Hello all, and welcome to the latest chapter - please do enjoy the tale, and be sure to alert your cabin crew if you experience any turbulence
Timbuktu
One flight back to Fitton, and Deborah was already on the verge of just giving up and letting Martin do whatever he wanted while she watched the landing; they were in a good mood for once, and although she was bored, she watched her partner across the flight-deck with a gentle sense of fondness and affection for his quirking, jolly movements, and the proud little smirk that curled his lips into his cheeks, making his blue eyes glint in pleasure.
The last few days had flown past with a cheery bounce beneath them, like seeds being wafted through the air; Deborah could only chalk this up to the freedom that the absence of Birling Day (and therefore any difficult scheming) produced, and the fact that she and Martin had discovered that they could be so much happier when they found a way to compromise at work.
So Martin allowed her games, so long as Deborah partook in his; normally she would have been against his particular brand of fun (especially as he designed all of his games so that she could never win), but apparently her resolve had been so worn down in their time together that she was actually enjoying watching listening to him reel off various facts and figures, and watching him get more and more pleased with himself.
It was dreadful, but Deborah was just too resignedly content to argue with him.
"Do take your time, Deborah. Still everything to play for." Martin announced gleefully, grinning toothily across at her; despite the fact that they were supposed to be landing the plane, he was so engrossed that he still had the manual open on his lap, "I'm only twenty-six points ahead of your three points!" he giggled again, and Deborah could only curl her hands around the controls and fail to hold back a faint, affectionate smile, "But-but I have every confidence you're about to come roaring back!"
"Yes, all right." Deborah sighed, settling back against her seat, prepared to throw herself into heavy manoeuvring if she was in dire need of distraction; even so, she couldn't help but feel that he eyelashes were a bit too heavy as she looked across at Martin, all elbows and flushed cheeks, and that her gaze lingered too long for him to think that she was anything but reluctantly drawn into his game.
"But I am gonna have to press you for an answer, I'm afraid." Martin continued, his tone seeped with superior pride as he teased her; at the sight of Deborah's faux petulant pout he winked, and then beamed even brighter, gripping the manual's covers against his palms.
"I don't know." Deborah replied, making an effort to sound sulky, and to shake her head dismissively, letting her hand arc through the air nonchalantly, "At twenty thousand feet, I suppose about two hundred knots?"
"Ooh, what a pity!" Martin drawled, his voice high pitched and reedy as he feigned sympathy, but Deborah knew that he was basking in his glory, much to her despair, "It's a lovely guess, but I'm afraid the answer on the card was two hundred and four knots! I win again! So that's Martin on twenty-nine; Deborah … oh! Still on three …" Deborah had to bite her tongue as he chuckled gleefully, even though it prompted in her an unconscious smile and sent little flourishes through her chest, "… as we head into round two."
"That was one round?!" Deborah exclaimed, sitting forwards and releasing the controls momentarily as she turned to gape at him; the little shit was enjoying dragging her along more than he was enjoying the game, she was sure of it.
"Oh, don't worry, don't worry. Round two's much more fun." Martin reassured her, badly; the only reason Deborah didn't knock his hat from his head in a demonstration of disgruntlement was because there was something wonderful about seeing him so damn happy and confident in their relationship, thrilled that she was letting him have his own way, "We say a fond farewell to the flight manual …"
"Thank God." Deborah groaned in relief, slumping and taking her eyes off of Martin as he reached around to push the manual back into place; finally, some peace.
"… and we welcome instead our very good friend the operations manual!" Martin declared, now wielding another hefty book, smirking at the look of despair that must have spread across Deborah's face.
"No! No, I'm sorry Darling, I'm done." Deborah protested, sighing and raising her hands in surrender; no matter how much she loved him, there was a line beyond which she just couldn't withstand it, and they had passed it hours ago. Lasting so long had simply been a kindness, brought on by her soppy demeanour.
"No-no, fair's fair, Deborah." Martin insisted, clutching the still closed manual against his chest; there was going to be no arguing with him, not now that he was so charged with fun, "You promised if I joined in with Flight Deck Buckaroo, I could pick the next game."
"But I hate this game!" Deborah moaned, throwing her head back dramatically, resting her cheek against the back of her seat as he pouting pitifully across the gap between them; maybe, maybe she could win him over, suggest the possibility of something more fun later…
"Yes, and I hate Flight Deck Buckaroo." Martin replied firmly, his expression set in a picture of determination; damn, he had his heart set on doing things his way.
"How can you hate Flight Deck Buckaroo?" Deborah muttered petulantly, forcing herself not to smile as Martin pursed his lips and frowned mockingly at her, his eyes going wide and dewy in a mimicry of herself, "It's a terrific game! And it's educational."
"There is nothing educational about seeing who can disable the most instruments without setting off the recorded warning." Martin stated dryly; he lowered the manual onto his lap, and his eyebrow rose as if he were judging her for her sense of humour. He probably was.
"Yes there is!" Deborah retorted stubbornly; she had to take a second to flick the controls, make sure that the plane wasn't going to simply plummet, as her 'oh so studious and responsible' Captain was ignoring the actual flying for the sake of promoting his own game, "You find out all the things you don't really need! Like altimeters."
"No, this is educational." Martin shot back, holding his chin high; Deborah sighed again as he lifted the manual into the air, and let it fall open between his hands, adopting a dramatic and enthusiastic tone unbefitting the moment, "So, welcome to round two of Beat the Manuals!"
Like a divine sign that it was time to stop, the door to the flight-deck swung open, and Arthur emerged in the space left behind, hands pressed together at his front, looking inquisitively between them.
"Hello, chaps." Arthur called out, wandering past the jump-seat to stand between their seats, glancing curiously at the manual that Martin had now lowered back onto his lap, still open to a page near the centre, "Any teas or coffees?"
"Oh, thank God!" Deborah groaned, like a parched woman shown water for the time; she turned enough in her seat that she could fling an arm over the back of it and grasp desperately at Arthur's wrist, glaring wide-eyed and imploringly at him to save her from Martin's stickling prison, "I've been waiting hours for you to come and save me."
"Oh. Sorry, Deborah, you should have rung." Arthur grimaced apologetically, patting her hand in what he must have thought was a comforting manner, and Martin rolled his eyes and tutted, shaking his head at them.
"Actually, we're fine, Arthur." Martin sighed resignedly, making sure to crinkle his nose at Deborah as he pointedly put the book back where it had come from, pushing his hat further onto his head when he re-emerged, "We-we'll be landing in twenty minutes."
"Oh, right-o." Arthur replied, nodding and plastering on a smile, although Deborah thought that it was a little thin-lipped; he had probably been waiting for a chance to do something, after all, he had spent most of the flight in the back of the plane with no passengers, while she and Martin flirted in the front, "Oh, and a message from Mum. Er, she says how long until we land?"
"… Right." Deborah muttered, turning back in her seat; Martin caught her eye, but didn't have time to say what he wanted, as the flight-deck floor swung open again, and this time Carolyn burst through, her whole face pursed impatiently.
"Drivers, how long 'til we land?" she demanded, moving into the space the Arthur freed up by shifting to stand directly behind Deborah's seat, his hands resting on the back as he leaned into it.
"I'm asking them, Mum!" Arthur retorted indignantly; Deborah shot Martin a look and a quirked eyebrow that basically boiled down to 'you're the Captain, you sort them out'.
"Not quickly enough." Carolyn grumbled; she peered past her pilots at the view through the window, where they were beginning to see the horizon, and the ground looming slowly closer.
"We've just started the descent, Carolyn, so about twenty minutes?" Martin interrupted before Carolyn could continue grouching; he dragged his bottom lip between his teeth and wrapped his hands around the controls, as if that might protect him from her wrath.
"Excellent." Carolyn chirped, smiling in that pleased way that she did, that made Martin exhale ain relief; she turned away from him, "Now, Deborah, I am having lunch with Herc. Can you give Arthur a lift home?"
Typical, Deborah thought wryly; she was glad that Carolyn was happy, she supposed, but that didn't warrant using her as her personal chauffeur. Recently, Carolyn had been treating Deborah the same way that she treated Arthur; go here, do that, run around after my personal life. The sign of trust was flattering, but the novelty had worn off after about an hour.
"Sorry. Happy though I always am to pick up the pieces around your hectic love life, I'm afraid as soon as we land I'm driving to Twickenham." Deborah explained, holding Carolyn's gaze as she glared down at her, "I've got tickets for the rugby World Cup final."
A few weeks previous, she had received a letter in the post from her brother, Archie, containing two tickets to the rugby, and a brief note saying that he had thought that she might appreciate them, and that they should catch up soon, as it had been too long. Martin hadn't yet agreed to go with her, as he hated sports, but there were still a few hours to convince him.
"Cup final?" Arthur repeated; Deborah realised with a sympathetic pang that Arthur had probably spent months waiting for today to arrive, and it was only his natural cluelessness that meant he had forgotten the date, "But … doesn't that mean it's Birling Day?"
"Oh, Carolyn." Martin drawled, pursing his lips and tutting at her, shaking his head, "Haven't you told him?"
"Told me what?" Arthur asked; he was now looking between the three of them, eyes wide in expectation, gripping the back of Deborah's chair as if the world were about to collapse around him.
"Arthur, there isn't going to be a Birling Day this year." Martin told him apologetically.
oOoOoOo
How wrong Martin had been; not only was it Birling Day after all, but he was already nice and soaking in alcohol, without having touched a drop of Talisker. It was a shame to have to miss the rugby live, but Deborah supposed that with a hefty tip, and the chance to have some fun fighting over the whiskey, the day may resurrect itself.
True, there was no whiskey to steal, but Deborah still had bottles of the stuff in her locker, and if she played the game right, she could earn herself a little profit on the side; if she was really good, she could get Martin on side, and then that would be even better.
And then Martin had strode into the porta-cabin and shattered her dreams, so distracted that he apparently forgot that the door jammed, and slumped onto the sofa, stacking his arms atop one another as he revealed that Timbuktu was out of bounds for the foreseeable future.
While he and Carolyn bickered over what to do, Deborah rose from behind her desk and came to sit beside him, folding her legs beneath her and placing a soothing hand on the crook of his elbow. It seemed that there would be no schemes this year; damn.
"Wait! Hang on!" Martin interrupted, raising his hands into the air, palms out; even though he had been the bringer of bad news, his jaw was set, and the bridge of his nose crinkled in intense concentration, "We can't just give up!"
"Well, you're the one who said it was insolvable." Carolyn exclaimed; she was leaning against the outer side of their conjoined desks, hands in her pockets, posture screaming despair at the potential loss of good money.
"By me, not by you two." Martin argued, extending a hand between the two of them, drawing his bottom lip through his teeth; Deborah rolled her eyes at his unshakable faith in the fact that if he couldn't do something, then everyone could, "There must be something we can do…oh, I could really use that two thousand quid."
"I know, I know, but what can we do?" Deborah murmured drearily; she stroked her thumb over the inside of his arm, squeezing comfortingly in an attempt to cheer him up. Seeing him so pleased at the prospect of such a large influx of money had been lovely, but having that taken from him, it was going to take a lot to resurrect his good mood.
There was a moment of silence, in which Deborah rested her head against Martin's shoulder, Carolyn pressed her hands together and peered over the tips of her fingers in thought, and Martin huffed, rubbing a curled hand over his chin. Deborah vaguely remembered an echo of the word Timbuktu, though she couldn't quite recall who had been telling her about it, nor why it was of importance.
"Well, I don't … I don't suppose …" at the sound of Martin's voice, tentative and devious, as if he were doubting his own idea, Deborah sat back, just far enough that she could keep her hands on his arm, waiting with raised eyebrows for him to finish, "I don't suppose there's anywhere that's a bit like Timbuktu?"
"What, d'you mean also famous for being far away?" Carolyn asked, blinking across at him in confusion, clearly not understanding what Deborah was understanding in that moment.
"No-no-no, I didn't mean that." Martin replied hastily, he sat a little straighter, and swallowed sheepishly, his face pinching like a schoolboy's trying to excuse a petty misdemeanour; Deborah inhaled slowly, gaping in pleasurable surprise as comprehension dawned, and her fingers gripped more tightly around his arm, "I mean, like, it … as in … looks like it, a bit, if you didn't really know much about Timbuktu."
"Martin?!" Carolyn remarked in surprise, staring at him as if he had grown an extra head; or perhaps, borrowed someone else's for a moment.
"Martin!" Deborah drawled salaciously, holding herself at arm's length, running her eyes over his face, then down, and back up again, back straight as she inhaled sharply, her breathing becoming slightly more laboured; if the scarlet flush of his cheeks, and the way his eyes widened only to narrow as if caught on hers, were any indicator, then Deborah did sound just as lustful as she thought she had.
There is was, the wicked little streak, the one that had first caught her attention; god, she hadn't even allowed herself to think it before, but now, oh, she could just throw him down and do terrible things to him…or vice versa.
"No, I know, I know, I didn't mean it." Martin groaned, shaking his head and backtracking immediately, misjudging her tone, although he kept glancing at her from the corner of his eyes, "I'm just … I'm just trying to, you know, come up with ideas."
"No, Martin!" Deborah gasped seductively, placing a second hand on Martin's arm and shuffling closer to him on the sofa, her tongue darting out to wet her lips; she wasn't going to let him go back on his word now, "That's inspired!"
"Is it?" Martin inquired, evidently disconcerted as his eyebrows leapt up to his hairline, and he peered down at her; he gulped when he stare didn't waver.
"You're a genius!" Deborah drawled, leaning in a little closer, lessening the gap between them until she could slip one hand over his knee, tracing circles with the tip of her finger, "An unexpectedly evil genius!" she lowered her voice so that only Martin could hear, "I don't think I've even been more attracted to you."
"You mean you know somewhere that we could …?" Carolyn interjected, breaking into the tension between them; the heat raging in Deborah's chest didn't fade even an inch, and she didn't take her eyes off of Martin's, barely even turning when she addressed the other woman.
"Oh, plenty of places!" Deborah replied dismissively, waving a hand flippantly towards the desks, a smirk lifting the corner of her lips, "There's a little airfield on the island of Sardinia, for instance – Guspini. It's perfect! It's on the edge of the second biggest desert in Europe, and the chap who runs it is an old friend of mine."
"Of course he is," Martin muttered, rolling his eyes; he still didn't seem to be able to take his eyes from hers, sitting stiffly an inch from the back of the sofa, but his fingers were still twitching, and Deborah knew that he was still worried about the idea that he had just put forward, in such a deliciously Martin-ish way.
"Couple of hundred Euros and I'm sure he'll be only too pleased to be Timbuktuan for an hour or two." Deborah remarked wryly, "Three hundred and the engineers can probably knock up a 'Welcome to Timbuktu' sign."
"No, but that's fraud!" Martin insisted desperately, turning when he sat to face her properly, his forehead wrinkling with the effort of carrying the weight of his Captainly panic; it was too late though, there was no backing out now that the ball was rolling.
"Isn't it, though?" Deborah drawled smugly; oh, it was wonderful getting to play with him like this, almost thrilling in fact, first the prospect of a scheme to end all schemes, added to the plan that was slowly bubbling at the back of her mind, melding with the rush of affection that surged through her veins, "That's why I'm so delighted you suggested it, Darling."
"I didn't mean …" Martin spluttered, withdrawing his arms from Deborah's grasp and instead gripping her hands, turning to glare imploringly at Carolyn, who shrugged and made an 'I don't know' face, "I-I wasn't seriously …"
"Oh, don't spoil it!" Deborah begged, ignoring Carolyn as she pushed away from the push and tread to stand beside the sofa, looking between them and pointedly not mentioning how close the two of them were.
"Deborah, look: it's a nice idea, but we cannot possibly …" Carolyn began to say wearily, shaking her head, but Deborah cut her off, finally turning away from Martin to sit forwards on the sofa, though she didn't retract her hands.
"Look, Birling's always roaring drunk by the time we land anyway, and all he wants is a room to watch the rugby in and a sign saying, 'Welcome to Timbuktu'," Deborah argued determinedly; they hadn't had any real, rule breaking, fun for ages, and she wasn't going to let it go now, "both of which Sardinia can provide – and neither of which, incidentally, Timbuktu can provide."
"But won't he be a bit suspicious that everyone speaks Italian?" Carolyn asked, still looking unconvinced; all of her fears were rational, but solvable too.
"Why would he be?" Deborah exclaimed smoothly, shrugging flippantly and plastering on a nonchalant smile; if there was one thing she could do, it was spin a convincing tale, "Mali was under Italian rule for decades."
"Oh. Was it?" Martin chirped; one look at his face, and the imperceptible slackening of his shoulders was enough to show that he was already being won round, much to Deborah's pleasure.
"Of course not. But if you didn't know that, why would he? It's a great idea, honestly!" Deborah chuckled, giving Carolyn one last wink before shifting until her knees bumped against Martin's, and lowered her voice into a seductive drawl, batting her eyelashes at him, "I don't know whether I'm more proud of you for thinking of it, or worried that I didn't."
Martin's cheeks once again filled with blood, and he cleared his throat, a deep sound that Deborah was sure she had heard more in the bedroom than in the flight-deck, where he was always too high-strung for such allured coyness. Deborah smirked as he looked away, pausing only to scrunch his face pointedly at her, and pull his hands away; if that wasn't an order to behave then nothing was.
"I-I suppose if we got him really drunk …" Carolyn suggested, rubbing her hands together in thought; once she was on side, there would be no going back.
And then that was that; Carolyn refused to buy the Talisker from Deborah, and whirled away to fine where Arthur had taken Mr Birling, calling over her shoulder for Martin to file a flight-plan and for Deborah to get GERTI ready. Which gave them plenty of time.
As Martin rose to his feet and strode over to their desks, leaning over to shuffle through his papers and find the correct document, Deborah followed, sneaking up behind him and prodding one side of his waist, dipping her hand beneath his open jacket and then stepping back as he spun around.
"What are you-" Martin asked, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion, but he barely had time to react before Deborah leapt at him, pressing her lips passionately, filthily against his, running her hands from his chest, over his shoulders, through his hair, back again, making him groan in shock as his hands flapped around her.
Deborah pulled back, slipped forwards into his arms as he wrapped them around her, pinning her to his chest even though he leaned back to peer, dazed and baffled, down at her, his mouth opening and closing.
"You're a magnificent schemer, I love it when you break the rules." She told him in a stage whisper, only peripherally aware that there were other people on the airfield; without further ado, she kissed him again, caught by a rush of dizziness when he responded just as eagerly, only to startle and tilt his head away.
"Um, that's great – really, it is, but um, we're supposed to be working!" Martin insisted, placing his hands over hers and deliberately lowering them into the air between them; he wasn't putting up much of a fight, "We're about to pull off a major crime, and I can't allow myself to get distracted."
"On the subject of crimes, dear, I wanted to invite you to join in mine." Deborah talked over him, shaking her head and pursing her lips, quirking an eyebrow and silently transmitting that he need not panic at all, as she curled her fingers over his and pressed closer, making him squirm pleasantly, "I want Carolyn to pay to get that whiskey from me, and the only way to do that is with my wonderful partner in crime."
"No Deborah, absolutely not-" Martin retorted, snorting derisively as if she were going mad; he still didn't push her away though, and it wasn't hard to tell that he was very interested in the goings on, despite his protests, as he shifted until he could rest his weight ever so slightly on the desk behind him.
"Martin, I'm inviting you to join in my scheme," Deborah murmured, leaning up to press a kiss to the ridge of his cheek, chuckling when he pouted petulantly, with no real heat behind it, "think of it as a couple's activity…some people go cycling, or water-skiing, we do this, it'll be fun, and beneficial to both of us." Martin made an effort to turn his head away and blink down at their joined hands, which he lifted and examined, a small smile battling its way onto his lips; time for the clincher, "I don't share my schemes with just anyone."
"Well, I – I, it's not professional, at all-" Martin stuttered, far too engrossed in simultaneously pulling Deborah closer, a heated and steady mass to cling to, and holding her away, inspecting her hand whilst his eyes flickered over her expectant features; then his face slackened, and he rolled his eyes, "I suppose, I could…but, um, o-only if you kiss me like that again, 'cos, that was-wow…"
Deborah felt her face stretch into a wide, devious grin, and her chest to the tips of her fingers roared with flaming moth-light touches as she lurched forwards and wound her arms tightly around his shoulders, feeling them shift and move under her arms as he wrapped his arms around her waist, tugging at her back and plunging his mouth against hers, kissing longer and harder and messier, barely stopping for air, releasing small hums, chuckles, groans, whatever it was that made it through the flurry of sound in Deborah's head.
At the sound of the door cracking open, Deborah stumbled backwards, allowing Martin the time to brush down his jacket and run a hand through his hair; there was little point, as his cheeks were flushed, his lips red, and his uniform out of place, as was hers, and though there was at least three feet of distance between them, Mr Birling was already in the room, blinking between them through a drink addled haze.
Running a hand through her hair, and another down the buttons of her shirt just in case, Deborah met Martin's wide eyed gaze, only to find that he was no help whatsoever, standing there gaping gormlessly, hands in pockets; so she shrugged helplessly, and folded her arms tightly over her chest, waiting to see what the man would do.
"Oh, Debbie…" Mr Birling slurred, rolling his head in despair as he wandered further into the porta-cabin; that didn't sound quite as shocked or affronted as she had expected, so she simply said nothing, "Please tell me you're not dating your chump First Officer, that would be a horrible thought, you were the only sane one here…"
"I'm the Captain!" Martin squawked indignantly, reaching onto his desk to take his hat (which Deborah hadn't noticed had fallen from his head) in his hands and step forcefully to Deborah's side, his jaw set; there was something poetically dour about the fact that that was what he had picked up on as he watched the old man slump into the middle of the sofa and frown when it dipped too far.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you Mr B, but Martin and I are together," Deborah explained, waving a hand to the side, fingers colliding with Martin's chest, motioning for him to go and get the paperwork sorted; he let out a small huff, but disappeared from her side, and she could hear him making a little too much noise as he shoved things across his desk, "and very happy, as a matter of fact."
"I don't suppose it's some weird sort of Stockholm syndrome?" Mr Birling inquired, peering up over the end of his nose; to his credit, he did seem almost concerned, in a drunken, bewildered and belligerent manner.
"I'm afraid not." Deborah replied regretfully, making sure to smile indulgently, as Mr Birling liked.
"Oh, fine." Mr Birling scoffed, as if it were a heavy burden to bear; he rolled his eyes and exhaled a long drawn out breath, dragging his eyes blearily between the two of them, frowning, "But I don't want to see any more…kissing…no more soppiness!"
Deborah agreed, nodding and grimacing appropriately, and went about preparing Mr Birling for the flight; she was able to keep a straight face right up until the moment where she heard Martin muttering that 'I'll kiss her all I want, I'm Captain- I'll do it for the whole flight, then we'll see who's laughing- not the First Officer'.
oOoOoOo
The flight had gone as well as could have been hoped given the circumstances. True, Martin may have had a minor anxious breakdown and refused to play her games, and they had to keep lying to Arthur lest he reveal what was going on…and perhaps refusing to sell Carolyn the Talisker straight away meant that Mr Birling wasn't as drunk as he could have been, but they were doing well…so far.
Despite her confidence in the scheme, Deborah couldn't help but feel a slither of doubt about the success of the whole thing. It had been nice that Martin had held her hand all the way from the plane, and throughout the entire failed correspondence with 'Mandela' as he was now dubbed, but that didn't change the plummeting security of her plan.
Carolyn had vanished the moment that they made it into the airport, so for the sake of his sanity, Deborah had dismissed Martin on a mission to find out what she was up to, and potentially trick her into purchasing the fake whiskey that they had hidden earlier in the day. He could do that, she had faith in him.
Now all Deborah had to do was convince Mr Birling to stay in front of the television until it was time to leave; the only problem was that Wales was losing dramatically, Giancarlo was cheering triumphantly, and it was only half an hour into the match.
"Oh, come on Mr B, it's still fun to watch." Arthur insisted, gesturing for the old man to sit back down in the chair beside him; Arthur, of course, was enjoying the match regardless of anything else that was going on, even if he didn't quite understand how the rules worked, "Look, someone just scored some more points and the crowds are cheering really loudly."
"No." Mr Birling grouched, shoving his arms into his coat despite the heat and roughly buttoning it up; to Deborah's dismay, his hands were getting steadier and steadier, "I'm going back to the plane, and if you're not there with me, I'll go home without you."
"Are you sure?" Deborah inquired, aiming for nonchalance, but fearing that perhaps she sounded too concerned as she rested her hands on her knees, arms ramrod straight as she leaned, ready to hop up from her own chair, "Wales might manage it yet."
"No they won't, and I can't bear to see the land of my fathers lose." Mr Birling retorted mournfully; when he was buttoned up securely, he shoved his hands petulantly into his pockets, and turned back to the two of them, pausing only to send a withering glare towards Giancarlo, "Now, Debbie, come and talk to me about the wonderful past, when Wales was victorious and there was none of this nonsense."
So Deborah walked Mr Birling and Arthur back to the plane, as slowly as it was humanly possible, inwardly praying that nothing else go wrong.
oOoOoOo
While Carolyn had calmed a raging Mr Birling, Arthur had hidden in the Galley, and Deborah and Martin had remained sheepish in the flight-deck, sat in their seats as if prepared to fly, exchanging snippets of conversation that vanished the moment that they appeared.
"How much trouble do you think we're in?" Martin asked in a hushed tone, as he fiddled with his epaulets.
"A fair bit, Martin, a fair bit" Deborah replied wryly, curling her hand around the nearest controls as she pursed her lips and traced her eyes over the fabric that lay around her knees.
"This is all my fault, isn't it, I messed this up?" Martin insisted, gnawing at his bottom lip.
"No Martin, in hindsight, it would have been far more reasonable to tell Mr B that Timbuktu was off limits, and then fly him here anyway so that he could trick his wife, consensually." Deborah drawled, letting the irritation with herself seep into her tone.
"When did you realise that?" Martin asked softly, curiously, turning to look at her across the flight-deck; he didn't sound annoyed at all.
"About half a minute after he started shouting." Deborah admitted, lifting her head to meet his gaze, scowling in resignation and pushing back the hair that the motion swept into her eyes.
When Carolyn returned, it was good news as far as the law was concerned, but Deborah could almost feel the effect that this trip was going to have on the company; it wouldn't bankrupt them, but it wouldn't make their lives any easier. It might even make Carolyn swing back to her miserable pessimism.
"Oh, and, er, one other thing, Deborah." Carolyn announced as she was turning to leave the flight-deck; Deborah hummed in acknowledgement, and rotated enough that she could see the other woman rifling through her bag, "I stole the Talisker from you."
Carolyn re-emerged, holding aloft the Talisker bottle, a triumphant smile creeping over her lips and making the rest of her expression alight with victorious superiority; the bottle clinked against her ring, as she brought it back to hang in the air between the seats.
"Carolyn!" Deborah exclaimed, throwing her hand over her chest and feigning surprise; oh, he had done his job beautifully, she mused, "How did you find it?"
"I told her, Deborah." Martin admitted, closing his eyes in faux shame and shaking his head, clenching his hands for emphasis, though the faint smile that threatened to bubble into his expression fooled no one.
"You told her?" Deborah demanded playfully, turning to glare in betrayed astonishment at him, barely able to conceal her smirk as the moths in her chest cartwheeled happily; moments like this were what made everything worth it. Why worry about Birling when she had a best friend, and partner in crime to go home to; none of the other men in her life had ever played with her like Martin would.
"Yes." Martin replied dramatically, his eyes snapping open to meet her gaze, his bottom lip dragging through his teeth to stop himself from laughing as his fingers twitched where they lay on the arms of his seat.
"I see." Deborah drawled; she kept one eye on Carolyn's bewildered expression over the back of her seat, taking great pleasure from watching her clutch the bottle just a little tighter, "And how much did she pay you for that little betrayal?"
"Two hundred pounds." Martin answered proudly, in a breathy tone as if he were withholding state secrets; then his smile broke its banks, and he reached into his jacket pocket, withdrawing a few notes and extending them towards her, his eyes practically glittering with pride, "Here's your hundred."
"Thank you very much, Darling." Deborah replied, taking the money from him and tucking it into her bra; just because he was being so good today, she'd make sure to accidently use it to pay for dinner, or maybe a nice day out, and say that entry was free, "You were magnificent."
"What?" Carolyn demanded, her face contorting in confusion; she practically turned her back on Deborah so that she could glare down at Martin, letting the bottle hang in the hand that wasn't poised over the back of his chair.
"Really sorry, Carolyn. But what I've actually learned after five years at MJN is never to side against Deborah on Birling Day." Martin winced apologetically, shrugging his shoulders and raising his hands into the air either side of him; Carolyn huffed, but Martin's eyes softened, and he leaned forwards to better gaze across at Deborah, his smile growing warmer, "And besides, there'd be no living with her if I let her lose."
"See, you can't corrupt him anymore." Deborah remarked, glancing pointedly at Carolyn and winking at Martin; the way that Martin squirmed bashfully as he was talked about made her heart want to leap from her chest, "He's mine."
"Well I've still got my whiskey back." Carolyn retorted stubbornly, lifting the bottle again to almost clutch it to her chest, exuding an air of defiance not befitting to the occasion; Deborah smirked openly, and shook her head, tutting at her employer's ambition.
"I'm rather afraid, Carolyn, that while you may have stolen the Talisker, you didn't steal …" Deborah cut off her dramatic exclamation, even though the dawning horror on Carolyn's face was golden, and reached across the small gap to tap Martin's arm, "oh, could you pass me the operations manual, Martin?"
"Certainly, Deborah." Martin replied dutifully, visibly trying not to grin until the corners of his eyes crinkled while he reached around and retrieved the hefty book with one hand, and then reached a little further to take the dark bottle in the other, bringing it into the light; as he dropped it into Deborah's waiting arms, she concluded.
"… the Talisker-Talisker."
There are some chapters that are a joy to write, and others that make me grit my teeth
and this was one of the latter
I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless