Interlude 12

Martin rushed around the porta-cabin, piling certain papers and files on Deborah's side of the desk and trying to shove his coat over his shoulders as she leaned back against his side, watching him with her arms folded, making an effort to nod in all the right places.

It had been a short but early flight, and the crew had made it back to Fitton before noon; normally that would be cause for celebration and relaxation, but Martin had booked a van job for the early afternoon, and Deborah, burdened by a newfound sense of consideration that had developed remarkably swiftly over the two months that they had been together, had offered to stay behind and fill out the paperwork so that he didn't have to rush.

"And these are absolutely vital; if you don't do these, then we're in trouble." Martin reiterated, placing his palms down firmly atop the larger stack of papers, and taking care to meet Deborah's gaze, thin lipped, to impress upon her the importance of his statement, before, pointing to the smaller pile, "these one's are optional, as they can wait a few days, but if you have time, it would really make my life easier if you could make a start on them."

"Alright, will do." Deborah replied brightly, smiling pleasantly and tapping the files that he had just mentioned; it wouldn't do to have Martin get worked up before his job, as a clumsy van man got paid far less than the efficient one that she knew existed beneath the cloudy veneer.

"Really?" Martin retorted, the disbelief almost tangible in his voice as he straightened out and turned to face her, securing his coat where it tented at his shoulders, his eyebrows arched suspiciously, "You'll actually do all of that, will you?"

"Of course I will." Deborah shot back, pursing her lips to stop from showing the flicker of muted offense in her stomach, and thinking instead with fondness on why Martin's stickling jitteriness was something that she liked about him instead, "I said that I will, and I'm going to." as Martin sighed and fiddled sheepishly with his pockets, she stepped a little closer, closing the gap between them to run her hands over his collar and pretend to flatten it, "Normally I would shirk my responsibilities, but as you are in fact a romantic partner, and more importantly my romantic partner, I will go out of my way to make your life easier, just this once."

Martin's expression softened, and he lay his hands over hers, lowering them until they hung at their sides; as much as all of this was in aid of giving him a good day, Deborah couldn't help but be just a little bit pleased that he was conceding defeat.

"Oh, well….thank you." Martin murmured apologetically, his cheeks blushing a faint shade of pink; his lips curled into a small smile, and he remarked almost to himself, "You're too good for me."

"Of that I'm well aware, Martin." Deborah replied jauntily, making sure to grin and lean forwards to nudge her shoulder against his, fighting the temptation to plant a kiss on him; without thinking, she continued, lowering her voice to a sultry drawl, "I suppose you're just lucky that I love you anyway."

The responding chuckle never came, neither did the half cuddle, or squeeze of her hands, and it took all of a moment for Deborah to realise what she had said and freeze, raising her eyes slowly from the curve of Martin's neck to meet his gaze. She hadn't quite meant to say that; oh, Deborah had thought it many a time, all the more frequently over the past few months, but now that the words were free to fly through the air, she felt almost like the moths in her chest were shivering on the edge of escape.

"Really…?" Martin asked, his voice no more than a raised breath, and his forehead was crinkled in speculation as his eyes darted between hers, as if searching for any deception, his whole posture stiffened and leaning into hers as if poised in hope.

"I suppose." Deborah replied, hearing a sort of nervous laughter where her own confidence should have been; she gripped Martin's hands a little tighter, "Is that alright with you, Captain?"

"Yes, yes, it is, that is…" Martin began to chuckle, and his face split into a grin, his cheeks flushing red; he lurched forwards until their foreheads were resting together, and he could just about place a small kiss on the tip of Deborah's nose, "that's more than alright." He shifted back to look her straight in the eyes, his own blue ones slightly wet, "I love you too."

Deborah didn't say anything, but allowed Martin to pull her closer, fingers curling into the folds of his coat, relishing the fizzles of emotion that had taken root beneath her skin the night that they had first fallen into bed together, and re-emerged at the most inconvenient of moments.

"Yes, well," Martin cleared his throat and stepped back, and Deborah had only a second to mourn the loss of warmth before he was making his way across the porta-cabin, "I need to get going…I'll, uh, I'll see you later?"

"Oi, hold on a minute!" Deborah demanded, spinning on her heel to follow his path, wrapping her arms across her chest and setting her shoulders back; there was no way that she was letting him get away that easily, "I just revealed something horribly intimate, and you're not even going to give me a kiss before you leave?"

To his credit, Martin paused, but he shoved his hands in his pockets and flapped a little, staring around the room down the end of his nose; Deborah nearly rolled her eyes, but refused to go to him, determined to make him break his own rules.

"We're at work." Martin bemoaned seriously, ignoring the way that she quirked her eyebrow at him; his stoic stubbornness had shone through spectacularly over this aspect of their relationship, "Someone might walk in and see us."

"Then kiss me quickly." Deborah drawled, letting the dare slip into her tone implicitly; a rush of heat filled her chest as Martin's mouth snapped shut in the middle of an attempt at arguing, and his eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

Then he was striding across the porta-cabin, and faster than she could lift her hands to curve gently over his cheeks, Martin's arms were around her and he was pressing his lips to her with a determined force that knocked all other thoughts from Deborah's mind other than those that focused on the sensation of him pressed against her, pushing back, and the small humming noises that emanated from his chest. Deborah mused that if she were to let herself fall back onto the desk behind her, Martin might just crawl on top of her, as intense as his attentions were.

When Martin pulled away, Deborah could have sworn that her ears were ringing and her sights were stained like that of someone who had been staring at the sun too long; before he could step away completely, though he looked too punch-drunk to get very far, she darted forwards, running her hands up and over his shoulders, and placed one last lingering kiss on his lips.

"Pop round mine when you're done." Deborah instructed softly, her head nodding unconsciously in time with his as Martin licked his lips and ran his fingers down her arms; as much as she wanted to keep him there, he really did need to go, "I'll see you later."

oOoOoOo

Sitting in the porta-cabin, trudging her way through the paperwork that Martin had left, Deborah found that she had little else to do but muse on the state of her and Martin's relationship; her unfortunate slip of the tongue left few other options, as her mind ran away on its own.

The two months that they had been together, not a lot had changed; they still laughed and bickered, and at work, their friendship was as strong as ever…probably better ever, as every now and then one of the would forget where they were and let their hands drift across the flight-deck, or walk far to close across the airfield. At one point Martin had remembered how ticklish Deborah's sides were, and they had almost fallen into the porta-cabin, his arms reaching around to grasp at her waist, while they both laughed, only to find Arthur and Carolyn waiting for them.

It was true, they didn't do a lot of things that other new couples did, but Deborah knew that they weren't exactly like other couples, and really…she was happier than she had been in a very long time.

They didn't really do dates, per say. The day trip in Ohio had been the only bug occasion; Deborah was the only one that tried to encourage romantic outings, but with Martin refusing to let her cover the bills, she had been careful, and had inwardly conceded to respect his pride on the matter.

And Martin…he didn't take her on dates; Deborah knew that it was because he couldn't afford to splash out, and because recently he had been taking so many more van jobs than he had before, but that didn't stop him from pouting and stewing over it, no matter how many times she told him that she didn't care.

That was the only real bump in the relationship; Deborah was perfectly content to accept the lack of dates or gifts, because she was well aware after three long term relationships that they didn't mean a thing. Harry had doted on her, but when the gifts were taken away, there was nothing there.

Martin on the other hand made up for his lack of money by spending as much time with her as he could, giving Deborah all of his attention, making even the simplest of events, like packing up the hold, seem like a stolen moment. Sometimes he made her chest flutter, and as ridiculous as it sounded, Martin could made Deborah feel as if she were the most important thing in the world, and that every moment not spent with her was a moment wasted…second only to flying, being Captain, and the CAA of course. But that was Martin, and she wouldn't have loved him if that weren't true.

And he told her he loved her at every opportunity; so much that sometimes, when Deborah was having a bad day, or was a little annoyed with him, a vicious voice in the back of her head would whisper that he didn't mean it, he was just saying that to compensate for his inability to provide any substance to the romance.

But Deborah pushed that aside, crushed it, and every time cursed herself, furious that there should be any residual bitterness from her previous relationships to mar what she had with Martin.

Martin was better than any of the other men that she had been with, because unlike them, he was her friend; she didn't think she could bear to see him leave…it wouldn't be even a little bit as easy as the other separations had.

No. Deborah scratched her pen with particular vitriol across the page; she wasn't going to let herself think like that. Martin was the best thing in her life right then, and she wasn't going to let go of him when things were going so well between them.

A light tapping snapped her from her reverie; it was light enough that for a moment Deborah wasn't sure she had even heard it at all, but she grasped at the first excuse to put down her pen and push the paperwork away from her, leaning back in her seat and sighing, rolling her shoulders back.

Before she had time to explore further, the door to the porta-cabin jammed, and then slid open with a gentleness with which it had never before been treated, only for a small, frizzy wisp of a head to peek through, followed by a body not nearly as akin to a cloud as Deborah had been expecting.

"Oh, sorry, hello, Arthur said I could wait in here while he ran an errand for his mum." The young woman announced, her pale cheeks flushing as she flustered around the door, pulling it shut behind her back but making no move to step further inside, her hands wringing nervously around her, "I'm Lily."

It took all of one cursory glance for Deborah to realise that Lily, with her mousy blonde hair bundled wispily atop her head, her baggy hoody that looked as if the neck had been taken to with scissors, atop dark jeans and a mess of thin scarves, was mid-twenties, and still carrying all the hallmarks of a girl raised well and in the countryside.

True, she wasn't the token 'pony club' girl that Arthur normally attracted, but she possessed that odd ability that all of Deborah's old class mates possessed, wherein she could appear completely at home and confident in herself, but tuck in as if the world was the one that wasn't as she had been taught; she suspected that perhaps Arthur simply had a magical allure over the more moneyed female demographic.

"Do come in, Lily, make yourself at home." Deborah dragged her arm through the air, gesturing to her sofa, which the young woman made a beeline towards, smiling awkwardly and pushing her hair from her face with her hands; Deborah didn't want to seem too interested, but she was fascinated by the woman that up until that moment she had thought might exist only within the library, "I'm Deborah, a friend of Arthur's."

"Hi, he um, he mentioned you actually, and a Martin." Lily replied, folding her hands over her lap and glancing about the porta-cabin; she blushed sheepishly, and continued under cover of a truncated giggle of anxiety, "You're actually the reason I agreed to go on a date with him."

"How so?" Deborah inquired, leaning forwards and placing her elbows on the desk, her head in her hands, so that she could peer at the young woman, who reminded her of one of those fluffy kittens that goggled at the world around it.

"Well, I didn't say yes for a really long time – I liked him, but I thought, well, I thought that no one can be as nice as Arthur, or that lovely, or want to do so much for me. I thought maybe he was pretending as some sort of joke." Lily explained, her voice light and bouncy as she shrugged and her hands flittered about, never really laying still, "But then last time, he said that he'd asked his friends why I kept saying no, and I figured that if he was asking for help, then he couldn't be joking, even though he really is so unbelievably lovely."

"That's our Arthur; unbelievably lovely ninety-nine point eight per cent of the time." Deborah drawled, smirking as Lily's eyes widened and she seemed to soak in every word, as if extra assurance was a holy decree, "The other point two per cent, he's arguing with me, so you have nothing to worry about."

Lily giggled weakly, and nodded hastily, which made her hair flit through the air around her like a blonde halo, falling this way and that; she didn't get much else out, as the door creaked and bumped open, and the man himself bumbled through.

"Hi Deborah!" Arthur called as he held the door open; Deborah opened her mouth to reply, but he was already ushering Lily back towards him, and she was eagerly skipping across the room, "The car's all ready, I'll be over in a minute."

"Okay, I'll see you in a minute then." Lily chirped, and before Deborah could so much as utter a sound of farewell, she had disappeared into the open air; she couldn't help but roll her eyes as Arthur let the door swing shut behind him and hurried towards the desk. Young love; it was a headache to those in its path, but no one could deny them their happiness while it lasted.

"Isn't she great?" Arthur exclaimed, leaning down with his palms flat on Deborah's desk, a huge grin plastered across his lips and his brown eyes wide with excitement; all it took was for Deborah to nod bemusedly, and he was off again, "We're going to that new restaurant that you were talking about last week, the Italian one that you said had really good pasta. Lily's going to love it, I know, because she was telling me about how her library has some volunteers in Italy, and about she's always wanted to go, so I know, tonight's going to be great!"

"Good, I'm very proud of you." Deborah replied, placing her hands together and smiling warmly up at him, the sight of Arthur so happy making warmth bubble up in her diaphragm; now, with Carolyn not-so-secretly dating Herc, the whole crew was actually living the good life so to speak, "You persevered, and it paid off."

"I couldn't have done it without you." Arthur exulted, his shoulders sagging in belated relief as he failed to contain his gratitude; Deborah reached out to pat his elbow in a sort of soothing gesture, and it seemed to work, for the most part, as he stopped jittering, "Thank you, so so much."

"Stop thanking me, and go see to your date." Deborah instructed, pointing her finger firmly towards the door; she smirked at the flash of guilt that made its way across Arthur's face as he glanced over his shoulder.

"Okay, thank you!" Arthur concluded hastily, jolting back from the desk, only to dart back down and place a small peck on her cheek, before almost sprinting from the porta-cabin, so fast that the door didn't even have time to stick.

oOoOoOo

Deborah pootled around her flat, shifting things over on shelves, tidying this and that, rearranging drawers and pushing furniture to new spaces, all the while glancing towards the windows, through which she had watched the sky turn dark, and the street lamps throw orange orbs into the night.

When she had finally made it home, Deborah had wandered around for a while, before she started moving things around, spotting places where the space could be better utilised. For example, if she moved that key table by the door, there would be more room for Martin to leave his shoes beneath the coat hangers.

And if she moved this, there would be a place for Martin to put his bag when he stayed the night after a flight, or if there was more space there, Martin might not feel so obligated to keep all his things in one place, he might leave books or knick-knacks lying around. The whole flat might be just a little more homely if it were easier for Martin to integrate.

Outside, the familiar grumble of Martin's van punctuate the quiet, and Deborah hoisted herself up from where she was rearranging the coffee table and wandered into the kitchen area to put the kettle on; it had been a long day, and nothing said welcome like tea just the way Martin liked it.

She could hear the key turning in the lock, and the door opening and closing, but Deborah didn't turn around yet, instead searching through the cupboards for the sugar; Martin would make his way over to her in a minute.

Except, he didn't, and Deborah paused in her search to wonder over the unusual break from routine; rolling her eyes, she let the cupboard bang closed, and turned to stride back into the sitting room, only to find Martin standing stiffly by the door, his hands behind his back.

"Martin?" Deborah asked, raising an eyebrow in confusion as she strode towards him, "What are you-"

"Ta Da!" Martin exclaimed weakly, and before she could reach him, he whipped his hands from behind his back to reveal a large, cacophonous arrangement of flowers that bunched in their intricately arranged patterns, all shades of pink and purples and whites, and most definitely expensive.

Deborah stumbled to a halt, close enough that when she lifted her hands in surprise, Martin was able to foist the bouquet into her arms, and throw his own arms to his sides as if to say 'my job is done, applaud'; the flowers were beautiful, there was no denying that, and apart from the little voice nagging at her over how much they must have cost him, Deborah was awash with humbled surprise, like subtle pinpricks of heat tickling her pores. For once, she wasn't sure what to say.

"Martin…" she gasped lowly, lowering the flowers so that she could blink at him from over the top of the mane of petals, stepping backwards so that he could enter the room further, "What are these for?"

"They're for you." Martin replied matter-of-factly, clasping his hands together at his front; he was still wearing his coat, open at the front, but he must have been too busy waiting for Deborah's reaction to do much more than chew on his lip and watch her, red faced, "I – I was thinking about what you said this morning, and about how…we love each other, and how, how that's huge, and so I thought," at this Martin sighed, and frowned a little, his expression turning reluctantly downtrodden; it was enough to make doubt simmer beneath Deborah's joy, "I thought about how I can't afford to take you out, or buy you nice things, but that given the circumstances, I should make a romantic gesture, because you deserve it, and-"

"Martin, we've been over this," Deborah sighed, shaking her head and treading past him to place the flowers on the coffee table, wrapping her arms around her chest when she turned back to meet his gaze, "I know what your living situation is, and I don't need any gestures, or expensive things-"

"It's not about whether you need them." Martin remarked, letting his hands drop back down to his sides, his eyebrows knitting in the middle of his forehead, "It's about me, as your partner, wanting to be able to provide them."

"Oh, for God's sake Martin," Deborah cursed, shaking her head and running a hand through her hair; the flutters from before had faded, only to make way for the niggles of trepidation that burrowed in her guts for moments like these, the doubters and worriers, "If this is your bloody pride again."

"It's not pride!" Martin insisted, his face contorting defensively as his chest puffed out in indignation; Deborah knew that this was a touchy subject, but she couldn't stop it now that he had been irritated, "It's principle!" he took a deep breath and gnawed at his lip, though Deborah suspected that he was more angry with himself than her; not that that had ever stopped him, "When other women are loved, they get fancy dinners, and jewellery, and flowers whenever they want. I can't do all that, but the least I can do for the woman I love is work a few extra jobs, and scrape together enough to buy the most expensive flowers that Fitton has to offer – and I'm not going to let you tell me that's wrong!"

"This isn't about making me feel loved Martin!" Deborah didn't raise her voice, but it was a close call; contrary to what he might have thought, Deborah knew Martin inside out, his every quirk, and this one, the one that she loved because it made him him, was also the one that caused most of their disagreements, and would be better off alleviated, "This is about you trying to match up to other men when it really doesn't matter."

"It does matter!" Martin retorted irritably; at this Deborah turned and strode into the kitchen, and began clattering with the mugs and kettle, only to hear Martin follow her in, so she turned and glared expectantly until he continued, his cheeks red with exertion, his eyes wide and desperate for her to understand, "Because you love me, a-a-and, I don't deserve that! I can't match up to a million men that you could choose, but I'm selfish, so I'm not going to let you go. So don't you dare tell me not to try and be good enough!"

Deborah exhaled raggedly, and closed her eyes, leaning back against the counter for support; even though this was the first time they had even spoken the words, it felt like they had had the same argument a thousand times before, always a sticking point between them. It made her want to choke on the pit in her throat.

"Martin, when are you going to get it through your thick head that if I didn't think you were good enough, gifts and dates or not, I wouldn't be with you at all?" Deborah inquired rhetorically; when she opened her eyes, Martin's lips were pursed, and he was looking anywhere but at her.

After a few minutes, during which the kettle clicked for a second time, only to be ignored; it became apparent that Martin wasn't going to reply, but as the bobbing at his throat suggested, he was going to try and distract her.

"So, um…what were you doing before I got here?" Martin asked, swaying slightly on his heels as he gestured around the room; he attempted a small, thin lipped smile and the bridge of his nose crinkled with the effort, "It looks cleaner."

"I was rearranging to make more space for you…" Deborah replied dryly gripping the counter behind her, and noting with miserable acknowledgement the flicker of regret that crossed Martin's face and made his shoulders stiffen, "or to make it easier if you wanted to leave things here…"

"Deborah, no, it's the same thing-" Martin began to respond exhaustedly, the weight of the atmosphere between them dragging him away from indignation and into resignation as he shook his head.

"Fine-" Deborah said quickly, raising her hands in surrender, but Martin kept talking despite how desperate she was for them to stop arguing.

"- I know my attic is old, and small, and horrible, and that your flat is nice, and big, and lovely, but I refuse to foist myself onto you like that, I will not take advantage-" he reeled off, as if he were some kind of martyr.

"You're not taking advantage, I'm inviting you in!" Deborah stated plainly, regretting immediately how needy her own voice sounded, how she could almost feel her eyes prickling; she gripped the counter and squared her shoulders, lips pouting defiantly, "I want you here."

Martin fell silent, and he was tracing his eyes over her face in the way that he did when he was soaking in her image, taking her in and absorbing whatever emotion she was throwing at him, like a parched man sadly analysing a mirage.

It was too much for Deborah to deal with, so she let her eyes fall and glared petulantly at the corner of a cabinet, trying to ignore the miserable clawing at her chest; it might have helped if Martin had said something to snipe back at, but he didn't. That was something else that hadn't transferred across; when they were being friendly, there was always a retort, even if it was ridiculous, but when it came to them as a couple, he always held back, as if scared he might ruin it.

After a short while, it was Martin that broke the silence.

"This isn't really the romantic evening that I had planned." Martin remarked, sounding almost apologetic; when Deborah slowly lifted her head to look at him, he smiled sheepishly, biting anxiously at his bottom lip.

"Well," Deborah replied weakly, taking her hands from the counter to rub over her eyes; this was better, this she could do; she didn't really want to fight with him, not even a little bit, "the flowers are my favourite."

"See, I do listen!" Martin exclaimed, and Deborah only had time to giggle a truncated sort of scoff before he lowered the hand that had shot out, and glanced sadly at the floor, as if judging the space between them while rubbing nervously at his chin, "Deborah…I know there's no chance of us sleeping together tonight, and that I might as well go home…but could we maybe just…sleep together, like, just next to each other if you're really sick of me?"

Deborah opened her mouth to speak, but no words came as she peered, bewildered at him; Martin cleared his throat, and shuffled his feet awkwardly.

"It's just, even though we're technically fighting…" Martin trailed off, and blinked hard, as if too overcome with emotion to see straight, dragging his hand over the back of his neck, "I don't really want to be away from you."

"Oh, Martin…" Deborah sighed, placing her hand over her chest, which was in the process of suffocating under the weight of the moths roaring and alight, infecting every fibre of her being; god, she loved the stupid idiot, "Why would you buy me things when you could be here saying things like that?"

Martin gaped, but Deborah didn't give him time to speak before she crossed the space between them and wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly and burying her face in his chest; she felt like she could gush with emotion as his arms fastened strong and secure around her shoulders, tucking her head in, and she felt him press his lips against the top of her head, barely giving himself room to breathe.

There was no denying that they still had their problems, but in that moment, Deborah was willing to forget every single one of them.

Very short note today, cos I'm away from home

please do enjoy, and let me know what you think if you want

thanks for reading