Hurroo, Hurrah, here is the next chapter.

Wikketkrikket and Ashtrees, thank you for reviewing - I would have replied but I was writing this instead. Your comments were informative as ever, and fantastic motivation.

Interlude 6

"You have to be joking!" Deborah was having trouble remaining composed, a grin filling her cheeks despite her efforts to seem as disinterested as she usually was, "Really?"

"In all the time we've known each other have I ever joked about a job?" Carolyn retorted, raising an eyebrow delicately as she lowered the hand that had frozen over her computer, a bewildered expression on her face.

Deborah had only gone into Carolyn's office to find out what they had on for the next few weeks, leaving Martin and Arthur to their own devices in the rest of the porta-cabin. As expected, the older woman had entertained her with a list of lesser errands that needed running, and Deborah had sat and nodded along in the chair reserved for guests so that they didn't get too close to the desk.

Now she was pleased that she had found the patience, because just as she had risen to her feet, and was making her way towards the door, Carolyn had told her about their Friday job as if it were merely a second thought. And to use Arthur's favourite declaration, it was a brilliant job.

"Well, how long are we there for?" Deborah inquired, leaning back against the door, hoping that the slouch this allowed would detract from the fact that her hands were linked in excitement, and she was bouncing ever so slightly on the heels of her feet.

"The trip was booked by a group of university students wanting an island holiday." Carolyn explained, shaking her head and doing nothing to hide her disdain for the whole idea, "So they can only afford a full weekend. We fly in on the Friday, and fly back on the Monday."

Deborah didn't both pretending not to be pleased at the prospect. A plane full of students could be endured for the sake of the end result.

"So, in short, we have two full days' holiday between the flights?" She asked for clarification, pressing her palms against the wood of the door and fidgeting as she watched Carolyn carefully for any flicker of argument, "To do with as we wish?"

"I'm only paying for the hotel rooms, the rest is on you." Carolyn replied curtly; she was still eyeing Deborah peculiarly, but she couldn't find it in herself to care, "As far as I'm concerned you can do whatever you want in you free time; visit the sights, bask in the sun…continue being terrifyingly excited…it's all the same to me."

"Excellent!" Deborah remarked, and with a final grin, she pushed away from the door and hurried through it, leaving Carolyn behind her. Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself, and scanned the room, making a beeline for Martin when she saw that he was in the same place as she had left him.

Arthur was lying on the sofa, newspaper propped on his stomach as he tried to fill in the day's crossword, but simply tapping his pen against his nose while peering thoughtfully at the paper without having filled out a single clue.

Martin looked up from whatever he had spread across his desk this time as Deborah swung Arthur's abandoned wheelie chair to the opposite side, and dropped into it, resting her arms flat on the top, and greeting him with a pleasant smile.

He placed the cap back on his pen and dropped it into its pot, his eyebrows furrowing as a small, confused smile curled at the corner of his lips, and he ran his eyes over her as if checking for errors.

"You're in a good mood…" Martin remarked slowly, bordering on fond suspicion, as he too folded his arms over his desk top, and sighing as was ritual at the tail end of a working spree, "Why are you in a good mood?"

"Because Martin, and you're going to love this-" Deborah drew out her answer, sweeping her hands across the desk to lie in a steadying position over Martin's wrists, straightening her back to build the suspense, "On Friday, we're flying into St Martin."

Martin's eyes lit up, and he opened his mouth in a silent question, narrowing his eyes and pursing his lips; Deborah shook her head, to say, no, no she wasn't lying.

"Wow! We're going to somewhere named after Martin?" Arthur exclaimed, and when Deborah turned to glance fleetingly over her shoulder, he sitting upright on the sofa; apparently he had been listening, "Or, that Martin's named after, as the place is probably older."

"Yes Arthur, but that's not why I'm pleased." Deborah replied, turning back to meet Martin's gaze; he had flushed with the prospect.

"Are we flying into Princess Juliana international airport?" Martin asked, barely louder than a whisper; Deborah had known he would be thrilled at the idea, and she wasn't disappointed, stomach turning pleasantly as he slipped his wrists from her fingers and grasped instead at her hands, as if relying upon her to deliver good news lest he falter with the agony of it. Reflexively, her fingers curled around his.

Martin was leaning across the desk almost unconsciously, gripping her hands between his expectantly, and Deborah couldn't resist mirroring his actions, adopting the air of someone divulging information that a cult would kill for.

"Yes, Martin, yes we are." She answered in a stage whisper, grinning through a smirk at the joy that washed across his features, and his hands seemed to vibrate in hers, "I knew you'd be pleased."

"Oh, I am." Martin exclaimed, his excited laugh blowing hot air across her cheeks; Deborah laughed quietly, and leaned back, increasing the space between them as Martin finally released her hands, which she left sprawled across his desk, "I am very pleased!"

"What's so special about the airport?" Arthur interjected, looking bewilderedly between the two of them, a strangely pensive crinkle about his nose and forehead.

Deborah shot Martin a sideways glance, and he needed no more prompting to surge into speech; it was sweet really, how passionate he became when talking about planes. Deborah did her best to listen whenever he did, but often she found herself just watching his arms swing about in regimented patterns, and his whole expression soften, with a small smile on her lips.

"Well, it's really just a small airport, but the runway, it points over a beach that's only about a road's width away." Martin explained, sitting back in his seat, which bounced slightly with each sturdy movement; Deborah thought that he almost seemed to fill more space like this, "It's a challenge to land on, and to take off, because it's quite short, and the planes come in quite low over the beach – but I think we'll do well, because GERTI's not nearly as big as some of the Seven-Four-Seven's they fly in on a regular basis."

Deborah hummed in agreement, but shook her head, as she crossed one leg over the other and swivelled the chair so that she could lounge with both men in her line of sight.

"That's still not why I'm excited." She drawled, inspecting her nails, but sneaking glances at Martin, waiting for him to ask as she knew that he would.

"Why are you excited?" Martin demanded, leaning forward again, his eyebrows knitting as he glared at her, searching for an unimportant answer. Deborah allowed herself one more salacious smirk, before resting her hand palm up on the desk, and explaining.

"Because, Martin, I happen to know someone who is very fond of all things aviation," Deborah drawled, looking pointedly at Martin, raising her eyebrow when he nodded twitchily in response, "and as we happen to be staying for four days near a beach, over which there is regular aeronautical traffic, I thought that I might ask this friend of mine if he wanted to take advantage of that…with me."

Martin's eyes, widened ever further, if such a thing was possible, and he looked as if he could not decide between a bashful smile and a bewildered gape, managing to present both as he rubbed at the back of his neck and drew his bottom lip between his teeth.

"You want to go plane spotting with me?" he clarified, quietly, like a child afraid that their newest gift might be withdrawn at a moment's notice, "You...?"

"Yes, me!" Deborah retorted, shrugging her shoulders and raising her hands into the air in a gesture of indignant pride, "It'll be fun."

She watched as Martin swallowed this information, nodding slowly, sitting back and relaxing somewhat; Deborah couldn't help but acknowledge the tremble of nerves in the base of her guts, and cursed the part of her mind that made her have to keep her expression cool and under control, rather than letting expectation cloud her pleasant demeanour.

"That sounds nice…" Martin said finally, bringing his hands together over the desk, linking his long fingers at the knuckles and smiling intermittently; he seemed to have trouble meeting her gaze for long, but Deborah kept her eyes on his, "I'd, uh - I'd like that, we should definitely…do that. Is there anything you need me bring? Food? Um…"

"We can sort that out when we're there." Deborah assured him, relief washing over her, making it easier to smile without thought, "Just make sure to pack clothes for the beach and walking around. I'll cover everything else."

oOoOoOo

The air conditioning must have been faulty, because the airport at St Martin was stifling hot. Deborah stood alone, leaning against a railing that she had found, scrolling through her phone for something to do; her jacket was now throw over her elbow, and she had unbuttoned the top of her shirt on the plane.

Martin and Carolyn had disappeared off to fill in the relevant paperwork for GERTI's stay at the airfield, and Arthur had gone to…do whatever stewards did after a busy flight. The students had been nicer than expected, polite and courteous, but they had still left a mess, and managed to break the weaker of GERTI's inner workings while they were at it.

The landing into the airport had been interesting, to say the least. Martin had taken it, on the understanding that she be allowed the take-off on Monday, and had then proceeded to have a ten minute panic over the possibility of landing on the people by accident. It hadn't pained Deborah as much as she had thought it might to reassure him that he was not a bad enough pilot to miss the runway entirely.

Somewhere to her right, a group of men that couldn't have been more than twenty-five were making a racket, cackling raucously, and shouting odd things at the occasional traveller. At the moment, they were calling out to someone who wasn't listening.

"Oi, over 'ere!"

"Oi, we're talkin' to you!"

Deborah glanced up from her phone, and realised belatedly that the group, all dressed in tourist type garb, quite obviously a few drinks into the day, were addressing her. She rolled her eyes, and looked back down at her phone, ignoring the clammy weight that dropped into her gut along with irritation and disdain. Unfortunately, the movement didn't go unnoticed.

"Hey, lookin' good Captain, give us a twirl!" one of the men called, and Deborah saw him mock salute from the corner of her eyes. She was seized by the irrational desire to correct them and say that she wasn't the Captain, but held her tongue.

Then she felt one of them slide into place beside her, one arm slung over the railing, as he pushed a hand through his atrociously cut blonde hair, and leered down at her; Deborah shifted so that her spare arm was around her chest, but otherwise stayed where she was. She wasn't going to move. They may have been annoying, but pathetic was more the word that came to mind.

"So, err…which one's your plane?" the man asked, while his companions egged him on from the bench that they had claimed as their own.

Deborah turned her head to raise an eyebrow at the man, and grimaced in a facsimile of a pleasant smile, making sure to keep her phone pointedly raised in the hope that they would realise that she was busy and leave her in peace.

"Not your plane," she drawled sardonically, pouting rather than smirking; he was leaning in far too close for her to bother with manners, he clearly wasn't, "so if you want to talk to your pilot, you're looking in the wrong place."

"Aw, just come over here and have a drink with us." One of his friends called across, and the man looming over her chuckled stupidly, paying more attention to whether his mates were watching than the disdain with which Deborah glared up at him.

If anything, the fact that he was showing off for them made her even more furious, though she vowed to remain disinterested if nothing else, looking back down at her phone and wandering down the railing, eyes on the text from Martin telling her that they were ready to leave.

She heard the man follow her, saying something along the lines of 'come on, just a little while', but had little time to respond, as Arthur appeared by her side, red in both shirt and face, letting his arm hover around her back. A rush of relief flooded unbidden through her veins, making it even easier to glare at the offenders.

The other man faltered, probably noting the half a foot Arthur had in advantage, but Arthur didn't even spare him a glance, addressing Deborah only, turning them as if to create a private conversation. Nevertheless, Deborah didn't miss the furrowing of his forehead and the bridge of his nose.

"You ready to go, Deborah?" Arthur asked lightly, "Mum's waiting with the taxis."

"Mum?" the man repeated, and Arthur turned to glare at him fleetingly, but Deborah simply nodded in response to Arthur's inquiry, ignoring the tourist entirely, noting inwardly how the group as a whole had fallen sheepishly silent.

"Yes, I'm done here." She replied shortly, allowing Arthur to put his arm around her back, though she mused she wouldn't have had much choice in the matter, and begin to lead her away.

"Fine, your sister's boring anyway." The man groaned, and stalked back over to his friends, who were booing his failure.

"Sister?" Arthur asked, looking down as he marched Deborah though the airport, keeping his arm around her waist, almost pressing her against his side as they weaved through the crowd and towards the exit. She couldn't say that she minded; it was hardly the first time, so only a residual annoyance remained.

"I don't know." Deborah shrugged, and Arthur continued to look perplexed; as the entrance, and the loss of what little shelter they had from the sun, loomed closer, Deborah nudged him in the ribs with her elbow, "Are you joining Martin and I at the beach later?"

"Um, I might do." Arthur answered, pulling her out of the way of a particularly anxious looking woman with four suitcases who wasn't going to move for them to pass, "But I might not, because, I figured I might take a look around the shops instead."

There was a deflection in his tone that made Deborah pause, and tip her head back to inspect his expression, though all that she could read in the set of his eyes was that he wasn't quite his bubbly self.

"I thought plane spotting on the beach would be brilliant?" she hinted, hoping that he would reveal whatever he had up his sleeve; to her disappointment, Arthur merely shrugged and smiled cheerfully, revealing nothing.

"Oh, it is! But I think you and Skip will have fun on your own." He explained, as they ground to a halt to scan the area for the correct taxis, "It'll be nice for you to spend some time together – you don't need me there."

"Hmmm, if you say so." Deborah drawled, rolling her eyes affectionately, as Carolyn's voice could be heard snapping through the air, and Arthur steered her in the right direction.

oOoOoOo

This was by far, the best idea that Deborah had had in a long time. She had never had so much fun with Martin, not in all the time that they had known each other. She supposed that it was in part because they were free of the trappings of professionalism, and partly down to the excitement that thrummed through Martin's very being.

Friday had ended with the crew finding a restaurant for the evening, and then going their separate ways for the night; Deborah and Martin were sharing again, which made life easier in the long run. Martin had kept her up later than she had intended, making her set out and explain everything that she had prepared for the next day 'so that we can leave early'.

And leave early they had. Deborah was aroused hours before it was reasonable by the alarm that Martin hadn't told her he had set, and dragged by an overly chipper Captain already dressed and showered, to breakfast in the restaurant downstairs.

In a show of revenge, Deborah had made him carry the parasol and her shoulder bag down to the beach. Martin had protested a little, but was eventually swayed by a few choice comments about how nice he looked in knee-high trousers and a polo-shirt; the aviators were the best part, she thought, biting her tongue to stop her from remarking on the fact that he had kept the replacement pair she had bought him out of amused sympathy.

To Martin's disappointment, the beach wasn't empty simply because they arrived early; he had groaned and wrinkled his nose in annoyance, but followed, complaining all the way, as Deborah walked straight across the sand and laid out a picnic blanket as near to the middle as she could. He had even begun suggesting better places to park themselves, until the first plane roared overhead, and Martin had rushed to her side, tugging at her arm and pointing up at it, explaining at the top of his voice exactly which kind of manoeuvring and calculations that specific make and model would require to achieve such a clean landing.

Now Deborah was settled back beside Martin, legs outstretched and soaking up the sun, while Martin held onto the parasol, which was resting with its shield protecting their backs against the sand that the planes taking off kicked up. It wasn't quite working, as it wasn't wide enough to cover the two of them; as a result, each of them could proudly pretend limbs scratched red by the flying grains.

"You know Deborah, we should definitely come back tomorrow." Martin announced; he was propped up by the bag that they had brought, filled with various bottles of water, ice blocks, and a bottle of sun-cream that Martin had slipped in at the last minute; Deborah couldn't help but admire how completely at ease he was, Martin rather than Captain Crieff. He had pushed his shades up onto his head as the parasol had rendered them useless.

"But bring a book or two?" she suggested, raising her hand and dragging it through her hair, brushing the subtle waves over her shoulders where they had been falling over her eyes.

"You can if you want." Martin replied, shrugging and shifting so that he was tilted more towards her, buffeting the parasol's pole as he did, managing to keep it upright but for a moments faltering, "I'm having fun as it is."

"Yes I noticed." Deborah drawled, grinning and rolling her shoulders back; she had been sprawled in the same position, almost lying beside Martin, facing the sea in the hopes of naming every plane before he could, for hours.

Martin chuckled contentedly, only making her smile more brightly in return; his next movement was quick enough that she only realised what he was doing once the camera had clicked, and his arm slid as smoothly as it had risen to his stomach, where he began scrolling through, peering at the screen.

"Oi, why are you taking pictures of me?" Deborah demanded, an open mouthed smile still pulling at her lips as she turned towards him, sitting up a fraction more on her knees, and reached across Martin's chest to snatch the camera away from him.

Martin smirked and sniggered, his arms darting to the other side swifter than Deborah would have guessed they could, and he stayed curled away, gripping the device with both hands, until Deborah conceded, settling back down, but not without smacking him lightly on the upper arm as she did.

"I don't know." Martin shrugged, scrolling again, keeping his eyes locked on the images that Deborah could only just identify, "You look nice." He remarked plainly; Deborah was unsure of how to respond, given Martin's unusual forwardness, but didn't have to, as his cheeks flushed, and he turned his head to make eye contact once more, "and I thought you could show your daughter what you've been up to, tell her about your adventures."

He offered the camera to her, letting his hand flop across to hers, and Deborah took it, barely dwelling upon the warmth blossoming in her chest at the thoughtfulness that Martin was displaying, gazing hopefully at her with blue eyes free of any irritation or authoritarianism; she had come to terms with the fact that apparently, this was what being friends with Martin felt like.

It was a nice picture of her, smiling and slightly tanned from the sun, relaxed and curled up on the beach.

"I think she'd like that." Deborah, nodding and smiling up at him, wishing she were able to show through just an expression how touched she was by his consideration; Martin had shuffled across so that he could peer at the camera with her, and she had to tip her head back, careful not to bump his chin with her nose, to meet his gaze; the presence at her back, as Martin propped himself up on his outstretched arm, was pleasant, familiar and not uncomfortable at all save for the wriggling that it caused in her gut, "Although, I think she'd rather see pictures of people and places than me; there's nothing much interesting about me on a beach."

"Yes there is." Martin muttered, bringing his arm across her chest to tap at the camera; the pride in his voice was think enough to cut with a knife, and Deborah mused that perhaps insulting his photography was something she should not do, despite the good natured lilt of his tone, "It's a good picture…you look lovely."

Deborah hummed under her breath, but became very aware of every point at which she had been leaning back into the weak barrier that Martin's arm and upper chest had created behind her.

"Yes, well…" she blinked against the sun, and smiled up at him, unsure of what else she could do.

Behind them, the purr of an engine rattling within its shell, and building energy rapidly as it trundled down the runway, slid smoothly into the air, sending a wave of heat wandering sporadically over the beach. Martin glanced quickly over his shoulder, and right the parasol, gripping it tightly so that it wouldn't tip over.

"That one's going to take off any minute now, tuck in." he instructed, shuffling in closer to her. Despite his efforts, his right side, and her left, were still exposed to the elements; this being the twelfth time they had gone through such a routine, Martin's limbs scuttling about to get everything set up, Deborah decided to try a different method.

"Martin, stop fussing, sit still." She told him firmly, sitting up on her knees and turning to face him, keeping an eye on the planes moving about on the other side of the fence across the beach; Martin did as he was told, sitting legs outstretched, still propped up on the bag, gripping the parasol while raised an eyebrow expectantly, "Now put your arm out and let me scooch up."

Slowly, Martin extended the arm that held the parasol, watching with his lips open in surprise, as Deborah turned again and slid into place right beside him, letting her back lie across his chest, and taking his wrist between her fingers to pull his arm around her form. She held herself with a slither of stiffness, hyperaware of every point of Martin that connected with her, worried that if she jostled him too much, he might push her away, affronted, as she adjusted the parasol and managed to cover them just in time for the burst of heat and cloud of sand to charge over the beach.

The pattering clatter as the sand buffeted the parasol, and the high pitched screech of someone who couldn't have been on the beach long, were nothing compared to the rumble of the aircraft as it lumbered overhead, close enough that the digits painted on its base could be read by eye. Martin leant back reflexively at the proximity of the plane as it soared away, slower than one would expect, his arm looped firmly around Deborah's middle, pulling her down with him until they were both propped up against the bag, wincing against the sound and the sun that glinted off of the metal exterior.

Grinning, Deborah relaxed back into Martin's embrace, enjoyment pulsing through her chest; she turned her head, and mused that from here, it would barely be a stretch of an inch if she wanted to press a peck to the bottom of his beaming cheek. Which she wasn't going to do.

Martin's face was glowing, and he chuckled as he looked down at her, not yet insisting that she moved, merely releasing his tight hold on her and allowing his arm to relax, abandoning the tension in his shoulders as he lay back.

"That was, uh, that was a good idea." He remarked, going so far as to squeeze lightly at the area of her middle that his fingers had fallen to; Deborah flinched towards him, biting back a laugh, and swatting his hand away.

"Do you want me to move now?" she asked, even as she tucked her arm around his chest, moving it from where she had been awkwardly scrunched.

"No, it's alright." Martin shook his head hastily, dragging his bottom lip through his teeth, "There'll be other planes, you might need to move back again."

Deborah hummed under her breath, and watched as Martin took his eyes from her face and instead stared out over the sea, waiting for the next plane to come in to land. He shifted so that it was easier for her to lie with her back to his chest, curled slightly towards him, her arm resting over his chest as she allowed herself to relax, and breathe at the same steady rate at which his chest rose and fell.

Martin's arm remained loosely wound around her middle, his fingers tapping out a truncated rhythm against the line between her top and her shorts; Deborah sighed and allowed herself to enjoy the comfort of having Martin right there.

She was deprived of affection. That would be her justification for wanting to burrow further and just stay there, because really, there was no other reason for her to want to cuddle Martin of all people. Then again, he was her friend, that much she was sure of thanks to the warm, infectious affection in her chest that wandered to the pit of her stomach and swam around; she supposed that when looked at that way, friends found comfort from their friends, even if they were as caustic together as she and Martin were.

It didn't matter right then. Deborah sighed again, and let her fingers curl around the collar of Martin's shirt, flattening it and fiddling, until she gave in and tucked her head into the curve between his neck and his shoulder, sinking just a little further from where they were propped up.

Martin lifted his chin so that she could fit, and moved his arm so that it looped around hers, grunting with the effort, but dropping his head down to rest atop hers without question. Deborah smiled gratefully, and lifted her head again, so that she could trace her eyes over his face, see what he was thinking.

Deciding 'what the hell', Deborah placed a small kiss on the underside of Martin's chin, and then tucked herself away again, settling down to look out over the water. Martin jumped a bit, tensing before relaxing, pulling away slightly so that he could peer, eyebrows knitted, at her.

"What was that for?" he asked, in the same tone he used whenever she did anything even slightly nice for him on the flight-deck. Deborah shrugged, but didn't bother picking herself up to address him properly.

"For being nice to me." She remarked lightly; this must have been enough, as slowly, Martin shifted so that he was supporting her from behind once more, and lowered his chin to rest atop her hair.

"I'm always nice to you." Martin murmured, but Deborah merely hummed in a neither here nor there manner, and he accepted the end of the conversation; then he jolted a fraction, and pointed out over the water, "Oh, there's another one!"

"New game." Deborah declared, eyeing the craft as it nearer, growing larger in size each second, "Based on the way it's flying, you have to guess what the pilots are like."

"How does that work?" Martin retorted, snorting as he shuffled in preparation for his inevitable attempt to tip back so as not to be hit by the plane should it crash land, "You can't tell what a person's like based on how they fly a plane."

"Yes you can. Karl can tell which one of us is flying based on what GERTI's doing on the way in." Deborah asserted, waving her hand dismissively before laying it back down over Martin's chest, "I imagine that the lovely people of Columbus could tell that we were bickering when we came in to land."

"Alright, I'll admit, that wasn't one of our best." Martin conceded, but he still sounded unconvinced; Deborah poked him softly to retaliate against the rush of affection in her chest, and he scowled weakly down at her, then peered at the plane still approaching, "Ok…I think that the pilot is…tired?...no, old…or…"

My cheerful feelings are seeping into the fic - something warm and sunny to make up for the fact that my last exam is in two days, and I needed some fluffy stuff to make it all better.

I hope that you like this, and that your days have been pleasant. : )