Here's the next chapter, thanks for reading

Interlude 14

The lilting sound of voices, one low and stilted, the other high pitched and flowing unimpeded, filled the rooms of Deborah's flat, and she couldn't quite keep the little smile from lifting her lips as she tidied away the debris from Verity's attempt at cooking her own breakfast.

Martin had arrived early in the morning with a neatly wrapped gift, having remembered that it was Verity's birthday, and as Deborah greeted him with a grateful kiss and a brief hug, that Martin didn't quite pull away from, leaving one arm wrapped around her waist, the little girl had eagerly torn into the package to release the books from their papery prison.

He had blushed as Verity had leapt up and thrown her arms around his waist, hopping and demanding that she be lifted to wrap herself around his neck, exclaiming while Martin hoisted her (with a little effort and a slight huff of exertion) into his arms that she 'love, love, loved' the second hand copies of Sherlock Holmes.

Deborah had rolled her eyes but watched without commenting, arms folded comfortably over her chest as Verity leaned in close and whispered something into Martin's ear, which he met with a truncated laugh, rubbing over his lips with the curled fingers of his hand.

As Verity scuttled into the kitchen, Deborah had slipped up beside Martin, running her hand across his lower back, one eyebrow as she asked what her daughter had said to him; Martin smirked, and shrugged nonchalantly.

"Oh, she just said that I'm her favourite of all Mummy's boyfriends." Martin told her, his flippant tone doing nothing to hide the proud glint in his eye or the light spattering of red interspersed between his freckles as he leaned reflexively into Deborah's embrace.

"Hmmm…she may have a point." Deborah murmured; she rocked forwards on her heels to place a peck at the ridge of his cheek, and then left him smiling coyly as she followed Verity into the kitchen, hurrying at the last moment to take the electric whisk away from the girl's determined hands.

Now Verity and Martin were sitting either side of the coffee table, her propped up on the sofa's cushions, him with his legs bent awkwardly to accommodate for the lack of room on the floor, chatting idly while Verity doodled in a pad of paper that she had taken to carrying around with her.

"Well I'm glad you had a good time." Martin answered whatever Verity had just said to him; as Deborah watched them over her shoulder, she was overcome somewhat by a fizzle of affection at how patient he was with her, content to sit and fiddle with her coloured pens while she gave him only a portion of her own attention, "Not many eight year olds get to skip school on a Wednesday to celebrate their birthdays."

"Yes, because I told Daddy that I had to have my party early in the week instead of today, on Sunday, when my birthday actually is, so that I could spend the weekend with Mummy instead." Verity explained matter-of-factly; she lifted her gaze and her pen to point demonstratively at Martin, "I said, 'Daddy, I've spent eight birthdays with you and Lizzie, I should spend my ninth one with Mummy, as it's a big one', and he complained a bit, but I was right, so he let me come on Friday night."

"Nine is a big one." Martin agreed, humouring her, a small smile flickering over his face as he tried not to chuckle or snort; Verity flung a completed picture in front of him, and he continued speaking as he inspected the orange monstrosity that Deborah, wandering a little closer, assumed was supposed to be Martin, "You already look much more grown up than the last time I saw you."

"That's because I'm more mature now." Verity remarked, nodding in approval at Martin's judgement, before ducking her head down once again and returning to her pictures; Deborah crossed the last few feet between them, and came to lower herself down onto the floor beside Martin, tucking her knees underneath her and taking the picture from his hands.

"But not too mature for what we've planned today?" Deborah inquired, faking a gasp of surprise; on closer inspection, the orange figure did appear to be Martin, as a carrot tinged titan sitting astride a plane that must have been held together by sorcery; she couldn't be sure, but Deborah suspected that the purple fairy attached to the giant's hand by a seemingly never ending arm might have been her.

"No!" Verity gasped, her eyes blowing wide as her palms met the table top with an imperceptible slapping sound, and she rose onto her knees to lean in childlike seriousness, "I still want to do that."

Deborah nodded dutifully, placing the drawing down and pressing her lips into a pointed pout that she hoped would be viewed as vehement agreement rather than the forced back laughter that it actually was; that seemed enough for Verity at any rate, as she eyed the adults for only a moment more before turning once more to her pictures.

"So, um…where you going?" Martin asked, turning his head between the two of them; Deborah wasn't fooled by the faux inquisitive crinkle of his nose, she could tell from the slight downward turn of his lips and the peaks of his eyebrows that he was missing them already. She couldn't blame him; the thought that she might spend such an important day without him hadn't even crossed her mind until late into the previous night after she had put Verity to bed.

"Well, as her father is coming to pick her up this evening so that she doesn't miss any more school days, I'm packing as much as I can into Verity's birthday, aren't I darling." Deborah made sure to turn to Verity as she spoke, and the girl nodded, but didn't look up; when she looked back, Martin's attention was as focused on her as his eyes were, taking pains to meet hers, "We're going to the cinema to see that film everyone's been raving about, and then we're doing lunch at Pizza Hut, because someone doesn't want real home cooked food."

"I want pizza." Verity muttered, but other than that, she might not have responded at all, as she made no movements to the contrary.

"That sounds fun." Martin remarked airily, nodding and dragging his bottom lip through his teeth; Deborah noticed how the fingers of one hand, the one that wasn't propping him up on the floor, were tapping lightly against the table top.

"You can come if you want." Deborah offered, raising a hand to brush affectionately over his elbow before dropping it back to the floor; Martin looked as if he were about to protest, so she cut him off before he could even try, "I'd like it if you came, it would be nice."

She thought that that would have been enough to convince him, a genuine show of emotion as she didn't bat her eyelashes or pout, but simply held his gaze and made it clear that she wanted his company; but Martin was already shaking his head imperceptibly, the curve of his lips twisting as his eyebrows dipped.

"No, I couldn't." he insisted softly, struggling to take his eyes from hers, trying to appear more interested in the pile of pictures that had accumulated, picking up another and sparing it only a sideways glance, "It's a family day, I couldn't intrude."

"But you are family." Verity interrupted before Deborah could roll her eyes and say something sarcastic to mask the pang of resignation in her guts; the little girl pursed her lips, and lifted both hands, still wielding her pens, to gesticulate in small, measured motions, "Because now you and Mummy love each other, you're not two people anymore, you're one thing, like that's how it works on the TV, and that's a family, because now you're a part of Mummy's family, and she's a part of yours, because you're in love now."

"Verity dear…" Deborah sighed, reaching across to gently lower one of her daughter's arms with the tips of her fingers, feeling a slither of trepidation despite the re-ignition of the fluttering in her chest, like little warm moths trembling to start a race; Verity however, carried on.

"See, look, like in this picture I drew." Verity rifled through the pile of paper, and found one that had particularly detailed colours and subjects, with barely a blank space save for where the sky must have been.

"Is that supposed to be us?" Martin asked, peering down his nose as the drawing wobbled a bit in the air; he reached out to still it, holding the bottom, and his expression grew more bewildered as Verity nodded proudly, "What are we wearing?"

"Wedding clothes." Verity answered simply; Deborah opened her mouth, then shut it again quickly, swallowing hard instead on the lump that appeared in her throat, "Because you're getting married – and here at the back is the castle you're going to live in, so that I can have eight bedrooms, and swim in the moat with the crocodiles."

"Wow…" Martin replied, inhaling shakily, though Deborah supposed that she only noticed because she was watching and listening to his every move, still and holding her breath, "That's a lovely picture."

"Yes, so you can come with us because you're family." Verity concluded, and with that she flung the picture across the table so that it lay with the other one depicting the Captain himself.

"That's nice of you dear." Deborah said redundantly, letting her eyes drop to scan over the table as her shoulders drooped; it felt a bit like she was on hold, anticipating an adverse reaction or an awkward excuse to leave.

For all of Martin's talk of 'friendship, passion, commitment', and as often as he told her that he loved her, the moment that Deborah actually brought up moving forwards, moving in together, any inkling of the future, he retracted and pulled away and made sure that the conversation was changed immediately, without actually making any comment on the subject at hand.

She had no doubt that Martin did love her, they were too happy for that, but still.

Which was why it was a surprise when Deborah felt a light pressure against the fingers of the hand that lay on the floor, and then the sensation of the back of Martin's fingers curling around hers, cautiously, but certainly; still holding her breath, she glanced down at where their hands intertwined, and then up at Martin's face. He didn't look at her, still inspecting the various doodles that Verity shoved under his nose, but his cheeks were red and his jaw was set determinedly. Like being plunged into the ocean, Deborah was once again overwhelmed by a rush of complete love for him.

"Well, um…I suppose that if you really don't mind, then I'd love to come with you." Martin remarked, through a flawed facsimile of calm even though his throat bobbed and a faint flush tinged his cheeks; he shot Deborah a sideways glance.

"I don't mind." Deborah replied swiftly, her voice pitched lighter than usual as she curled he fingers more tightly around Martin's; he jerked his head around, his eyes darting from their hands to her face, so she inhaled deeply and steeled herself, "Please come with us."

Martin ducked his head as a smile crept onto his lips, and chuckled under his breath as Verity echoed her mother's request; it was obvious that he was pleased, but sticking firmly to his principles and trying desperately not to show it. It occurred to Deborah that perhaps Martin was thinking about the future, about being included, but that it was simply his damned pride forcing him away from the topic.

"Yeah…uh, yes, thank you." Martin murmured, digging his teeth into his bottom lip, "Of course I'll come with you."

oOoOoOo

By the end of the day, Deborah was in a rather good mood, seconded only by Verity's indestructibly sunny demeanour; the film had apparently been the 'best in the world except for Mulan', and she had taken on the role of authority figure in the restaurant, making executive decisions as to what each of them was going to eat and drink.

Verity had made sure that whenever they walked from place to place, she was holding onto both of their hands, swinging and skipping on the swing of their arms, making sure that the two of them remained close together, asking question after question about Martin's family. He answered every time, and Deborah learnt more in an afternoon than she had in the nearly five years that they had known each other.

As Deborah had watched the two of them chatter (the conversation dominated by the little girl as Martin nodded where necessary and filled in the gaps), it had been difficult to stop musings from dancing across her mind about how good Martin would look with his own child, a little smaller, and a bit more gingery and far more pernickety.

And then she had caught herself, and forced the thought from her head; now that really was getting ahead of herself. Of course, Deborah knew that Martin wanted children; the subject had come up a few times in the last few years, and there was no doubt that he wanted the perfect family life eventually.

But with her…the fact that they were in love, and in a steady relationship did not necessarily mean that Martin would want to build his life around her; it didn't take more than a sigh and a flurry of heat in her chest to realise that Deborah would give him whatever he wanted so long as Martin kept making her as happy as he did. Not now though, it was far too soon to even consider anything more when they barely talked about what they had.

Eventually early evening rolled in, and Chris arrived before Deborah had even made sure that Verity was ready to go home; the knock at the door came just as they were zipping up her suitcase, and Martin had been the one to open the door. She could hear their low pitched conversation through the walls, and hastily followed in Verity's excitable wake.

Thankfully, the men seemed to be getting along about as well as anyone ever got on with Martin, even though Chris, as dark haired and stubbly as ever, seemed bewildered by the jumpy hyperawareness that Martin always seemed to carry on his back; Deborah had greeted him with as much enthusiasm was possible given that he was taking her daughter back to the other side of the country, smiling and occupying herself with making sure that Verity was wrapped up in her coat, moving as slowly as she could.

Deborah listened to the conversation as she knelt in front of her daughter, buttoning up the toggles while Verity fussed over her hair.

"So, you've worked together for a long time." Chris was asking Martin, as he leaned back against the door frame, his posture screaming of a need to hurry up and go home, not that Martin noticed, "Do you reckon you'll be sticking around?"

"You mean sticking around with Deborah?" Martin repeated, his eyebrows rising to meet his hairline in a show of surprise that was appropriate when one felt anxious in a conversation; Deborah pointedly ignored what was being said beside her and instead booped her finger on Verity's nose, making the girl giggle as she then helped to pin back her hair, "Well, yes, I um, I hope so…that's the plan."

"Well then, I guess next time my daughter comes to stay we should go for a drink." Chris suggested, a resigned smile curling his lips for only a second at the shock on Martin's face; he continued, hands in pockets, "That way I can get a good idea of what you're like."

"Oh, I see." Martin exclaimed, nodding hastily, his bottom lip dragging through his teeth, and rocking on his heels; Chris seemed to realise what Martin was thinking as seemed to gain a slither of energy, and raised his hands into the air.

"Nothing like that, don't worry – Verity's talked a lot, and you seem like a nice bloke." Chris assured him; while Martin sighed in relief, Deborah rose to her feet, letting Verity move to her father's side, "It's just that if we're going to be seeing more of each other in the future, we might as well start building some bridges."

"That sounds nice." Deborah remarked, coming to stand beside Martin, slipped her hands through to rest on the crook of his elbow, leaning into his side for comfort; now that everything was packed, and they were standing in the doorway, prolonging the goodbyes was starting to become painful, "But you can discuss that later…if you don't get a move on you'll miss Verity's bedtime."

"Of course." Chris agreed, becoming reluctantly business-like, the relief making him sag slightly as he immediately began to herd their daughter towards the door, flicking it open and attempting a stiff smile.

The farewells were short, and uncomfortable, and the only bright spark was Verity's gratuitous demonstrations of affection, taking care to hug both Deborah and Martin twice before she skipped from the flat and towards the car, her father close behind, keeping an eye on the street.

Once they were gone, and the door firmly shut, Deborah didn't say a word, but stood, with her arms wrapped around her chest, looking sadly at the space that had been left behind; she was peripherally aware of Martin shifting at her side, but couldn't bring herself to acknowledge him.

"Today was good." Martin remarked; from the corner of her eyes Deborah saw him shuffling his feet, but when she didn't turn to look at him, she heard Martin sigh, and felt the warmth at her side as he moved closer, and an arm slipped over her shoulder, "Oh, come here."

Deborah moved immediately into his embrace, and let him wrap her arms around her, tucking her against his chest; grouchily, she unfolded her arms and brought them around him, frowning as she pressed her forehead against his shoulder. She wasn't in the mood for talking, and to his credit, Martin seemed to sense that as he began to stroke small circles on the small of her back. That didn't stop him talking to her though.

"I know that you're sad now, but you did really well today." Martin told her, murmuring in her ear; he was juddering slightly as he always did when there was a bounce in his tone, and he was trying to make her see the bright side of things, "And – and, I realised when we were out, that we've been together for exactly six months today, so it's nice that we spent the day all together."

"Not particularly romantic though." Deborah muttered, her voice muffled as she slumped into him, sighing and closing her eyes; the idea did add a lift to the downward tilt of her mood, but warranted little more than a little reciprocated affection, "I know Verity had fun, but it wasn't the sort of day that we would enjoy ordinarily."

"It's not that late." Martin retorted, allowing Deborah to pull away and holding her at arm's length, his face scrunched as if he were scheming, his eyes narrowed as he stared into the middle distance, "I'm sure we could knock up something…some kind of picnic? Or maybe just dessert?"

"A picnic?" Deborah repeated wryly, quirking an eyebrow at him; then just as his face was falling and the tangible thrill in his limbs drooped, she was struck by an idea that had been rolling around her mind for years, caught as if it were bursting into life from the recesses of her psyche, making her slide her hands to grip at his upper arms, and address him determinedly, "That's a wonderful idea Martin; brew some thermoses full of coffee, and fetch your coat, I've got an idea."

"What?" Martin's eyebrows knitted in the centre as Deborah stepped backwards from his grasp and turned on her heel, treading swiftly towards her bedroom; he took a few steps to follow her, but Deborah raised her hands into the air, stopping him in his tracks, "Where are we going?"

"Just wait and see!" Deborah called over her shoulder, battling to stop her smirk from turning into a grin; he was still suspicious to a tee, but the pleasant surprise on his face whenever she proved him wrong was worth every second, "You're going to love it."

oOoOoOo

At first Martin had protested at the idea of wandering onto the airfield outside of work hours, but his protests were weak, and even as they left his mouth, he walked by Deborah's side, making no effort to stop or deviate from the path that she had set. There was something about having his hands full of thermoses and a blanket that apparently sapped him of his ability to argue with any vehemence, as if the key to his power was wild gesticulation.

He had been even more scandalised when Deborah had asked him to help her clamber onto the top of the porta-cabin, but she simply kissed him briefly and Martin had sighed, rolled his eyes, and placed his cargo onto the ground so that he could help lift her into the air; dragging him up after her was a little more difficult, but they managed it.

Sitting back on the blanket that they lay down on the flat roof of the porta-cabin, Deborah was completely content with Martin's solid weight pressed against her side as they watched the little Giles G-202 jet turn rickety circles in the air, soaring up and down and round and round erratically.

Any other night Deborah might not have even bothered coming, as there weren't many regular pilots in Fitton, but miraculously, there was at least one insane pensioner with far much more money than sense, and a fifty year old pilot's licence; apparently he had always wanted to be an aerobatic pilot, so was using his retirement to practice, taking advantage of late weekend evenings.

Sometimes when their work kept them late of a Sunday night, Martin and Deborah would watch him from the window and laugh, but from this angle, it was much better; the first thing that Martin had said was that the airfield was beautiful from up there (Deborah thought that that was a tad too far, but didn't mention it).

"Okay, Martin, I'll make you a bet." Deborah remarked, tilting her head back to drag her eyes over his face as he grinned down at her the moment her voice met his ears; she nodded towards the wobbling aircraft, which was emitting an odd sort of buzzing, "We know he's going to crash, he always does, but I bet that this time, it'll be the landing that he messes up."

"Oh, really?" Martin replied, mimicking severity, lips pouting as he glanced away from her face to clock where the plane was now, "Because I thought that he always pulled the landings off quite well – it's the fancy descents that get him."

"Alright then," Deborah drawled, almost feeling herself grow with the warmth that rippled through her veins in response to the pleasure Martin's consent to her games instilled; she curled a little closer, letting her furthest hand fiddle with the edge of his jacket, "I bet you a home cooked dinner that our ambitious pilot will fail when he tries to execute a showy landing, and spins off the runway. He seems to be in that sort of mood."

"So if you win I cook a meal, but if I win you cook one?" Martin verified, scrunching his nose, the corner of his lips pinching; Deborah nodded and hummed her assent, which made Martin's eyes light up wickedly, "Okay – I bet that the landing's fine, but that on the way down he ruins the descent by trying to perform a backwards loop."

They watched for another half an hour, and when the pilot finally came down, he both ruined his descent, by trying to twirl but getting caught in the tailspin, and the landing, which ended in a sort of skid that left the plane facing the wrong way on the grass. Otherwise, he was absolutely fine, and vacated the aircraft with a pleased grin on his face, chattering excitedly as the grounds crew ran across the airfield to meet him.

As Deborah waited for her raucous laughter to die down, she rested her head on Martin's shoulder, forehead on his neck, carried by the bobbing of his throat and the low rumbling heave of his chest as he struggled to tame his chuckles, gripping her waist tightly as if it might help calm him.

Martin sighed, a long drawn out sigh that rolled into a contented hum, and he lay back, pulling Deborah down with him and resting his cheek against the top of her head.

"I'm so glad we're friends." Martin murmured, his eyes falling closed as he inhaled deeply; it might have been the weight of the day and exhaustion talking, but Deborah felt lighter than she had in the entirety of their relationship, as if that one proclamation held more meaning than all of the declarations of love.

"Well, you'll have to thank Carolyn for that." Deborah muttered in response; Martin's hand came up to push her hair from her face as his eyes opened and he shifted his head back to peer at her through bewildered eyes, but Deborah caught it in hers, bringing it down to rest over his chest, "She's the one that hired you and cheated you out of a proper wage."

"We'll have to buy her flowers." Martin joked, letting out a truncated snort; the rush of warm air brushed past the back of Deborah's neck, making her snuggle into his embrace even more.

It was irrational, she knew, but with everything else, the absence of her daughter after spending the weekend together, the dismissal of their suspected stagnation, and the moths that Martin sent flurrying within her chest, Deborah couldn't resist the pang in her throat that made her want to burrow into his hold and cling there, never moving. Even from within her madness, Deborah knew that she should have been ashamed by how far her suave, strong demeanour had deteriorated into near reliance…but from where she was, there seemed to be no reason to try and take it back.

"God, I love you." Deborah inhaled sharply and exclaimed in a gasped release, and closed her eyes against his shoulder, squeezing tightly and cherishing the familiar scent of his cologne, worn mostly away by the hours of the day; she said it again, just above a whisper "I love you so much."

When Martin replied, he sounded confused, concerned, but completely honest, as if he were comforting someone who had misspoken, as if he didn't really need to say anything at all; his arm pulled more firmly against her, but even though Martin meant what he said, Deborah wasn't sure that he understood the gravity of what he was replying to.

"I know Deborah, I know…I love you too."

Not long now, I promise, just another chapter or two and then series 4 will be here. I just have so many ideas that fit in the middle, that I can't stand to leave them out.

Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter, and that you're all having decent summers : )