh…" Martin said again.
"Mmm." She replied, unable to think much else now that the mutterings from the back of her mind were finally out in the open. It was as if she had open a set of blinds and the draft let in had breathed new life into her.
"I'm so sorry." Martin said quietly; Deborah turned her head, but of course, all that she could see was that Martin was looking at her, though his expression was invisible, and his limbs were loose.
"Thank you." She answered, blinking heavily, and turning back to the window.
The next thing that she knew, she felt Martin's hand brush against the back of her fingers; just the tips of his knuckles against hers, but definitely there, tentative and lingering, withdrawn the moment that she reacted reflexively, her own finger shifting to hook around his in the moments before the sensation disappeared.
Deborah lifted her head slowly, tracing her eyes over where she thought that she could see her hand, up to gaze at the mass that was Martin, her mouth lips parted in touched surprise. The clinging, tugging warmth in her chest was back, and it was with a lurching sense of trepidation that Deborah realised that the fluttering hadn't been residual turmoil from the divorce at all, hadn't vaporised with the rest.
"Oh God, if only I hadn't come round that night." Martin finally uttered, actually sounding guilty for something that he had no control over.
"Oh, no, don't be silly!" Deborah scolded him lightly, wrapping her arms around her chest, "You didn't tell him, after all. No, I-I don't blame you. I blame the Chinese."
"What for?" Martin asked, bewildered.
"Tai Chi." Deborah stated plainly, smirking even though no one would see it, enjoying the pleasure of pettiness while it lasted.
"I think that was the Japanese." Martin corrected her, shaking his head.
"I bet you a fiver it was the Chinese." She challenged; now that he mentioned it, Deborah thought that he might be right, but she wasn't going to admit to it.
"You're on!" he countered; Martin shook out his shoulders as if he had been holding them stiffly, and silence fell between then as the conversation dropped. Deborah mused that it was no wonder people didn't just talk about their feelings if it led to such awkward silences afterwards.
And then Martin managed to break it and make the tension in the flight-deck even more puzzling.
"So…Deborah…you're…" Martin didn't quite stutter, but he also didn't seem to want to get the words out, or to sound nearly as inquisitive as he did, "…single?"
Deborah didn't quite tense, but she definitely froze, holding her breath and staring pointedly out of the front window. The fluttering in her chest might have been moths rather than butterflies, and suddenly she wished that she could be in the cabin with Carolyn and Arthur, while being simultaneously intrigued. Her brain wasn't even letting her see what was so worrying.
"In the sense that I'm not in a relationship…yes…" she replied wryly, "Is that important?"
"No, not at all," Martin insisted hastily, and she could see his arm rising for him to rub a hand over the back of his neck as he took on a sheepish tone, "I just, uh, I'm just updating the mental filing system."
"You keep information on me?" Deborah's interest was piqued, though she was mildly disconcerted, and she turned her head ever so slightly, conscious that any more, and she would be staring again.
"No – it's not really a filing system," Martin explained, hands making circular motions as he tried to justify himself; there was small comfort in the fact that everything seemed back to normal, "I just…trying to figure you out."
"You haven't done that already?" Deborah asked softly, tightening her arms around her chest; the very idea made her shiver uncomfortably. She didn't think that she was that strange; most people made their minds up about her quite quickly, Deborah couldn't imagine why Martin had such trouble.
Martin struggled for a few moments, and then sighed, letting his hands fall.
"You're a bit difficult to place…" he remarked, said in the tone of a man who was weary and had little other choice.
"I could say the same about you…" Deborah retorted wryly, unsure of how she felt at all about that; her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and she snuck sideways glances at the dark shape that was Martin, tensed and nervous.
"Yes…well…" Martin cleared his throat and tried to seem jaunty and confident, though it didn't quite work, to Deborah's amusement, "I'm glad you're, uh…are you alright?
"You know what Martin, I actually am." Deborah replied, entirely honestly, the first time she had been able to even think such a thing and have it be completely true…in regards to Harry at least. She let the tension leak from her shoulders, and slumped back against the hard cushions of her seat.
"You're not…I don't know…missing your husband?" Martin asked, attempting unsuccessfully to be nonchalant and flippant; the sound of his uniform brushing against itself told her that he was moving his limbs far more than she could see to emphasise his 'lack of concern'. It was quite touching really.
"No, not at all…and why should I be, we clearly weren't working…" Deborah noted dryly, waving her hand dismissively; she exhaled slowly through her nose as she suspected that Martin wasn't convinced, his silence testament enough, "and I've got you lot nagging me all the time, I barely have time to miss him."
Martin hummed in acceptance, and then stretched his arms to adjust a control that didn't need adjusting. Then he sat back, hands once again curled around the edge of his seat's arms, and said nothing. Deborah could practically hear the furrowed eyebrows and the lip gnawed between his teeth.
"Why didn't you tell me when it happened?…or even during our breaks?" Martin blurted, and then paused, and brought his tone under control, clearing his throat; Deborah allowed herself to watch the dark shape that was him, and didn't look away when she presumed his eyes wandered over her face; she might have done if it were light and he had any chance of reading her expression, "I thought we were getting somewhere."
"Why didn't you tell me about your van business?" Deborah shot back, smirking slightly as Martin turned away quickly, letting out a small scoff, running a hand over the bottom of his face.
"I don't know…" he groaned, the smile clear in the lilt of his voice, "Pride probably."
"Well there we go." Deborah offered only that, dropping her head down to conceal a tentative smile even though she knew it wouldn't be seen regardless. She wasn't sure where to go from there, and Martin remained quiet.
And there were still nearly eight hours of the flight left. Here was to hoping that Carolyn and Arthur came back and found something interesting to do. Even though Deborah would much rather they stayed away, and she and Martin could have left the flight-deck dark, and just remained the two of them for a little longer.
That turned out to have more script from the show in it than I intended, but it's difficult not to when the entire episode takes place in one room, and is effectively one extremely long scene.
I hope you all enjoyed it, it was definitely a challange.