Hello, and thanks for visiting this fic : )
I hope you like it
Paris
Deborah had never had so much fun on Birling day. True, there was always a certain sense of victory to be found in obtaining the Talisker from underneath everyone's noses, but this year…she was having much more fun playing with Martin than she ever had when succeeding.
He reacted so beautifully to the job that he had been assigned by Carolyn; despite her joy that Martin had relaxed into himself and their relationship enough to let down his barriers, Deborah couldn't help but feel a certain fondness for the prissy, erratically neurotic steak that manifested so particularly in the Captain as he protected the whiskey.
That hadn't stopped her from diluting the whiskey glasses when she had been ordered to the loo, but Deborah had no real intention of keeping the Talisker from Mr Birling indefinitely; she couldn't force Martin to pay Carolyn more money than he could afford.
So, it was with a shadow of a smile gracing her lips that didn't fade at all, that Deborah watched both Martin and Arthur bumble about trying to keep everything going according to plan. Such contentedness was a welcome surprise; she might even tell Verity about it, in the form of a mystery or adventure story of course.
While Arthur left the flight-deck to see to Mr Birling, Deborah kept one eye on Martin, who kept sending her sideways glances and gnawing at his bottom lip between his teeth; she sat facing forwards in her seat, monitoring the controls and curling her fingers daintily over the ends of the arms, nails tapping a slight rhythm to compensate for the prickle that Martin's gaze produced.
"You know Martin," Deborah drawled, catching his attention and flashing him a dazzling smile laced with self-satisfaction; Martin hummed in acknowledgement and raised an eyebrow, turning his head to narrow his eyes at her, "Perhaps next Birling Day you might enjoy yourself further if you actually worked with me, rather than against me."
"Ah, but you say that as if I've lost." Martin retorted, puffing his chest out with pride as he flicked a switch above the altimeters and reached up to straighten his hat atop his head, tucking in the few tufts of ginger hair that always escaped no matter how hard he tried, "And I'm not going to lose – I'm going to stop you from stealing the Talisker, so there's no reason for me to work with you."
"But don't you think it would be so much more fun?" Deborah cooed, making sure to set her shoulders back and shake her head ever so slightly so that her hair, which had been tied back for the day, brushed over the back of her neck, and she pouted salaciously across the flight-deck, "We could reap the rewards together."
To her pleasure, Martin's cheeks pinked just enough to stand out beneath his freckles, and he cleared his throat, but still wrinkled his nose and smirked nonetheless, evidently relishing the chance to display how professional he could be without there being anyone to see but them.
"Or I could reap all the rewards, by winning." Martin replied, leaning from his seat towards her for emphasis; Deborah exhaled good naturedly, fighting off a chuckle at the wicked adorableness of Martin's expression.
"The rewards that you'd receive from Carolyn are far different from the rewards that you would receive from me." Deborah remarked elusively, fluttering her eyelashes and turning enough in her seat that she was facing him without having to shift every time she spoke.
"What sort of rewards are you offering?" Martin snorted, lumbering behind on the uptake as usual; his eyes flickered up and down her once, as if summing her up, and he quirked an eyebrow in her direction. Deborah sighed dramatically; it was a good thing that she was equipped with ready installed Martin-worthy patience.
"Only what you see before you." Deborah drawled salaciously, resting the side of her head against the back of the seat and folding one leg neatly over the other, turning more fully. Martin's expression shifted from playfulness to confusion, and Deborah had to fight not to roll her eyes, instead sweeping a hand in the air from her head to her toes, batting her eyelids and holding his gaze.
There was no harm in a little harmless flirting, she thought with a delicious smirk; her jacket was open, and as her hand travelled past, Deborah allowed the tips of her fingers to further promote the open top button of her already too tight shirt.
Martin's whole face turned a charming shade of scarlet, and he spluttered out a sharp exhale, sitting back fast enough in his seat that that it gave a little thump, as his hands turned white with the force that they were exerting, gripping onto the arms of his seat.
"I- um, uh..I Um - " Martin opened and closed his mouth, swallowing hard while his eyes widened comically, and actually travelled along the same route that her hand had, returning to the same few spots.
Deborah's smile surged into a grin, and she could almost feel her face lighting up as she giggled without the power to prevent it, one hand curling in the air over her mouth to try and hide the fact, the other pressing just below her chest as she bent forwards with the effort of remaining composed.
"I'm joking." She managed to laugh, relishing the flurry of affectionate warmth that rippled and turned in her chest; there was really no point denying anymore that she was really, very fond of Martin, if the responses that he triggered were anything to go by.
After a handful of occurrences when Deborah had to push aside the temptation to do…various things to him, she had mutedly accepted that she may have possessed some sort of attraction or diverted friendship for him, though both were most probably the result of a serious craving for affection of any kind.
That was okay. There was no need to act on it - she didn't really want to act on it. It would pass in time, and she could get back to just enjoying being friends with the man.
"Good – good…it's good that you're joking, you'd better be joking." Martin retorted, when he had regained enough peace of mind to purse his lips and square his shoulders, pointing authoritatively in the space between them with a slightly shaking hand, "Because if you weren't…I'd have to have a serious talk with you about appropriate flight-deck banter."
"Hmmm, whatever you say Darling." Deborah drawled, turning her eyes back to the skies, smile still securely settled on her lips.
Beside her, Martin scoffed, but there was no time to respond, as in the same moment the flight-deck door swung open with a creak, and Arthur stuck his head around the door, taking only a moment to glare in pensive wonderment at Deborah when she turned to look at him, before gesturing excitedly to Martin.
"Skip, I need to tell you something." Arthur announced guiltily, tapping his fingers anxiously against the metal of the door which they were curled around, "It's about Mr Birling and his whiskey."
Martin's jaw dropped, and he turned to glare at Deborah, who merely shrugged her shoulders and feigned innocence; it wouldn't do to appear as if she knew what was going on.
"Right," Martin nodded, and reached forwards to adjust the control panel, "You have control, Deborah."
Once control was handed over, Martin was already out of his seat and following Arthur from the flight-deck. Deborah settled back in her seat and sighed contentedly; with the two of them going out of their minds trying to work out what was going on, the rest of the flight promised to be the most wonderful entertainment she had had in a very long time.
oOoOoOo
Watching Martin get worked up was one of the funniest things that Deborah had been witness to in her many years of life; now that his suspicions regarding her no longer prompted fury, but simply muted acceptance, there was something wonderful about experiencing his frantic attempts to work out how she had managed to take the whiskey.
Even better was the fact that he trusted her word and began to suspect everyone else but her.
So Deborah had listened, fighting of sniggers as Martin had argued with Carolyn over the sat-com, soaking in every shrill lilt of his voice for future reference, stifling a chuckle at his abrupt dismissal. Then Martin had called in Arthur, in the hope that he could discover more about what was going on, like a good little detective.
"Hi, chaps." Arthur greeted them as he wandered into the flight-deck, pulling the door shut behind him as had been ingrained into him over the last few months, after a toddler from one of their previous flights had pottered in and wrapped itself around Martin's legs.
"Arthur, describe to me exactly what happened when you left the flight deck." Martin demanded, turning in his seat so that he could hoist himself up and peer over the top of it, leaving Deborah to keep an eye on the actual flying.
He had been doing that a lot actually; Deborah supposed that it was just a sign of his ever growing trust that Martin didn't feel the need to monitor her every move.
"Okay. Wow, this is brilliant." Arthur replied; Deborah scoffed as he bumbled into the jump-seat, leaning forwards and resting on his knees, face set in excitement for what he probably expected was a television style interrogation.
"It's not brilliant!" Martin barked, shaking his head and pressing the heel of his hand over his eyes, dragging his bottom lip through his teeth in a show of carefully controlled patience that Deborah wished that she could scoop up and keep for later.
"It's a bit brilliant." Arthur countered; he was shifting about where he was perched, fingers winding together, clearly not as concerned by their predicament as Martin was, "Can I tell you in my own words?"
"Who else's words had you planned to use?" Deborah asked flippantly, just to wind Martin up that little bit more; he could cope, she would stop if it became too much, "Winston Churchill's?"
"No, but they always say, 'Tell us in your own words the events of the night in question.'" Arthur explained vehemently, his eyebrows leaping towards his hairline for emphasis.
"Just tell us!" Martin stressed, chest heaving once in agitation, and he pushed his hat further down onto his head, as if for the sake of something to do that wasn't wrapping his hands around Arthur's throat.
"All right." Arthur conceded, nodding solemnly and ploughing on with his story in a dramatic tone, drawing it out in a way that was sure to grate on Martin's nerves; Deborah had to purse her lips and grip the controls a little tighter to stop herself from smiling, "In my own words, I came into the galley with the bottle you gave me."
"Yes." Martin acknowledged, whirling his hand through the air.
"I got a glass, and I went in to Mr. Birling …" Arthur continued, only for Martin to interrupt him again, with another harried 'yes', but this didn't deter him, "He had a bit of a shout; I had a bit of a listen …"
"Yes?" Martin demanded impatiently; he was practically staring wide eyed now, gripping the back of his seat with an intensity undeserving of a mid-air whiskey theft.
"I poured him a glass of whiskey; he tasted it, said it was horrible. I called for you; you came; you did that funny thing with your throat …" Arthur barrelled on, eyes ticking upwards as he recalled everything that he could.
"What funny thing?" Deborah demanded eagerly, swivelling immediately in her seat to grin open mouthed and expectantly at Arthur, ignoring Martin's indignant glare; the plane could survive for a few moments on its own while she indulged her guilty fascinations.
"Oh, you know, the sort of … auhuhahahuahah!" Arthur made a sort of high-pitched, intermittent whining sound, and Deborah couldn't help but beam and giggle reflexively, gripping the back of her seat to stop herself from clapping pathetically.
"Oh, I love that sound." She drawled, turning to bat her eyelashes at Martin, who scowled and flushed scarlet, inhaling raggedly and puffing out his chest, "It is a magnificent sound!"
Deborah wasn't entirely mocking him; she really did adore the frantic, pedantic little twitches that Martin had, and each one made her want to throw her arms around him, or more pertinently, make him repeat the offending action.
"All right, that'll do!" Martin raised his voice, and under his steely glare, Deborah settled back into her seat, flicking a switch as she passed it and righting the slight tilt of the aircraft, "Thank you, Arthur."
"Has that revealed the vital clue, Inspector?" Deborah inquired pleasantly, still unable to truly wipe the smirk from her face; Martin was a big boy, he could endure.
"Shush, Deborah." Martin waved a dismissive hand in her direction, and the bridge of his nose scrunched up in intense thought.
"Just trying to help." Deborah remarked airily, but Martin was having none of it.
"You can't help." He retorted suspiciously, narrowing his eyes at her and fixing her with a look charged with fighting stance, though he remained stiffly hunched in his seat, "You're the suspect – and also the person who did it!"
"I really didn't, Martin. You made it impossible." Deborah insisted, placing a hand over her chest and gazing imploringly at him, praying that his trust in her would make it easier to lie to him; she would reveal all later, "And if I had, don't you think I'd be gloating by now?"
"Well … yes. But who else could it be?" Martin implored, blinking dejectedly with all the curious bewilderment of a new born lamb; the temptation to just put him out of his misery was there, but it was far too weak to have much of an impact.
"Well, if you're sure it wasn't you, then I suppose there's only one person it could be." Deborah suggested, raising her palms into the air either side of her and sighing helplessly; it probably wasn't fair to set Martin on Arthur, but that was life.
"Well … but why would Mr. Birling steal his own whiskey?" Martin inquired, his eyebrows furrowing as he gnawed on the corner of his lips; that hadn't been quite what Deborah had meant, but she was careful not to allow herself to pause in bewilderment before pushing onwards.
"I couldn't say, Martin. Perhaps you should investigate." She said jauntily, pleased to see that Martin nodded swiftly and collected himself as one would before a trek or before marching into decisive battle.
"Ooh! Can I come too?" Arthur asked, rising to his feet in the same moment that Martin hoisted himself up.
"No." Martin replied shortly as he hobbled through the gap between the seats, pressing his hat on his head with a hand as he ducked down to avoid the loose part that they had yet to tape back into place.
"I won't say anything." Arthur insisted, following at Martin's heels regardless, "I'll just be really excited!"
Once again, Deborah was left in the flight-deck to mull over just how well the day was going; perhaps if all went to plan, they could set up another elaborate game next year.
oOoOoOo
Post-landing checks complete, and Arthur was shovelling Mr Birling out of GERTI and back to his wife, leaving Deborah and Martin to hang back in the cabin, perched on the edge of a seat either side of the aisle.
Martin was hunched over, his elbows on his knees, his hands together, and his hat hooked over the top of the seat's back, as he sighed every now and again and glanced around at the debris that had yet to be cleared away.
"Are you alright Martin?" Deborah inquired, folding her arms loosely so that she could rest her weight upon her knees, "You're looking a bit dejected."
He did look a bit down, which was a little bit worrying; outright misery or fury she could have dealt with, but Martin was exuding a sort of muted acceptance that didn't sit right with the image that Deborah had in her head.
"Yeah…" Martin sighed, making an effort not to frown quite so vividly, and shrugging his shoulders, "I'm just baffled by how you managed to give us the run around all day. Really, that was impressive I suppose."
"So you're impressed?" Deborah repeated, smirking proudly and leaning a little more on her arms; her mood couldn't even be dampened by the eyebrow that Martin raised or the little shake of his head.
"No, the act was impressive." Martin corrected her, unable to keep an imperceptible smile from tucking up the corners of his lips as his eyes traced her face, and his hands pressed together, "What I am is baffled."
"Well, I'll say it again Martin, if you hadn't taken it so seriously, you might have had more fun." Deborah remarked cheerfully, running her hand over her hair, pushing back he few loose strands that had escaped when she had been cheerfully gloating, "I did."
"Of course I took it seriously!" Martin insisted, gesticulating vehemently; that only served to make Deborah all the more entertained, and she wanted nothing more than to take his airborne hands in hers and hold them still, "You were going to steal the whiskey."
"No I wasn't. I had no intention of stealing it once I realised that you'd be losing out if I did." Deborah explained, batting the air as she did and scrunching up her nose in an expression of mocking disdain, "It was only a game."
Martin's eyes widened, and he gaped silently for a moment, as if he were seeing a new brand of moon peeking over the horizon; then his cheeks flushed and he ducked his head slightly to rub at the back of his neck, breathing sharply through his nose.
"Oh, well, in that case-" he replied jokingly, rolling his eyes and smiling open mouthed.
"In that case you should lighten up next time," Deborah interjected, glancing over her shoulder as the sound of feet on clinking on the metal steps echoed minutely through GERTI's walls, before turning back to Martin, "stop fussing, and play with me instead."
Martin smiled wanly, and the next moment Carolyn marched through the cabin door, followed closely by Arthur; Deborah straightened a little in her seat, folding one leg over the other and adopting an expression of plain inquisitiveness at the irritable confusion that crinkled her employer's face.
"Carolyn, you're looking positively befuddled." Deborah remarked, lightly, earning a small scoff from where Martin was sitting; that made the quivering glare that Carolyn sent her worth it.
"Don't get smart with me Deborah!" Carolyn retorted, coming to a halt in the centre of the aisle, hands on her hips; Arthur remained steadfastly behind her, peering apologetically at the two pilots, "Did you or did you not steal the Talisker?"
"Did you not see the highly inebriated Mr Birling on your way up here?" Deborah replied, extending her hand towards the open door, "If not, you might like to take another look. The sight's quite self-explanatory."
"I did in fact," Carolyn said, feigning bright unconcern for a mere moment, before looking to Martin, whose eyes flickered down as he dragged his bottom lip through his teeth, and plucked his hat from its perch to twirl slowly between his fingers, "and yet Arthur tells me that the whiskey was in the hands of Deborah for most of the flight."
"Sorry chaps." Arthur apologised, grimacing slightly as he waved his hand a little, and then sat down at the end of one of the aisles; Martin nodded sympathetically and winced, and Deborah simply shook her head despairingly, rolling her eyes. It wasn't a problem, but still.
"Carolyn, I did keep hold of the Talisker for most of the flight, but I gave it to Mr Birling when he asked for it." Deborah explained, sending Martin a sharp glare to warn him against interrupting as he looked ready to do, teetering on the precipice of speech, "Which means that I didn't steal anything…and therefore you have to pay Martin one hundred pounds as you promised."
Martin made a surprised sound, and Carolyn huffed, shaking her head and pursing her lips.
"No I don't." Carolyn argued, ignoring the lack of obedient subservience in Deborah's bored expression, "The deal was that if you stole the whiskey, he paid me – which is what happened!"
"Well ac-" Martin began, shifting further onto the edge of the seat, looking imploringly between the two women, but Deborah raised her hand and glared at him politely.
"Martin, hush." She instructed, then looked back to Carolyn, losing the pleasant smile and fixing the older woman with a thin lipped stare, "I didn't steal it, I borrowed it, which means that you owe Martin. If you wanted to sell off your debts, you should have worded your deal better." As Carolyn looked ready to argue further, Deborah shook her head, "I won't back down over this."
Carolyn glared stormily down at her for an insurmountable amount of time, and then rolled her eyes dramatically and reached into her jacket pocket, retracting her hand with her black purse clasped between her fingers.
"Fine!" she grumbled, digging through her purse and retrieving what looked like five twenty pound notes, before stepping forwards to hold them out to Martin, "I would say 'job well done', but we both know how wrong that would be."
"Thank you." Martin replied hastily as he took the money from her, and tucked it into his pocket without a word; Deborah watched with an overall feeling of contentment, and then looked away swiftly when Martin's eyes flickered back to hers.
"Right, well then." Carolyn uttered, as she surveyed the cabin and tutted at the empty bottles and crumbs that lay about the floor; content that her duty was done, Deborah listened without a word, "Arthur, start clearing this up – you two," at this Carolyn opened her hand in the air as it hung between Deborah and Martin, and she inhaled redundantly, "You go and do whatever it is you do when you're not flying my plane. I'm sick of the sight of you already."
With a little grumbling, and a hearty farewell from Arthur, Deborah led the way from the plane, Martin at her shoulder as they descended the steps and wandered onto the tarmac; it was dark outside, and he fell into step beside her as they made their way towards the porta-cabin.
"Deborah…" Martin's voice permeated the otherwise still night, and when she glanced towards him, he had his head turned just enough so that he could see her face while looking ahead, his hat held between both of his hands; Deborah hummed in acknowledgement, and watched attentively, "I just wanted to thank you. For that back there…it was sweet of you, you didn't have to-"
"Of course I didn't have to Martin." Deborah interrupted dryly, "But I thought I'd do you a favour, because that's what friends do."
They were walking close enough side by side that, with her arms folded loosely over her chest for warmth, Deborah was able to bump her elbow playfully into Martin's arm, bouncing sideways on her heels with a brief chuckle as Martin retaliated in kind, smirking with his bottom sliding through his teeth.
"Well, thank you…again." Martin replied, sighing into the end of his gratitude; they walked in silence for a few minutes more, Deborah trying to rationalise why their arms brushing together made little ripples emanate somewhere within her abdomen. Enjoying Martin's presence so much couldn't be healthy, but she wasn't yet at the point of worrying.
As they approached the porta-cabin, and Deborah flicked the internal lights on, Martin shoved his hands in his pockets and let out a satisfied groan, glancing briefly over his desk before striding into the middle of the room and watching Deborah do the same.
"Deborah?" Martin asked, and when she paused and straightened up to raise an inquisitive eyebrow at him, she saw that his lips were pursed and he was studiously avoiding her gaze with the expression of someone who should have been sheepish but really wasn't even a little bit, "You remember how, a while back, you were telling me that you didn't actually have many friends at the moment because you spend all your time on GERTI?"
Deborah swallowed a surge of indignation, and placed her hands on her waist, squaring her shoulders and feigning nonchalant offence.
"I do remember Martin." She replied wryly, quirking an eyebrow demonstratively and leaning back so that the back of her legs rested against the desk, "And I think it's absolutely marvellous of you to remind me."
"Oh, god, no- that's not what I meant!" Martin insisted, raising his hands in surrender and turning a charming shade of red; he smiled nonetheless and Deborah allowed him to wander to the desks and lean against his, turning so that they could converse side by side, with only a foot of air between them, "What I meant is…because you spend so much time with me, and I'm your friend…does that mean that I'm your best friend?"
Deborah couldn't answer straight away, caught between the temptation to laugh at the devious twist of Martin's features as he very knowingly pushed his luck, and indulging in the rush of affection for him, and the stunning realisation that he was right on mark for once.
"I also spend a lot of time with Arthur." Deborah drawled, batting her eyelashes, unable to truly take her eyes from Martin's blue ones, as his small smile was infectious, even when it faltered slightly, "and he's been here longer."
"Yeah, but, if you had to pick one of us, it wouldn't be Arthur," Martin suggested in a stage whisper, ducking his head down to her level as if someone might walk in at any moment; he gestured to his chest with the tips of his fingers, "It would be me."
"You seem incredibly invested in this idea Martin, should I be worried or flattered?" Deborah remarked, lifting her hand to delicately rap her knuckles against his raised ones, retracting it after a lingering moment as she watched Martin's eyes follow the movement, a smile washing shallowly onto his lips.
"No, no – this is just a point of pride." Martin shook his head, though his cheeks flushed a light shade of pink at the inference; Deborah 'ah-ed' in understanding, and nodded slowly, pouting slightly.
"I see…it always comes back to your pride." Deborah remarked; she could feel her own smile settling between her cheeks, and with an exasperated sigh, she abandoned any inclination to lie; it might have been nice for Martin to understand how she felt about him, perhaps he would find it easier to get along with her, "I suppose so."
"I'm sorry, what was that?" Martin teased, grinning wickedly; Deborah rolled her eyes and broke eye contact, pursing her lips in an attempt to appear irritable, "You'll have to spell it out for me."
"You're an absolute arse." Deborah muttered, scowling playfully as Martin leaned in to peer around her, moving in close enough to her shoulder that she could feel his chest moving up and down through her jacket; with an exasperated groan, she announced loudly, "You, Martin Crieff, are my best friend. Are you happy now?"
"Oh, very happy." Martin drawled cheerfully, slipping an arm around her shoulders to squeeze affectionately at her upper arm; then he pulled away to meet her eyes and grinned, blushing as he tackled his nerves, "And…uh…you're mine too."
"Shut up Martin." Deborah scoffed, but when she felt Martin's arm slipping away, she raised her hand to hold his in place nonetheless, tickling her fingers over the back of his knuckles, "I better be your best friend after you made me say such a horrible thing."
"I'm sorry," Martin retorted sarcastically, his eyes flickering back and forth across the lines on her face, "That must have been very hard for you."
"It was." Deborah agreed, relishing his attentions, "Now…we've got a whole year to decide whether you're helping me next Birling day."
This took me stupidly long to write - I just couldn't think of how to fill out the Paris episode, it's so great already, it just didn't need altering.
But I think it's okay (I met my wordcount marker if nothing else)
Any comments, let me know