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Newcastle

Deborah had thought that this flight would be a decent run; it was only a quick hop over to Newcastle with some replacement pilots and straight home. But no, fate had decided that today was a day to be miserable.

And worst of all, there wasn't even a good reason to feel depressed; Deborah wasn't upset, like she might be with Martin, or angry, like she would be if Carolyn had made a terrible decision…no, she was just sad. Sad in an overarching, don't bother anyone else with your bad mood kind of sad, that followed her around like a cartoon cloud.

Of all the people in the world, it turned out that they were transporting Hercules Shipwright. Deborah had actually been pleased at first to see a familiar face…until she had remembered that she disliked Herc as a general rule.

It wasn't that he was a bad person; quite the contrary. Herc was polite, genial, loyal, and a raging feminist when put on a podium (to the point that it got him in trouble with actual women; as Carolyn had proved).

But Deborah always got the impression that he was looking down his nose at her. Oh, poor Deborah, the only woman in the pilot's lounge. Poor Deborah, getting sacked from Air England for smuggling. Poor Deborah, still not Captain. Poor Deborah, dressed like a Bolivian tank commander.

And Carolyn liked him. Oh, she could bicker all she liked with him, but Deborah had known the woman long enough to know that Carolyn wouldn't have argued so vehemently, or with such a shark-like smirk on her face, if she hadn't been chasing the tail of some very immediate feelings.

So that put her in a bad mood. But sad?

The only explanation that Deborah could come up with relied upon the fact that she felt especially sad, as if her lungs were flooded with tangible…sadness…when Linda Fairbairn was in the room.

Martin had practically turned to jelly when he had seen her; Linda had barely even spoken before Martin had decided that 'pilot' plus 'female' was very interesting, enough to make him splutter and try to flirt anyway.

Deborah had remained mostly quiet throughout their communication. She was pilot, and female. She liked planes too; knowing what type of plane GERTI was shouldn't have been impressive when Deborah could name every plane in every airport they had ever been to.

She couldn't hold it against Martin. No, a pretty woman likes all the same things that he likes; of course he fell all over her.

It wasn't fair.

It wasn't like Deborah wanted Martin to want her like that, it just wasn't fair that Linda got so much attention when Deborah sat next to him every day, and he never looked at her twice.

But Martin clearly wanted Linda. Deborah didn't even want him to want her…or maybe she did…just to prove that she wasn't insignificant beside a woman that he had just met…or…she had no idea!

It was all so confusing! And she was miserable…all that Deborah knew was that she just wanted Linda to go away so that Martin could come back and talk to her instead.

Which was ridiculous.

But true.

And last but not least, Martin still wanted to leave. After everything that they had been through, the man still wanted to get out as soon as possible and bugger off to another airline. Funnily enough, the slight watering around her eyes had brought back memories like a wave; not of Harry leaving, or his betrayal, but of the next day, when she had looked around what was then her house and realised that it was only her, all alone.

There were a lot of things that Deborah couldn't quite fathom when it came to Martin Crieff, but the one thing that she knew with any degree of certainty was that she didn't want to lose him.

To make things worse, the dreariness seemed to infect even the sanctity of the flight-deck, which Deborah was certain wouldn't remain sanctified for much longer. She wouldn't be surprised if Linda was one of those anomalies that Martin would willingly defy the CAA for…and he'd only known her for twenty minutes.

Once Martin had finished instructing Arthur on how best to keep Herc as happy as possible during the flight, and the door had clanged shut, Deborah turned infinitesimally towards him, keeping her expression cool and fractionally inquisitive.

"You're sure it's Herc you want to speak to?" Deborah asked, resting her elbow on the arm of her seat between them so that she could inspect her nails; it also created a wonderful barrier to distract Martin from trying to read too much into her expression.

Not that he would have, given how entranced he was by their guests.

"What do you mean?" Martin replied, eyes widening slightly, eyebrows rising just a little; he genuinely didn't know what she meant.

Deborah knew that for her own sanity she should have left it at that, but she couldn't stop herself from niggling, teasing him about the one thing that was bothering her to try and…she didn't even know. Make him regret it? Make him feel too inadequate so that he would stop? Put the idea in his mind so that he would fail for her own sadistic pleasure?

Or…Deborah wanted him to be happy. She knew full well that when teased, Martin fought it with every fibre of his body.

It was evident that Martin had prioritised flying over romance, as his focus on Herc demonstrated. But if he focused on Linda…he couldn't leave MJN. He could stay with them, even if the very idea made Deborah sick to her stomach.

But he might be happy. A different kind of happy to what he wanted, but a kind of happy that kept him with them.

"Not First Officer Linda, the plane-spotting pride of Penicuik?" Deborah inquired; she pointedly didn't wince at the edge of bitterness in her tone. Thankfully, Martin didn't seem to notice.

"Well, she can't recommend me, can she?" Martin shrugged flippantly as he reached here and there adjusting the controls, his long fingers moving confidently between the buttons and dials, "She's only my age; she's hardly going to know the Chief Pilot."

"She is about your age, yes," Deborah feigned surprise, settling back stiffly in her seat, folding one leg over the other and wrapping her arms over her chest, "and rather nice, I thought."

"Why, d'you think" Martin's asked in shock; his cheeks didn't flush red as they normally might, but his eyes bored into hers, as he leaned inwards just a fraction, "… d'you think she …"

"So, by the time we land in Newcastle, you'd ideally like a job recommendation from one of our passengers and a date from the other." Deborah remarked shortly, smirking fleetingly, unable to make it last, so pursing her lips instead; they were just facts, but they made her want to choke.

"That's not really feasible, is it?" Martin drew his bottom lip through his teeth, and Deborah had to force herself not to watch the movement; he was completely unconcerned, simply going about their usual pre-flight rituals.

"It's an ambitious programme, certainly." Deborah replied dully; not trusting herself to do much else, she picked at the loose threads around her epaulets. Never had she craved her own bed so early in the day.

oOoOoOo

If only she had a voice recorder, Deborah might have captured the wonderful little speech that Martin had just given in which he had told a woman he had known for only an hour that he liked her, that he might love her, but that actually he didn't love her, and would never love her as much as he loved being a pilot.

Deborah had tried to send him a sympathetic little smile when he had walked red faced from the flight-deck, but he was gone before she could so much as clasp the bottom of his jacket between her fingers to catch his attention.

"Is he always like that?" Linda inquired from where she stood in front of the jump-seat, finally turning away from the door, which she had been staring at as if a sabre-toothed tiger had danced its way from the room.

As she had been left unceremoniously to fly the plane on her own, Deborah only spared the other woman a glance over her shoulder; the need to defend Martin was strong, as his blithering little announcement had stirred up the moths in her chest and lightened the sadness while simultaneously feeding its wrath, but she had to remind herself that to make sure he was happy, truly happy, she would need to be polite, and not ruin things for him any more than he already had.

"No." Deborah sighed, shrugging lightly and thinning her lips, "He's not terribly good at talking to other pilots, I'm afraid."

"Oh." Linda's tone brightened in relief, and she placed a hand on the back of Deborah's seat to support her weight; Deborah only restrained herself from telling her to get off as the woman was actually quite a nice person, and didn't really deserve her distemper for something she hadn't done, "I thought it was because I was a woman."

"And he's atrocious at talking to women," Deborah continued, rolling her eyes affectionately, focusing on an image of Martin's typical blush to deter any bitterness, "so I'm afraid you represent something of a Perfect Storm."

There was a moment of quiet, in which Deborah heard Linda shift behind her, and she found herself hyper aware of everything that was going on around her.

"But you're a pilot, and a woman." Linda remarked slowly, confusion lacing her tone; Deborah glanced over her shoulder, to find that she was being inspected through furrowed eyebrows and a wrinkled nose.

"You know…" Deborah answered, exhaling drearily; there was no point pretending, that it didn't make something pang in her chest, "I don't think he's even noticed."

Linda hummed thoughtfully, and suddenly it became imperative that she stopped thinking whatever it was that she was thinking. Martin wanted this woman, apparently, and that was the best way to prevent him from gaining any ground in his hunt for a new job. Everyone was a winner; almost.

"You shouldn't think too badly of Martin though." Deborah insisted, adopting a jaunty tone that may have come across just a little bit desperate, "I know he can come on a bit strong, or a bit wet, but actually, once he calms down, he's really funny."

"Oh?" Linda made a non-committal sound, and Deborah pushed on, refusing to allow her time to think of any counters.

"Yes, and I know that little speech there sounded ridiculous, and perhaps a bit stalker-esque," she explained, gripping the controls tightly in her hands, trying not to stiffen as she hated every word she was saying, no matter how true they were, "but actually, he was being…sweet."

For a while, there was no response, and Deborah almost began to worry that she had said something wrong.

"Hmmm, maybe, but from what I've seen of his personality, I gather that he's rather grating." Linda said finally, shaking her head; a flash of indignation caught Deborah by the sails and it took very little effort to defend Martin's honour.

"Yes, but he grows on you after a while." She insisted, frowning at the accusation; there was nothing wrong with Martin. Linda should have been flattered that he had taken an interest in her when she sat next to him every day and didn't get a look in.

"Like I said, maybe." Linda responded, and then she patted the back of the chair awkwardly, and began walking away, "I'm going to go and see how the rest of them are getting on."

Deborah hummed her acknowledgement, and listened to the flight-deck door creak and then clang shut. Miserable. That was the only word for it. Miserable, and bloody confused as to what she was actually trying to achieve.

oOoOoOo

Apparently Martin was doing a good enough job of ruining all his chances in all areas by himself. And in such a beautifully Martin-ish way as well. She may have barely spoken to him for most of the day due to his preoccupation with everyone that wasn't her, but Deborah was actually beginning to enjoy watching him bumble around from a distance.

Meanwhile, board games with Carolyn, Arthur, and Herc were just about varied enough to keep her mildly entertained. That, and the fact that Carolyn and Herc couldn't quite keep themselves from bickering from across the aisle; it was sickening, and yet about as fun to watch as an action-movie train wreck.

"I'm surprised you're even in here Deborah," Carolyn remarked blithely as she shuffled her paper money; Deborah had been in a world of her own, so rather than replying and proving it, she raised an eyebrow and waited with thinned lips for the other woman to continue, "I thought that you and Martin were joined at the hip recently."

"Only recently?" Herc interjected, glancing between them at much the same rate that Arthur was, but wearing a far different expression; while Arthur's face was open, and his eyes flickered between them, looking on with mild caution, Herc's lips had curled into a slight smirk as he settle for peering across at his old colleague, "What was wrong before that?"

"Oh, there's always something wrong with those two." Carolyn explained flippantly, leaving Deborah to bite her tongue to keep from swearing at one or both of them; she didn't want to talk about her relationship with Martin with anyone, especially the two people most likely to hang it over her head, "They're either in each other's pockets, or at each other's throats."

"Quaintly put, Carolyn." Deborah remarked snidely, thrusting her arms around her chest and glaring pointedly at the floor between them.

"Oh I see!" Herc nodded in understanding, and then turned away from Deborah, effectively ejecting her from the conversation for the sake of zoning in on Carolyn, "I imagine that after this you'll be craving some peace and quiet."

"Believe me, Herc," Carolyn replied dryly, fixing his with a narrow eyed glare from above her fan of fake money, "This is the most peaceful it's been on this plane for about a year."

oOoOoOo

Finally back in Fitton, Deborah curled up on the porta-cabin's sofa, bringing her knees up and sighing, doing nothing more than look about the mess that none of them ever got around to cleaning.

She supposed that the silver lining of the day was that Martin was neither leaving, nor abandoning her for another attractive First Officer. The only problem, was that Martin had spent most of his day trying to get another job, and trying to seduce someone else, and then to top it all off, Herc had shunned her one last time.

A lot of problems. Enough to justify moping on the sofa while the others pootled around doing whatever it was they were doing. Deborah suspected that Martin was probably still sitting with his feet up on the control panel in the flight deck, twiddling his Captain's hat between his fingers and telling himself that they weren't worth it anyway.

Following a thump as the lock jammed, the door to the porta-cabin swung open, and Deborah managed to settle herself properly, with her legs pointing toward the floor, in time see Arthur wander in, head turning this way and that until her caught sight of her.

"Are you alright Arthur?" Deborah inquired wanly as he strode to her side, flopping down on the sofa and making it dip under his weight, tipping her sideways until she had to catch herself from falling into him; his nose was crinkled in that pensive way that always spelled trouble.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Arthur answered hastily, smiling warmly to demonstrate just how fine he actually was, convincingly enough that Deborah nodded in acceptance, "I just wanted to talk to you about something."

"And what might that be?" Deborah replied exhaustedly, turning nonetheless so that they could converse without having to twist and turn; it might turn out that Arthur's problems would eclipse her own pathetic misery.

"It's about Mum and Herc…" Arthur started, then he paused and pursed his lips, bringing his hands together until his eyes brightened with what must have been the best words; Deborah was already dreading whatever it was that he had to say, "It's just…I was watching them, and I thought…do you think that maybe, even a little bit, they might…like each other? Because I haven't seen Mum like that with anyone, but they were arguing a lot as well-"

"Arthur!" Deborah raised her hand into the air between them, and Arthur fell mercifully silent; it was the last thing in the world that she wanted to contemplate, but the boy wanted to talk about it, and she wouldn't deny him that, "Although Herc is gone, and there's nothing to worry about…I agree that there may have been some chemistry there…"

"But is that really how that kind of thing works?" Arthur interjected, shaking his head and looking unconvinced.

"Are you interested because of your mother, or are you interested in how relationships work?" Deborah inquired, sensing that there was more to Arthur's oddly insistent demeanour.

"Well, a bit Mum, but also a bit relationships…" Arthur explained furtively, but his face was turning red, and he couldn't handle the pressure any longer, as the tension released from his shoulders and he sagged into the sofa, "It's just, there's this girl at the library that I've been talking to, and she's really nice, and we're getting on really well, but seeing Mum and Herc, it just occurred to me that even though we like each other, we're nothing like that."

Even though she would have loved to delve deeper into this newfound information, Deborah put aside her curiosity for the sake of placing her hands together over her lap and holding Arthur's gaze as firmly as possible, becoming the wise and wonderful sage for his sake.

"Arthur, take it from me now – you will not approach relationships the same way that your mother does. You're just not that type of person." Deborah explained decisively; Arthur listened rapt with attention, and it became even more imperative that she didn't give in and make a joke, "Relationships, all relationships, are about chemistry. Sometimes that comes from a passion for things you have in common, and other times, like with Carolyn, that chemistry comes in the form of bickering over your differences, which incite passion."

Arthur nodded, and his eyes dropped to stare into the middle distance. Feeling that she had done a job well done, Deborah relaxed back into the sofa, sliding until she was resting in the corner between the back and the arm.

"Deborah?" Arthur's voice shattered the moment of peace that she had allowed herself, but Deborah simply hummed in response, peering belatedly across the sofa at him, barely taking in the tentative pinch of his expression, "Is that how you feel about Martin?"

Deborah didn't lurch upright, but that would have been the next thing she had done had she not been able to stiffen, one hand curling over her knee as she stared pointedly at the ceiling.

"Martin's my friend." Deborah answered tensely, trying to manage her voice but knowing that she was failing, "I don't know what you mean."

"You do know what I mean." Arthur insisted quietly; he was being stubborn, which was the one thing that Deborah had never quite been able to tackle successfully, especially not when her mind whirred so fast that it made her dizzy, or her stomach decided to flip, "I listen to you two bicker all the time, and I listen to you talk about him all the time, and I watch you looking at him, and you walk and sit far too close to him, and you only smile that big happy smile when you're talking to him, and all of today you've been wearing your crying face even though you haven't been crying-"

"Arthur, just stop!" Deborah closed her eyes, and when she opened them, it was to see Arthur's big brown eyes batting at her, innocently awaiting her words; everything was spinning inside of her, as if into some cavern, and for a fleeting, insane moment, it occurred to her that if she put some of it into words for him, it might not get lost in the gaping hole, so she asked in what was almost a whisper, "Can you keep a secret?"

"Yes." Arthur replied instantly, shuffling forwards on the sofa as if to prove how secretive he could be.

Deborah brought her knees up to wrap her arms around, and picked at the thread on her tights, trying to ignore the tremble of her lips.

"Martin's my friend, and I care about him…a lot." Deborah admitted softly, picking particularly violently, and making sure not to look Arthur in the eyes, "And I do feel…I feel a lot of things, about him…there are lots and lots of feelings…and I, I can't – all of these feelings, they're all confused!" Deborah shook her head and pursed her lips, but swallowed hard and forced herself to push on, even against the furious flurrying in her chest that threatened to clench at her throat, "I'm just so confused, and I don't know how I'm feeling, even though there's so much going on-"

"Are they good feelings, or bad feelings?" Arthur cut in, not sounding nearly as nervous as he should have, though Deborah didn't even peek at his face; at his words, the moths that raged in her chest didn't stop, but it was as if their wings lit up, all glowing on the same wavelength for once.

"Good feelings." Deborah replied; she thought that she felt her lips curling into a smile, but the moment that the thought entered her mind, it was washed away, "It's just confusing…I know how I feel about Martin, I just don't know what I want, and it's all getting messed and twisted in my head…"

"Do you want to talk about it?" Arthur offered; Deborah finally raised her head, to see the open, concerned look on his face, and the answer was fully formed.

"No thank you, Arthur," she said swiftly, adopting her casual, business-like tone and smiling thinly, "In fact I'd rather be left alone…I'm tired after all."

"Oh…oh, alright then." Arthur nodded slowly, wetting his lips and sounding thoroughly disappointed; he rose from the sofa nonetheless, and looked down at her dejectedly, "I'll just go and hoover GERTI then."

Deborah nodded, but offered no further words of comfort or plea; she didn't feel better, or as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. If anything, it was like a chill had taken root in her guts, reminding her that now the mess inside her head was out in the open, when even she couldn't make sense of it.

With only the minimal amount of bustling that Arthur could produce, he disappeared from the porta-cabin, leaving Deborah alone to muse on the fact that she most certainly had feelings for Martin…but she had no idea if she even wanted to.

oOoOoOo

An hour later, and Deborah was still in the porta-cabin, though she had migrated to her desk shortly after Arthur had left. It wasn't that she wanted to be there, but more that she didn't particularly have any inclination to go home either, which left her to drift about in thought.

The door opened after a small fight, and Martin flounced in, humming a steady tune under his breath. When his eyes fell upon Deborah, his face lit up, and a wide smile overtook his lips, making little crinkles appear either side of his eyes as he made a beeline for the desks and lowered himself into his chair, spinning so that he was facing her.

Deborah mirrored his arrangement, and couldn't help but smile wanly in return.

"I wondered where you'd gone." Martin remarked, plucking his hat from his head and placing it on the desk, shuffling a little closer as he did so, putting only a few feet between them, before leaning back, his hands linking in front of him.

"I've been here." Deborah replied, casting her arms through the air to encompass the entirety of the porta-cabin, before making a show of dragging her eyes over his face and tapping a finger against her lips, "You're looking rather cheerful for someone who's been rejected twice in one day."

"Yeah, well, neither the job nor the date were ever really going to happen, were they?" Martin shrugged nonchalantly, and quirked both eyebrows conspiratorially in an attempt to bolster some sort of camaraderie.

"But I thought that you'd be more disappointed." Deborah pushed; it didn't make sense really. Martin was the sort that tried and tried again, no matter how dejected it made him feel; it was part of the reason she admired him so much.

"I am disappointed about not getting an interview, but you know what?" Martin answered, dragging his bottom lip through his teeth and blinking tiredly, "I'm sort of relieved that Linda said no."

"Bit you spent all day with her, I thought you liked her." Deborah insisted, sitting forwards, resting one arm atop the desk, her palm down; the fluttering in her chest became a sort of befuddled stutter.

"No, I didn't like her. She was defensive, and to be honest, I don't think there was actually anything about her after twenty minutes that I wanted to date," Martin exclaimed, having the decency to look sheepish and abashed, "She said the same – she said 'Martin, I don't think it's me you're thinking about.'"

"Then who were you thinking about?" Deborah dared to ask, fighting the sudden temptation to swallow as the pit of her throat became a little heavier; Martin sighed, and she watched his throat bob as he shook his head helplessly.

"Honestly…I reckon I was just trying to impress you." Martin admitted, eyes tracing over the desktop as his cheeks flushed red; that was lucky, as it meant that he couldn't see Deborah's expression falter, nor her cheeks blanch.

"How would seducing another woman impress me?" Deborah inquired, aiming for humorous, or flippant, but landing to near to airy; Martin however seemed too wrapped up in his own shortcomings to pay that much heed.

"I don't know…it's just, you were teasing me about her, so I thought 'I'll show her', and, the next thing I know-" Martin described his thought pattern with as much confidence as he did when picking food from a menu, one hand turning concentrically in the air, "I know it doesn't make a lot of sense now, but at the time, it was perfect."

With a gratuitous exhale that mingled with a groan, Martin let his hand drop with a thud onto the desk top, only inches from hers. Deborah watched curiously as his eyes narrowed softly where they were fixed on the offending limb, and held herself still and relaxed as he slid his hand to lie beside hers, almost as if he weren't entirely conscious of what he was doing.

"You know, I've missed you today." Martin murmured, so softly that Deborah almost didn't hear it, so focused as she was on the way that as he spoke the words, he raised his fingers lightly, and brushed the backs of his knuckles against the backs of hers, sending miniscule shivers through the adjoining capillaries.

It was like holding her breath and breathing too fast. Normally she might have handled it better, but after the day she had had, Deborah was about ready to collapse inwards into the frantic flittering beneath her skin.

"I was only in the cabin." Deborah replied softly, her eyes flickering between their hands and Martin's face, which was gazing with an almost detached intensity at the desk. She turned her hand over, her fingers brushing his as she lay her palm up; slowly, Martin's long, bony fingers shifted and crept over hers, not holding, simply curling reflexively.

Deborah mused on how strange it was that she could sit next to the man every day, hear him all the time, and yet the sensation of his skin against hers made her hand prickle and delve into hypersensitivity, as she analysed every factor, from dryness, to grip, to size.

"I know that," Martin remarked, slightly louder; Deborah's gaze snapped to his face as her eyebrows quirked without her permission, and Martin seemed to centre himself, smirking and rolling his eyes in a self-deprecating manner; his hand didn't move, "it's just, I feel like I've thrown away my allotted hours with you."

Deborah opened her mouth, and Martin cocked his head, hanging on her every unspoken word, so she paused and wetted her lips, unusually tentative under his pleasant scrutiny. It was still strange, even after so much time, to have him so eager to be around her; even her husbands had been adamant about having time apart.

She wasn't going to waste it, no matter how confusing it was.

"If truancy is what's worrying you, then you can always make it up to me by…accompanying me to the coffee shop?" she suggested, unconsciously curling her fingers around his; she almost stuttered when he responded in kind, never taking her eyes from hers, "As the one at fault, you'd of course be paying."

"That sounds reasonable," Martin chuckled lightly, his cheeks blossoming with colour as he wavered between a smirk and a cheerful smile that practically made his whole figure glow; Deborah mused that for once, she might have been really, truly, happy, "I'd like that."

I hope that that satiated every desire that you all may have had. I'm definitely filled with excitement.

Thanks for reading, have a nice day :)