Thank you so much to all you readers, and to Ashtrees and Wikketkrikket for reviewing, it is much appreciated.

This should have been up days ago, but thanks to a hectic weekend, with my 18th, and graduating 6th form, the fic got lost in the madness

But here it is, enjoy

Interlude 8

Another uneventful day over, and their client still hadn't called; if Deborah hadn't been so preoccupied, she might have complained more, made a bit more of a fuss for dramatic effect, but as it was, she simply spent the afternoon finding various ways to entertain herself while dredging up the most apt way to put forward what she wanted to say.

On the other hand, they had discovered that when hurling drawing pins across the porta-cabin, Martin could make his land in the mugs on the coffee counter seven out of forty-six times; the victorious glow on his face was enough to stop Deborah from pointing out the margin of success.

While Martin bent over the outer side of his desk, shuffling his paperwork into a neat pile ready for the next day, Deborah made sure to walk along, pushing both of their chairs in and plucking his coat from the back of his, so that she could gift it to him and catch his attention.

As expected, her devious plan worked, and when Deborah came to stand beside Martin, hand outstretched with his coat hanging limply from the tip of her fingers, while she rested the other hand on her hip, Martin turned and smiled gratefully, popping the coat from her with a flick of his wrist, and flinging it around his shoulders to slip it on.

"Martin?" Deborah inquired, smiling warmly and batting her eyelashes ever so slightly; this had to be done tactfully, lest Martin refuse out of wounded pride, as she suspected that he was very likely to do, regardless of his economic situation, "How's your van business doing? Lots of bookings in the near future?"

Martin's movements slowed, and his eyebrows dipped as he pursed his lips in thought, looking down at her with a bewildered glint in his eyes, letting his coat slip on, but halting in his adjustment of it.

"Well, not the near future…" he remarked, shrugging in an attempt to seem nonchalant, although Deborah could tell that he'd rather not talk about it, as a moment later his eyes narrowed, and his hands dragged from where they pinched at his collar down the line of the coat's zip, "Why?"

"Oh, no reason; I'm just interested." Deborah replied airily, turning to perch on the edge of her desk, loosely curling her arms around her chest so that she could pretend to inspect her nails while sneaking glances at Martin's speculative gaze; he wasn't stupid, but she might still be able to win him over, especially if she played the flattering friend card, "How much do you charge?"

"Um…ten pounds an hour…" Martin answered cautiously, pushing his hands into his pockets and rocking slightly on his heels as his cheeks reddened; he shifted so that he was leaning sideways against the desk, fixing Deborah with eyes filled with confusion as the bridge of his nose crinkled.

"And is that every hour that you drive, or every hour that you're occupied?" Deborah asked, twirling her hand at the wrist, and blinking as openly as possible at Martin, making sure not to push her luck by pressing forward and stroking up his arm as she had in the past; eggshells were the terrain that she was navigating.

Martin turned his head from side to side, as if shaking it in excruciatingly slow motion, eyes never leaving hers; he had come a long way in just a few weeks in terms of trusting her, which was like a breath of fresh air to Deborah. But it did mean that where before he would merely be suspicious, now Martin would still be suspicious, but instead of retaliating, he would assume that he was misinterpreting something genuinely nice, and spend time trying to decipher her true meaning.

"Well…sometimes I spend hours packing up people's things, driving back and forth, reassembling things for less capable customers..." Martin explained dryly, shrugging his shoulders here and there as if that might add bounce to his story, "So I suppose I get paid for each hour that I'm occupied. Why?"

"Why?" Deborah repeated, raising her eyebrows and feigning surprise, pushing her hair behind her ears with one hand to try and draw attention away from the fact that her act was hardly up to standard, "Well, Martin, you might not know this, but I'm actually moving from my medium sized, rather expensive house, into a smaller, but still lovely flat that happens to be closer to the airfield."

In truth, she couldn't afford to pay the mortgage without Harry's contribution; she had known from the moment he had left that she would have to give up the house, but Deborah had managed to keep hold of the place for almost a year, all the while keeping tabs on any flats that opened up around Fitton.

It was sad, but it had to be done. Martin either felt the same, or was phenomenally tuned into her moods, as he smiled sympathetically, biting at his bottom lip and reaching between them to bump the backs on his knuckles against her upper arm.

"I'm sorry-" Martin started to say in what Deborah could only imagine was an attempt at condolences, but she cut him off, shaking her head swiftly and raising her hand into the air, making him pause with little effort on her behalf.

"Don't be sorry Martin." Deborah instructed, abandoning her sweet smirk and becoming wholly serious as she settled against the desk, gesturing with her open hand at the right intonations, "My point is, that although my new flat is lovely, I'm required to furnish it myself, using the furniture from my house. Which means that this Saturday, I'll be in need of a man with a van."

With a sighed 'oh', Martin's eyes widened, and he nodded in realisation; he wasn't flustered or embarrassed, which was a sign of things going to plan, but even so, Deborah didn't think that the outlook was sunny.

"Why ask me?" Martin asked dully; his shoulders had sagged, and there was a dejected edge to his posture that wasn't anything near what Deborah had intended, "Why not hire someone that isn't me – I mean, there's a lot of professional movers out there."

"That's true." Deborah remarked, making sure to maintain eye contact, and keep a pleasant, encouraging smile on her lips, "But if I'm going to spend hours of my life supervising a man while he disassembles my possessions, couriers them where they need to go, and helps me put them back together…I'd much rather it be you than anyone else."

"That's my point, Deborah." Martin exclaimed weakly, throwing one hand with lacklustre into the air beside him, and leaning more heavily against the desk so that they could talk more directly; Deborah found herself turning to balance the shift, "We're friends! I just think I'd feel a bit uncomfortable taking your money when I'm doing you a favour."

"But you wouldn't be doing me a favour." Deborah interjected firmly, raising her eyebrow pointedly to stop him in his tracks; Martin's forehead crinkled in confusion, so Deborah sighed and rolled her eyes, reminding herself to just be patient, "If I wanted a favour, I would ask for one. What I want is a professional who I can pay to assist me with a job that I couldn't otherwise complete on my own."

"Oh…" Martin made a surprised noise, and blushed, his lips curling upwards as he rubbed at the back of his neck and ducked his head for a moment, avoiding Deborah's gaze, which only served to force upon her a rush of affection for the man, "I suppose that's alright then."

"Good." Deborah drawled salaciously, caught between a smirk and a grin at the bashfulness before her, resisting the temptation to perform some sort of physical display of affection, though she didn't yet know what that might be; she leaned forward suggestively, as if to whisper a secret, and Martin hummed questioningly, "And…I might even manage some dinner in the form of a tip, of course."

"Oh really?" Martin chuckled, still blushing, but able to nod sardonically, "That's awfully nice of you."

"It won't be proper dinner, mind you." Deborah corrected herself, grimacing slightly and shrugging, extending her hands into the air either side of her; it was a shame really, she had fleetingly quite enjoyed the idea of the two of them settled down in her new sitting room, just being together outside of a work setting; she supposed the alternative wasn't too much of a let-down, "The fridge will be empty save for what I'll have left after Friday night….so you'll probably just be getting omelettes."

"No, no – omelettes are good, that's very kind of you." Martin insisted hastily, clearing his throat and looking about the porta-cabin before turning shyly back to her, "So…any particular time on Saturday?"

"Whenever you can make it over in the morning – but not ridiculously early." Deborah replied, making no effort to hide her pleasure; everything had gone rather nicely, she didn't know why she had been so worried; with an over exaggerated sigh, she nodded towards the door, "Time to head home I think?"

"Uh, yeah, sure…" Martin agreed, and then he checked his watch, "It is getting late, isn't it."

Deborah hummed sarcastically, quirking her eyebrows and nodding through pursed lips, laughing brightly when Martin scowled playfully and batted her away from the desk; as they crossed the porta-cabin, Martin ushering her along with an arms hovering somewhere between her shoulders and her back, Deborah didn't quite listen as he reiterated all sorts of important company details regarding his van, simply nodding in the right places.

Minefield successfully navigated, Deborah actually stood to have a decent weekend, with the added joy of getting to spend time with Martin, and just Martin, without the weight of Captain Crieff or First Officer Richardson hanging over them.

oOoOoOo

Martin arrived early enough on Saturday that although Deborah had been up long enough to change into a pair of fading jeans, she hadn't moved far enough from her bed to bother swapping her pyjama top and the horrible cardigan that she had draped over herself for the sake of warmth.

She opened the door nonetheless, and smiled wanly at the sight of Martin in his casual work attire, bringing his hands together at his front while he drew his lips between his teeth and blushed anxiously down at the doorstep.

As she admired his appearance underneath his usual coat, (which she had to admit, she had been imagining in far tighter clothes, though when she thought about it, the white t-shirt was jeans combo was far more practical), Deborah was sure that Martin's nerves abated as he quirked an eyebrow and took in her slightly dishevelled appearance.

"Hi…um, sorry – did I wake you up?" Martin managed to swing through pleased to see her, into clumsily apologetic in a matter of seconds, and he continued even as she automatically shook her head, "It's just I thought you'd be up by nine."

"I'm in a transition period." Deborah replied wryly, glancing down at her mismatch of clothes; then with a spur of alertness, she realised that they were still standing in her doorway, so she hurried to push the door back as far as it would go, extending an arm into the house and nodding Martin in, "Come in, don't hang around-" Martin did as he was told, walking past her swiftly and then standing awkwardly in the hall that joined the sitting room, his whole figure tucked in as if afraid to disturb anything, despite the furniture being empty and the floor stacked with boxes; Deborah strode past him, and pointed towards the kitchen, "I'm going to go and get dressed – you go in there, the kettle's not packed, so make yourself a coffee – no arguments, I'll see you in a minute."

With that she left Martin flustering slightly, and wandered towards the bedroom, shutting the door behind her. Unlike the other rooms, its contents were packed into suitcases rather than boxes, and Deborah was able to slump on the bed, and reach towards the nearest case to lazily drag out whichever shirt she touched first. She was sure without a doubt that Martin was slowly but surely doing as he was told, pottering about her kitchen, elbows tucked in so as not to accidently knock the non-existent items on the counters.

When she remerged, Deborah paused in the doorway between the sitting room and the kitchen, leaning against the frame; Martin was stirring two mugs of steaming liquid, slouched against the kitchen counter, a curious furrowing of his expression as every now and then he would glance around him, taking in every nook and cranny.

There was something rather nice about seeing Martin so inquisitive; not often, but fleetingly, he would ask for details, showing an interest in her personal life, but he normally restrained himself, keeping a professional distance. Deborah was rather flattered by his interest in her.

Martin looked up and startled slightly when he caught sight of her standing in the doorway, and as Deborah paced into the kitchen and sidled in beside him, Martin lifted one mug and placed it in her grasp, flushing lightly.

"I made you one, I – uh, you looked like you could use it." He remarked unnecessarily, frowning slightly as he heard the words that he had spoken.

"Well it's nice to know I look about as good as I feel." Deborah retorted, clinking her mug against his and rolling her eyes drearily, as Martin scoffed and mirrored the motion; after one last glance around the kitchen, more bare than she was used to, Deborah sighed, and settled back against the counter, "We can make a start in a bit."

"Yeah, of course, whenever you're ready." Martin nodded quickly; when Deborah smiled and hummed her consent, he took a swig of his coffee, and his eyes dropped from hers as he tried to simultaneously clear his throat, "and um, I'm sorry about…" he gestured up and down her figure, "you…you look great."

Deborah ignored the flurry of fluttering in her chest, and nodded gratefully, unable to think of how else to respond; it was going to be a long day.

oOoOoOo

"Okay, so I thought that we could go through room by room and take the heavier things, like your bed and cabinets, and then when that's all at the flat, we could come back for the boxes." Martin suggested as he pulled upon the doors at the back of his van, exposing the bare innards of the vehicle.

"You're the professional; whatever you say goes." Deborah replied brightly, pandering to his pride just to see him grin fleetingly, before he inhaled sharply and reasserted himself; while he went about pinning the doors against the body, blushing and humming under his breath, she inspected the van with a pinched expression, arms loosely wound around her middle.

She was slightly disappointed by the lack of a logo on the its side, which left it a nameless white van, bereft of anything that Deborah could use to tease Martin, in an attempt to buoy his spirits, of course.

It took them half an hour in total to empty her bedroom; all that needed removing was the bed, a wardrobe, and the bedside table (Harry had taken the sets of drawers), but somehow they managed to make it last.

Well, Martin made it very clear, through stilted and fractionally edged laughter that it took so long because Deborah was interfering. But she couldn't just allow him to try and drag her heavy possessions through the house; the moment that she had seen him hoisting the end of the bed over one arm, a flash of fear for the state of his back scrambled her brains, and she was at the other end, balancing the weight before he could tell her to go and sit in the corner.

And he didn't hold back from ordering her about either, as she discovered with an irritable scowl that she was undoubtedly weaker than he was; and yet, although Martin was confidently authoritative, the smile never left his lips for more than a few seconds, and his cheeks were flushed more from exertion than temper.

Deborah had to admit, she was rather enjoying herself; she supposed that that was in part due to the fact that for some reason, Martin felt quite comfortable bossing her here there and everywhere; he was the boss, and she was acting the customer, so she posed no threat whatsoever to his position. Or perhaps he was simply enjoying her company as much as she was his, Deborah would never know.

"No, no! Put it down and go stand over there!" Martin instructed, placing the bed on the ground, halfway through the front door, so that it lay between the hall and the driveway; he couldn't quite stop the miniscule curling of his lips, but he pointed commandingly into the corner of the hall nonetheless, fixing Deborah with a stern glare, "This will go far more quickly if you let me do it myself."

"No it won't." Deborah snorted, placing her hands on her hips and meeting Martin's glare watt for watt, "I'm being helpful."

"You're not helpful; you're a pest and a menace." Martin muttered, but he shook his head fondly and bent down to wrap his hands around the edge of the bed's frame, "Fine, take the other end, and just do exactly what I tell you. Stop doing your own thing – from the knees!"

"Yes, yes, fine!" Deborah exclaimed, rolling her eyes dramatically, but doing as she was told, bending at the knees and rising with the frame hooked over her lower arms; Martin grumbled, but began walking backwards, only to judder to a halt as the frame clanged against the doorframe.

"What are you doing?" Martin scolded her for the fourth time in twenty minutes, his eyebrows leaping to his hairline, "You need to pivot the other way."

"Oh, I'm sorry that my spatial angle calculations aren't as fine-tuned as yours." Deborah drawled sarcastically, adjusting her movements regardless, "I bow to your wisdom, oh great van man."

An hour later, the two of them stood on the driveway behind Martin's van, having managed to wedge the bed and the wardrobe into the back on their sides, and the bedside table atop them, stuck fast against the metal top of the van.

"Right, well, that's the first lot." Martin announced, gripping the edge of the door with one hand, rubbing the other over his chin and smiling brightly down at Deborah as she faced him, no more than a foot between them, "So…are you going to come with me or stay here?"

Deborah sighed in a facsimile of thoughtfulness, folding her arms over her chest and pursing her lips, meeting Martin's warm eyes; waiting at home hadn't even crossed her mind.

"I think I'll come with you," she answered after a pause, "So that I know you're putting things in the right place."

Martin's smile widened, and he nodded smoothly, a light coming on in his eyes that made Deborah pull her arms a little tighter around her chest, as he extended his hand between them, palm up, waggling his fingers as he cocked his head towards the van, "Up you get then."

Without even thinking about it, Deborah took Martin's hand and allowed him to help her hop onto the raised floor of the van, resting her hand on his shoulder as it wobbled under foot. It was only she was standing there, that she looked down at him in confusion, as Martin began to chuckle, a wicked, shining grin that lit up his cheeks and caused little lines to pinch at his eyes as they traced her face.

He was still holding her hand, though his other curled to push through his hair while he dragged his bottom lip through his teeth. Despite how wonderful it was to watch Martin gripped by such joy, Deborah couldn't help but feel slightly wrong-footed, and bewildered.

"Why am I up here?" she inquired, gesturing behind her back to the cramped innards of the van; Deborah didn't want to turn away from him, lest it might mean letting go of his hand; Martin coughed out a final laugh, and then cleared his throat, physically steadying his breathing in one fell swoop.

"You mean you don't want to ride in the back?" Martin replied wryly, quirking an eyebrow as Deborah's expression transformed into one of abashed, admiring, surprise; she couldn't help but narrow her eyes and glare open mouthed at him for a moment.

"No of course I don't." Deborah retorted, batting him with their joined hands, even as he shifted to avoid the light blow to the side of his shoulder; she wetted her lips and caught his eye, and Martin's eyes flickered towards her lips, as he pursed his; Deborah added fondly, "You're teasing me."

"Only a bit." Martin shrugged, and tugged on her hand, offering the other to help her down from the back of the van, stepping forwards and closing the gap between them.

"Well stop it." Deborah murmured, as she slipped her unoccupied hand onto Martin's shoulder and was lowered, rather more bodily than she had expected, onto the ground; there was no fighting the upwards curl of her lips with Martin so close, holding her barely an inch from him, far more tangible when out of the stiff MJN uniforms.

Martin made no effort to move away, and Deborah's attention seemed to narrow in on the points at which his arm draped comfortably around her waist, and his hand pressed over hers on his shoulder; she had to tip her head back to see the contented set of his face, as he peered down at her, apparently unaware of their proximity.

"Shall we go then?" Martin suggested, nodding over his shoulder; he didn't move though, not any more than a few inches.

"Of course," Deborah replied, taking the initiative and slipping from his grasp, but not releasing his hand, "Lead the way, Captain."

oOoOoOo

The move from beloved house to appealing flat went quite smoothly after the initial fumbles and stumbles, and as an added bonus, neither of them wanted to kill each other.

Once everything had been moved, and the house bid farewell for the last time, Martin had set to work reassembling everything that had needed to be deconstructed for the journey, and Deborah had set about filling the rest of the day with idle chatter and a steady stream of coffee.

It was fascinating watching him work; Deborah supposed that he would usually be more 'head down, get the job done', but with her, Martin was fairly chipper, sitting cross-legged on the carpet, constructing her furniture from his lap.

By the time the sun had disappeared, all of her possessions were in their rightful place, and Deborah was fulfilling her promise of food using the few items that she had managed to salvage. Martin had hovered, but been promptly dismissed and made to wait in the sitting room.

When the omelettes were done, Deborah plated them up and wandered into the sitting room, where Martin was slouching on one of her green sofas, flicking through a book that he must have pinched from the shelving unit he had so recently helped her fill. The moment that he saw her, Martin dropped the book onto the coffee table and scooched into the far corner of the sofa, holding himself in a far more contained manner, with fewer limbs hanging over the edge.

She handed him the plate, and lowered herself onto the opposite end of the sofa, tucking her legs beneath herself so that she could face him, and for a moment, the two of them ate in silence until Martin sighed, and paused, and glanced around the room. Deborah placed her fork down gently, and watched him with one eyebrow raised expectantly as she waited for him to say whatever it was that was on his mind.

"What do you…um…" Martin began to ask, his cheeks flushing red as he frowned at himself, and swallowed sharply to reassert his own flow; Deborah nodded slowly, though she wasn't sure what he was getting at, "What do you do when you're not at work? I mean, I'm not prying, I just…you don't seem to have a lot besides books and the tellie."

There was a swooping sensation in her stomach at Martin's inquiry, a sort of 'you do pay attention' sort of siren that cheered her tremendously; and yet, it just wouldn't do to answer him straight out.

"What do you do?" Deborah drawled, smirking salaciously as Martin nodded in muted acceptance of the inevitable; he sighed, but placed his plate on the coffee table, and stretched his legs out until they rested a few inched from Deborah's knees, and rolled his shoulders back.

"Well, I uh…I walked into that didn't I?" Martin scoffed at himself, covering his mouth with a curled fist as he stifled a bashful chuckle; Deborah merely pursed her lips to prevent superfluously soppy beaming, "I um, I read – or watch tellie…or I'm on a van job." He trailed off and shrugged, hands lifting palm up into the air either side of him; then his eyes widened in thought, and his mouth made an 'oh' shape, "and the flight simulator of course."

"Oh, of course, how could I forget?" Deborah laughed, looking down briefly at where her hands curled around her knees to save her from staring for too long at Martin's face.

"I suppose you don't have that problem – I mean with the van job." Martin remarked speculatively, bringing his own hands to his knees where they were outstretched; Deborah looked to him in confusion, shaking her head minutely in question, so he shifted about and bobbed his head as he swallowed and padded out his words with an explanation, gesturing with his hand in the air, "What I mean is, I guess you don't really need to spend as much time as I do here. I bet you have better things to do, like go out with friends."

Deborah began to nod, simply nodding along to the ups and downs of Martin's speech, but stopped when the words sank in; she wetted her lips and dropped her eyes, gripping one knee a little more tightly as she could almost feel Martin's gaze on her, inquisitive but unsuspecting.

Before, she might have replied flippantly, but now, the impulsive desire to lie was absent. Deborah didn't want to raise Martin's expectations of her anymore; she wanted him to know her, properly. After all, it did seem to be their limitations that they bonded over.

"Martin, can I be completely honest with you?" Deborah asked, and something in her tone must have sounded more pitiful than she had expected, as Martin's eyebrows leapt upwards and he nodded hastily; she inhaled deeply, and made an effort to meet his eyes, "My family, what's left of them, lives far away, and I spend so long on flights that I don't have time to meet and keep people…I have a feeling that with your van job, your life it far more exciting than mine. I mostly watch a lot of box sets."

"Which ones?" Martin replied immediately, and then he flushed rapidly, and ducked his head, rubbing at the back of his neck before he continued; Deborah felt like something had fallen through a void in her chest, and almost lurch forward to do something she wasn't yet sure about to him, for being so typically him, "I'm sorry – uh, um, uh…thank you for telling me that, well, for trusting me, not that it's a good thing you're…I'm not sure what to say…" the spluttering seems to settle down, and Martin was once again able to meet her eyes, shifting so that he was turned towards her, one arm slung over the back of the sofa for leverage, though he didn't bring it down, "I just…it's nice, getting to know more about you. But…you know you've got me – and MJN, not just me."

"Thank you." Was all that Deborah could think to say, let out on a breath; she just wanted to wrap her arms around Martin and hold on tightly, but knew that that wasn't a good idea. She still wasn't sure what that meant, but it made her chest ache in a pleasant way, so there was little that she could do but accept the insane impulses for what they were.

She knew she had MJN; Deborah was under no illusions that she truly had anything else but MJN. No partner, a child that functioned without her…all that she had to fall back upon was MJN; not the job so much, but the provision of a place to be every day, a plane to turn into a personal den, and people that would never fail to be around.

And Martin.

Martin was separate from MJN (even though Captain Crieff was not). This Martin here, that looked at her the way that he was then, with what Deborah assumed was fondness grown over time, but held enough warmth that it heated the moths in her chest and ignited a myriad of thoughts.

And he wasn't even looking and seeing a Sky God, or a perfect wife, or a showy facsimile of her more appealing qualities. Martin saw every single flaw (he criticised them often enough), and he still looked at her like that, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

It was only when, for a fleeting, shuddering moment, Deborah thought recklessly that she would give that man anything for him to keep looking at her like that, that she realised she had to stop.

"And as for your earlier question – Monty Python." Deborah announced, suddenly breathless though she brushed that off with a smirk and a hand running through her hair, allowing her wrist to momentarily block her face from view.

"Oh, I haven't seen it." Martin replied, shaking his head and biting his bottom lip, unaware of anything that had run rampant through his colleague's mind, looking far too lovely for his own good. Luckily, Deborah was able to distract herself with the indignant flare that reenergised her.

"What? No, that is blasphemy!" Deborah announced, unfolding her legs and swinging them to the floor, hoisting herself to her feet and beginning to march around the back of the sofa towards where her new room was packed with boxes, as Martin's head followed the movement, and he watched, puppy eyed and bewildered, turning around on the sofa, "I'm getting it now, and we're going to watch some."

It was for his own good…and hers; Deborah really needed some way to have a good sit down and talk with herself.

oOoOoOo

After another hour or so, sat side by side on the sofa, Martin chuckling away to himself as Deborah kept her eyes trained on his face to judge his reactions, they decided to call it a night. Over the course of the evening, they had both shifted towards the middle of the sofa, partly for ease of viewing, partly because the cushions were worn and tipped them sideways, the end result being that Deborah's leg pressed against Martin's the entire time.

It was with the good mood that that instilled that Deborah walked with Martin to the front door, standing far too close as he put his coat on, as he had to tuck in his arms so as not to elbow her in the face, but neither mentioned it. In fact, once he was set, Martin closed the space even further, stepping forwards slightly and smiling thinly and contentedly down at her, his hands settling in his pockets.

"We should do this more often." Martin remarked, his voice lower than usual, clogged with tiredness as he blinked slowly and scuffed the back of his knuckles against her cheeks; Deborah didn't even think about leaning into the gesture, and was focused solely on holding his gaze, arms loosely hooked around her chest as she tipped her head back a fraction, "Not the moving – the other bits."

"Hmm, we absolutely should." Deborah didn't quite drawl, but the sound definitely came from somewhere around the bottom of her chest, as she couldn't keep the tender smile from her lips, "We didn't finish the DVDs, so I expect you back here at some point."

"Yes, of course." Martin hummed in agreement, and Deborah was transfixed by his blue eyes on hers, and the relaxed set of his shoulders, as he swayed imperceptibly on his heels. Then she realised with a jolt the one thing that she needed to do before he left.

"Here," she muttered, catching Martin's attention; he nodded confusedly, but waited patiently, as Deborah dug in her pockets for the notes that she had put there for safe keeping; the moment was gone once she placed the money in his hands and manually curled his fingers over them, "You worked from nine until six, so here's ninety pounds that I owe you for your hard work."

Martin sighed exhaustedly, and shook his head, raising the notes into the air and dragging his bottom lip through his teeth.

"Deborah, I still don't feel-"

"Don't argue, just take it." Deborah interjected, raising an eyebrow as firmly as possible while squaring her shoulders formidably; Martin had no choice but to concede gracefully, pushing the notes into his pocket as if out of sight really was out of mind.

"Thanks, that's…thanks." Martin replied, nodding respectfully; his cheeks were no longer flushed, and his lips had taken a decidedly downward turn that made Deborah regret her own act of kindness.

He looked her over one more time, running his eyes over her face, and then reached behind himself for the door handle, turning away from her with the motion. In a moment of thoughtlessness, Deborah reached out to slip her fingers delicately around Martin's arm, and turn him back, ignoring the bewildered way that his eyes ran from her hand to her expression, head following the same route.

"Wait." Deborah sighed, "Come here." with that, she stepped closer, and putting aside the feeling of his breath against her cheek, Deborah placed a small kiss on the centre of Martin's cheek, letting her hands slip first up, then away from his shoulder, "There. Thank you for today." She concluded as she released him, and put a few more inches between them.

Martin's cheeks were scarlet, and his eyes flittered from here to there, barely staying in one place. Then he cleared his throat and nodded, placing his hand on the door handle and smiling shyly at her.

"That's…no problem." Martin informed her, raising his eyebrows as if in an unconscious gesture to himself, "I'll…see you…Monday. Bye."

Then Martin pulled the door open, and disappeared into the night, pausing only long enough to nod bashfully in response to Deborah's airy goodbye.

Locking the door, and turning back to her new home, Deborah couldn't help but exhale sharply and close her eyes, placing a mental bookmark over the entire day.

This rather ran away on its own, but I reckon its worked.

I hope you like it.