Hello all, and here is the next chapter for you all. Thanks for reading and reviewing.
Uskerty
After spending three days in Cork, Deborah would have liked to get far away from Ireland and into her own cost bed to sleep for twelve hours, but alas, that wasn't to be; she supposed that Carolyn's search for the perfect gift for her boyfriend would provide ample teasing opportunities now and in the future, so she accepted her orders without complaint.
It helped that Martin was helping her play as ruthlessly as he could without breaking what little professionalism he still maintained; sarcastic announcements over the cabin address were always perfect for lifting one's spirits, and today was no exception. Carolyn could grouch all she wanted; it was her fault they were diverting in the first place.
When they reached the airport in Kilkenny, the ATC on the intercom sounded as if she had stared into the void of true boredom and retained the mental scarring, which should have been enough of a warning that the crew weren't shocked to find that the airport itself was completely empty.
The lights were on, and the doors swished open when Carolyn and Arthur approached, but as Deborah and Martin followed in their wake, it was to find that the shining floors were spotless, and it was possible to see all of the walls without having to even turn their heads, or peer; at the increased warmth at her arm, Deborah was sure that Martin shifted closer to her, but she chose not to mention it.
"Er, h-hello?" Carolyn called out as the four of them moved to the centre of the airport, each turning to glance over different vacant seats and abandoned kiosks; or, perhaps, not abandoned, more, uninhabited Deborah mused, "Hello-o! Anyone home?"
"This is a bit spooky, isn't it?" Arthur remarked, his eyes widening as he turned on his heels to walk backwards and take in everything around him, glancing occasionally at Carolyn so that he didn't stumble; with a thrilled little smile, he met Deborah's eyes, "D'you think it's haunted?"
"I wouldn't have thought so, Arthur, no." Deborah replied wryly, quirking an eyebrow at him. From the corner of her eye, she saw that Martin had slowed to peer disdainfully at the unmanned security desk as if it were doing him a personal injustice, so she tread back to his side and took his hand in hers, tugging him back to the group; he made no protest save for a muted huff, and continued looking around and maintaining his unimpressed silence.
"Well, you know, everything's more ancient in Ireland, isn't it?" Arthur continued, shrugging where anyone else might have been disappointed, spinning again to walk face the way that he was walking.
"Not the airports." Deborah drawled shortly, pursing her lips and shaking her head when Arthur pouted at her; she could almost feel in his expression the beginnings of one of those days where Arthur ran away with his own interests. When the man got started, he was incredibly difficult to sway.
"Hello-o!" Carolyn called again, louder this time, raising her hand to her mouth as if to increase the volume; she glared in confusion over her shoulder at Deborah, as if she might have the answer, and was met by a shrug.
Then a door at the far side of the airport swung open, and a greying man in his forties burst through, throwing his arms out in over-excited welcome, his face almost glowing with the thrill that he was exuding.
"Hello, hello!" the man declared joyously, in a manner that befitted a coronation more than the arrival of a cabin crew; Deborah stopped at Carolyn's side, tugging on Martin's arm to make him halt as well, watching the man's approach with a dawning exhaustion, "Ah, you'll be MJN Air."
Listening to the man, who introduced himself as Gerry, greet Carolyn and Arthur with far too much fervour, was funny was a moment, and then the novelty wore off; Deborah had spent years with Arthur already, and watching him converse with an equally cheerful, albeit people deprived airport manager, barely had its merits.
Instead, Deborah shifted closer to Martin, intertwining her fingers more securely through his, bringing the other hand up to curl around his bicep as he turned reflexively, so that they were pressed together just enough that she could murmur in his ear, but not close enough that it would have been inappropriate.
"What do you think she's buying?" Deborah asked once Martin had ducked his head down, blue eyes meeting hers as he squeezed her hand, until they were just about level, "She must have ordered it ahead of time."
"An obscure Irish delicacy?" Martin suggested, dragging his bottom lip through his teeth; he lifted his free hand to push back the strands of hair that Deborah had let fall over her face, smiling wanly as she pouted up at him.
"That she couldn't get in the last three days we've been in Ireland?" Deborah drawled, raising an eyebrow with little energy; Martin tutted and shrugged helplessly, so she dropped her cheek down onto his shoulder and bemoaned, "God I'm tired; I just want to go home already."
"Hmmm…" Martin hummed in agreement, resting his head against the top of hers, his eyes flickering across to the others, before resting once more on Deborah, his tone becoming warmer and more suggestive, "You wouldn't mind if I joined you?"
"Of course not." Deborah replied, wrinkling her nose as she leaned back, raising her head to address him properly; after nearly nine months together, what had at first been endearing, Martin's reluctance to just accept that they were together and that he could take what he wanted, was beginning to feel taxing, and she couldn't quite keep the frustration masked as humour out of her tone, "That's what I meant when I said 'go home'."
Martin rolled his eyes, pressing his lips together tightly; Deborah knew that a remark about how her home wasn't his home was at the tip of his tongue, but she didn't want to argue with him. More recently, the aborted discussions about moving forward tended to end in irritation more often than silent acceptance, and she didn't want to fight; so Deborah unwound her hands from his arms before Martin could say a word, smiled stiffly, and turned back to where Carolyn was finishing up with Gerry.
She didn't move away, and let her arm press against Martin's, their elbows knocking together, a silent demonstration of affection to reassure him that everything was fine; a moment later, one that felt too long, Martin's hand slipped into hers, and Deborah knew that the sentiment was reciprocated.
"An hour's time, please." Carolyn told Gerry, who was drooping only a fraction more than Arthur was, though Arthur was still alight with a glimmer of hope scrawled over his face; she turned to her pilots and nodded to each in turn, clicking her fingers at them, "Deborah, Arthur: wait here; Martin: you're coming with me."
"Huh?" Martin responded, grunting as if waking from a deep sleep; his eyebrows leapt up to his hairline, and he made no attempt to move, despite Carolyn striding past him and motioning for him to follow, "Why?"
"I need you to help carry something." Carolyn replied matter-of-factly, offering no other explanation other than to turn back to him and make another 'come here' gesture with her hand; there was no arguing with her, but that didn't stop Martin from trying.
"I don't want to carry …" Martin whined, throwing his hands (one still connected to Deborah's) into the air either side of him and scowling pitifully; he didn't get to finish, as Carolyn cut him off with a sharp gesture.
"Martin. Only Father Christmas cares about what you want." Carolyn scolded him; Martin huffed and rolled his eyes in frustration, but Carolyn continued, smirking in her 'I'm in charge, and you are not' manner, "I am telling you what you are going to do."
"Uh, fine…" Martin groaned; Carolyn smiled fleetingly and turned on her heel, heading towards the exit, while Martin took a step forwards, realised that his hand was still hooked around Deborah's, and then addressed her, the epitome of resignation, "I'll see you later."
Martin leaned down to press a kiss to Deborah's cheek, a sign that all was forgiven between them, before pulling away, making as if to follow Carolyn across the airport; Deborah caught him by the wrist and pressed her lips against his, a small peck accompanied by a warm smile, however forced.
"Bye, Darling." She murmured, patting him lightly on the cheek, and then turning her hand over to stroke the back of her knuckles over the fresh blush, "Don't have too much fun without me."
Martin snorted and made a sardonic face, but as he walked away, his lips were carrying a genuine smile; at the very least, that was an achievement. Now all Deborah had to do was find a quiet spot and leave Arthur and Gerry to entertain themselves.
oOoOoOo
As it turned out, Deborah's plans of a peaceful wait were foiled before they even began; she came to realise, as she was being dragged by the hand like a toddler being dragged after their parent in a National Trust property, that her day now consisted of her protesting, and then of Arthur making her do everything that he wanted her to do.
She had sat and waited while he had his passport stamped with all of the stamps that Gerry owned, while the older man wore a gleeful smile, as if it were the first time he had been allowed to do his job, and now she stood to the side, arms folded over her chest, watching as Arthur moved his keys between his various pockets and traipsed back and forth through the metal detecting gate.
The gate gave a high pitched squeal, and Gerry and Arthur let out a cheer, as Arthur hurried back to stand by the monitor, an excited grin plastered across his face.
"Ah! Ah, she's got it!" Gerry announced, pointing to the monitor; for someone who worked at the airport every day, Deborah thought that he was far too joyful for it to be normal, or healthy. Then again, the place was still silent, so perhaps he had gone mad with loneliness.
"Yes! Yes!" Arthur cheered; he looked to Deborah, but didn't seem to pick up on her raised eyebrow, or the aura of exhaustion that she was exuding, "It was in my sock! I never thought it would look there! Let's go again!"
"Actually, Arthur, I think I might cool off with a quiet read of my paper." Deborah interjected, raising a hand in apology and slipping her foot back in preparation for steps away from all of the excitement; if she left them to their own devices, perhaps she could sit in blessed quiet for a while, "The excitement's getting to me."
"Ohh!" Arthur groaned in disappointment; before she could stop him, he had bounded up behind her and placed his hands companionably on her shoulders, as if he could buoy her into enjoying herself simply by creating a physical barrier to impede her retreat.
"You sure there's nothing else I can show you?" Gerry inquired, leaving the gate's monitor to join them, pressing his hands together, face lighting up as idea after idea popped into his head, "Er, the kiosk. Ooh, the baggage carousel!"
"Ooh!" Arthur repeated, squeezing Deborah's shoulders enthusiastically; he peered around her to grin encouragingly down at her, the same expression that he had worn when dragging her to the gate written across his features.
"No, Arthur." Deborah insisted, slipping from Arthur's grasp and holding her hands into the air, palms outstretched; tired she may have been, but she couldn't quite muster any sense of true irritation at him, or his anticipatory happiness.
"What about the tannoy?" Gerry suggested, and Deborah could see a wily deviousness under his needy demeanour; he must have had a lot of time to plot the best ways to trap potential friends in his airport, to shower them with games and fun; Arthur exhaled excitedly, and Gerry's face split into a grin, "Would you not like a quick go on the tannoy?"
"Oh, Deborah! Please?" Arthur didn't quite beg, but more corralled; he pursed his lips and blinked encouragingly at Deborah, in a way that she was sure he had been perfecting over the years that they had known each other.
Deborah sighed, and lowered her arms, closing her eyes momentarily.
"Fine…" she agreed, through gritted teeth; the sooner she obeyed, the sooner Arthur would tire himself out, and she could go and relax and wait for the others to get back.
"Brilliant!" Arthur exclaimed, and without another word he took hold of her hand again, and began leading her in Gerry's wake, taking long strides across the airports that forced her to speed up or risk tripping and falling on her face.
"You know, if Martin were here, he'd say it was unprofessional of us to play with the airport." Deborah remarked, pouting, as they passed the row of vacant kiosks, all lit up and ready to play with, "These things are supposed to be out of bounds."
"But Skip's not here." Arthur replied sagely, sending her a glance over his shoulder that roughly translated to 'since when do you care? Let's play now'.
oOoOoOo
By the time Deborah was checking her watch, wondering why Martin wasn't back yet, she had allowed Arthur to drag to the tannoy, and now to the bar; throughout the whole ordeal, she let him take the reins and simply performed like a prize puppy whenever he wanted her to join in.
His announcement had been amusing, that much Deborah was willing to admit, but once he had spoken, and she had remained silent, a curled hand poised over her lips, she was ready to find a corner and curl up in it, perhaps phone Martin and find out where he was.
Now they sat in what constituted as a bar, drinking pineapple juice; Deborah was content to just sit quietly, as she normally would with Arthur, one of them chipping in whenever something interesting crossed their mind, but apparently, Arthur was in the mood for playing up the bar scene.
Not that it was working; the conversation crested and waned like waves on a particularly sparse and uninhabited beach.
"Are you worrying about Skip?" Arthur asked; Deborah looked up from her phone, and glanced at where Arthur sat on the barstool beside hers, to see that he was peering curiously at the device in her hands.
"Why would I be worried about Martin?" Deborah shot back, sitting up to correct the hunch that she had adopted over her phone, and pushing her hair from her face with the back of her free hand; she had been checking to see if she had been left any details as to why they were late back, but she wasn't about to admit to that, lest she ruin her already crumbling reputation with a dash of clinginess.
"Well, you've been checking your phone a lot," Arthur explained, nodding towards the device that she still held in her hands, and taking another swig of pineapple juice, "And even though Skip's great, after it's been this long, you do tend to think that maybe things have gone a bit wrong."
"He's a fully grown-" Deborah began to retort, and then stopped, mouth still open; there was no point denying it, Martin, as much as she loved him, was an accident waiting to happen, "Yes, I see your point."
Just then her phone rang, and Deborah nearly dropped it in her haste to answer; she took a deep breath before pressing the plastic to her ear, calming herself and making sure that Martin couldn't hear that she was thinking about him.
"Hello?" Deborah greeted the crackle on the other end of the line; it didn't sound as if they were in a cab, but then again, she could have been wrong.
"Deborah! It's me." Martin answered, his voice strained; it sounded as if he were out of breath, but that didn't make any sense at all.
"Hello, Martin." Deborah drawled, feigning surprise; she tried to picture him rolling her eyes at her as she asked, more seriously, "Are you back?"
"Er, no." Martin replied; he didn't sound scared or hurt, but Deborah still felt a shiver of trepidation, and glanced pointedly at Arthur, letting him know that something was happening, "We got thrown out of a taxi and now I'm up a tree."
"Gosh." Deborah muttered, having to admit to herself that that was impressive; Carolyn was still with him though, so there was no need to worry, as it sounded as if the worst had happened, and nothing else could possibly go wrong for them, "Quite a powerful throw."
"Can you send out another taxi?" Martin sighed; Deborah would have loved to have helped, she really would have, but there was nothing she could do but smile encouragingly at Arthur, who was staring expectantly.
"Certainly." Deborah told him, doing her best to battle down the temptation to be sarcastic, though her success was limited now that she knew she had little to truly worry about, "What's the address?"
"The address?" Martin repeated, and Deborah didn't refrain from dropping her head into her hand and shaking it, inhaling sharply; the things that she had to put up with, she deserved a medal or twelve.
"Yes." Deborah replied patiently; she lifted her head and tried to ignore Arthur's confused stares as he tried to work out what was going on from half a conversation, "Where d'you want the cab sent?"
"To-to us." Martin stuttered; damn, he was stuttering, that meant that he was stressed and worried even if there was no reason to, "To where we are. It's-it's a road, i-in the rain, uh, with a tree."
"Hmm. Are you hearing the problem?" Deborah said thoughtfully; for the sake of not being hunched over when Gerry returned to the bar, she rested her hand on her knee and tried to regain some poise.
"Come on!" Martin groaned, and Deborah's chest flooded with sympathy, the fluffy sort that had made it impossible for her to enjoy his floundering in quite the same way that she had when they had first met.
"All right, Darling, calm down." Deborah placated him, turning on the barstool just enough that her back was to Arthur; if she was going to be soppy, then she would do it with a modicum of privacy, "Well, what can you see from there? Maybe we can work out where you are."
"Right. Er, well, there's fields … and more trees, and, um, ooh, this way there's a …" Martin reeled off everything that he could see, and even though Deborah was gifted with a pang of fondness for the man that she had chosen to share her life with, she couldn't help despairing; his tone became more reedy, and hushed, almost bewildered, "there's a bee."
"I think we may need slightly more reliable landmarks than individual insects." Deborah sighed; there was no doubt that there was nothing she could do.
"S-several bees." Martin repeated; then to Deborah's surprise, his voice grew thinner, as if sounding from a greater distance, and rose to a high-pitched crescendo, a sound that if he hadn't been so frantic, she might have wanted to store for later listening, "Ooh. Ooh. Ooh! Ooh! Bees! Carolyn! Lots of lots of lots of bees!"
Then the crackling in her ear was replaced by the dial tone, and Deborah lowered the phone; she span back around to face Arthur, holding the phone at an angle and glaring at it, pouting her lips, as if it had done her a personal offence.
"Oh, he's rung off."
oOoOoOo
As loathe as she was to admit it, Deborah was actually having fun with Arthur, and Gerry, to an extent; sure, the drinks were terrible, and Arthur couldn't master bar talk to save his life, but there were some interesting gems that made the wait worthwhile, and stopped her from worrying too much about what Martin was getting himself into. There was no point worrying about Carolyn; she could survive a nuclear war.
"Deborah, we should be saying things like, you know, 'Hey, you guy. The dames, eh?' 'Yeah, the dames. Stupid dames. You had any luck with the horses?' 'No, the horses are all … idiots. You know, between the dames and the horses, sometimes I don't even know why I put my hat on.'" Arthur had declared at one point, placing his curled hands on his waist and puffing out his chest, and slapping on a debonair smile that wavered as the concluded, "That's how they talk in bars, isn't it?"
Deborah had fought back a smile, bemused, choosing not to take too much offense at the fact that apparently her gender had slipped his mind.
" … No, Arthur." She replied stiltedly, folding her arms over her chest for a lack of anything else to do, and focusing on keeping a straight face lest she accidently make the wobbling expression on his face tip the wrong way, "That's not how anyone talks, anywhere."
There had even been a few moments of emotional bonding, though if asked later, Deborah would deny it vehemently, once Arthur had been threatened nicely not to reveal a word that she said.
"If it helps, you are excellent at being teased." Deborah reassured Arthur, reaching across the gap between them to pat his arm, smiling encouragingly; she had been feeling bad for him. It had never occurred to her that Arthur might want to fit in with the other blokes; she much preferred him not fitting in, but she supposed that as long as he was happy, then that was all that mattered.
"Oh, really?" Arthur replied brightly, his face lighting up immediately; that was the ticket, "Am I?"
"Oh, first rate!" Deborah exclaimed, nodding certainly; then she exhaled slowly, and ran her fingers over the phone still in her hands, letting her eyes fall of the blank screen, as she sighed affectionately, "Second only to Martin. He's the master."
"Aww, thanks, Deborah!" Arthur batted his hand through the air, blinking gratefully across at her; he pursed his lips and continued sheepishly, "And-and maybe if I practise, I could get as good as him."
"As good as Martin?" Deborah asked, quirking an eyebrow in thought; frowning playfully, she shook her head as she met Arthur's gaze, "I'm afraid not. He always goes the extra mile." as she spoke again, Deborah couldn't help ducking her eyes back to her phone, as her shoulders tucked in ever so slightly, and she could almost feel the light flush in her cheeks, "The man just phoned me from up a tree…god, I love him so much…"
"Even up a tree?" Arthur replied curiously; Deborah glanced sideways without lifting her head, only to find that Arthur had tilted his, trying to catch a peek of her face through the loose strands of her hair that fell forwards.
"Especially up a tree." Deborah drawled wanly, too overwhelmed with the spontaneous rush of affection that fluttered in her chest and her cheeks at the thought of Martin floundering up a tree, "I just…I don't know why, I just love him…fumbles and all…I know he's an idiot- my idiot though…especially when he's an idiot."
It was difficult to really care that she sounded airy and ridiculous, when Deborah could only really focus on the fact that Arthur didn't fill the quiet she left behind; one look showed that he just looked confused, and for some reason, she couldn't leave Arthur confused, lest something awful come of it…like he asked other people, for example.
"It's….it's that…it's easier to…not be perfect, when Martin's so not," Deborah explained, turning to face Arthur more definitively, gripping her phone in both hands, "He doesn't…he doesn't want perfect, because he's not, even though he could be better than he seems to think he is…" she trailed off, and swallowed hard, regaining her composure, "It's nice, is all."
Thankfully, Arthur nodded, and smiled, and moved the conversation onto safer waters, calling Gerry back to serve them more pineapple juice.
oOoOoOo
Deborah was furious at Carolyn for putting Martin through the day from Hell, but now wasn't the time to dwell on that. Luckily for Carolyn, Deborah was far more worried about the tears in Martin's uniform, the bruises on his jutting limbs, and the appalling state of his hands. On the bright side, he did seem a little happier now that he had his ring back (granted, inside a goose, but that problem could be solved later), and was fast asleep on the hotel bed next to her.
When they had finally been booked into a room, Deborah had shoved him in the direction of the bathroom to get showered and remove the stink from his essence, and when he had returned, squeaky clean and pouting petulantly, she had looked to his hands, making sure that they were soaked in antiseptic and not in need of any medical attention, before letting him fall into a heavy doze.
All the while, her head played host to something that Carolyn had said, just before she dismissed them; she had taken Deborah by the elbow and drawn her to the side, lowering her voice so that Martin couldn't overhear in the big empty airport.
"Just so you know Deborah, on the way back here, Martin did quite a lot of complaining about his financial state-" Carolyn began to explained, but she was cut off as Deborah withdrew her arm from the other woman's grasp.
"I'm not surprised." Deborah drawled tautly, far beyond the mood for dealing with her employer by that point, "You don't pay him."
"I know that, but I'm telling you because it has a direct impact on your relationship, and therefore on the company." Carolyn retorted through gritted teeth; the tense set of her jaw and shoulders was enough to convince Deborah to nod and listen, "He did all the usual moaning, but then grumbled about how having no money meant he could do dates, or be a proper partner, and 'oh, how can I deserve to be in a relationship if I can't even support my girlfriend'… I thought you might be a little concerned about that."
"Believe me Carolyn, I am, and I've heard it all before." Deborah replied, swallowing away a clot of distasteful dejection that settled in her throat; not quite in such raw detail though, "I'm well aware that his bloody pride is holding back our relationship, even though I've told him I don't want-"
"He actually told me that it's not about what you want." Carolyn interjected; she had the decency to look sorry for her, "It's all about him wanting to feel good enough…it's 'I'm the Captain' all over again without a single thought about anything outside of his little bubble."
Deborah took a deep breath, and turned her back on where Martin and Arthur were bumbling about on the other side of the airport; she pressed the heel of her hand over her eyes, and relished the moment of peace.
"I know, Carolyn." She sighed; Deborah was well aware, and having someone else acknowledge it only compounded her problems, "Thank you. Now, I'm going to go and make sure you haven't crippled him for life."
"Yes, well, I only tell you for the sake of keeping the peace." Carolyn replied, taking a moment to primly tuck readjust her jacket, and regain an air of coolness, "When I warned you about starting something, I honestly thought that you'd be the problem, not him. Well done for proving me wrong."
Now it was morning, and Martin was sound asleep, on his side and curled into Deborah where she sat, propped up against the headboard; the night before, he had whacked the air conditioning up to full, so she had slipped on the fleece that Martin used to wear for van jobs, but that she had claimed as her own months ago.
On her lap, Deborah held his uniform jacket and a sowing kit that she had snaffled from his flight bag shortly after he had dozed off; she narrowed her eyes, and bit down on her bottom lip as she carefully and precisely stitched up each large and miniscule whole that the jacket had acquired in the last day, taking care to make sure that the dark thread couldn't be seen from the outside.
It was probably too early to be up, but Deborah had barely been able to sleep; instead, she comforted herself with the idea that Martin would love such a gesture, as much as he loved what the jacket symbolised. Also…she simply wanted to. It didn't even cross her mind that she should leave it be; Martin was sad, so she was fixing it as best she could, because she loved him, and it would make his heart sing when he awoke.
Perhaps it would even help to convince him that she loved him regardless of all his worries.
A faint grumbling at her side, and Deborah glanced past her elbow to see Martin rolling slightly, his head turning blearily as he trudged into alertness; she smiled and chuckled softly, drawing him to the sound of her voice, until he lay on his back, blinking up at her. He smiled in response to her brief glance, but as he propped himself up on his elbows, Martin's eyes narrowed in confusion.
"W-what are you doing?" Martin yawned, running his eyes over the project in her lap; he reached out to touch the jacket with the tips of his fingers, but Deborah batted them away, earning a pitiable frown.
"I'm sowing, so keep your hands out of the way, unless you want some interesting patterns in your captain's jacket." Deborah explained, lifting the bulk of the material just enough that Martin could verify her statement, see the stripes at the end of the arm, "I should be done before we have to go anywhere, don't worry."
"Oh, Deborah, you don't have to do that." Martin breathed, his voice seeped in gratitude as he placed a gentle hand on her elbow; his eyes were wide, and Deborah couldn't see anything other than complete devotion in the pink flush of his cheeks. Things weren't nearly as tense as they seemed, she thought, of course they weren't; it was all just needless worry.
"You know I don't do anything I don't want to do." Deborah replied, letting a small smirk tug up the corner of her lips as she glanced away from her threading and met his gaze; play it cool, don't let him know that she's concerned, "And besides, when people see you in this, they're going to say 'Wow, look at those stitches, they look like they've been stitched by the gods'."
"Deborah…" Martin's tone was that breathy, warning tone that had lasted from their first months together, and that she wasn't quite ready to let go of; his eyes were boring into her face, and the moment that she turned, Deborah knew that he didn't believe her.
"Fine, alright." Deborah sighed; she dropped her arms, resting them on her knees, and pursing her lips as she addressed Martin, forcing herself to be truthful, and not sound petulant about it, "Being respected as Captain is important to you…therefore it's important to me that you go out there looking your best, and not in a scraggy uniform; it's just a nice gesture, from me to you, that's all."
Deborah didn't wait for a reply as she lifted the needle and thread again, and focused all of her attention on stitching the edge of a jagged tear in the back of his jacket; she was only trying to fix things, like everyone always expected her to, she didn't deserve the third degree.
By her side, she felt Martin hoisting himself into a sitting position; Deborah was jostled as his arm went around her shoulders, and she almost dropped the needle as her elbow connected clumsily with his stomach.
"Thank you." Martin murmured into her hair, pressing his cheek against the top of her head; Deborah didn't reply, but she shifted so that she could sow with him wrapped around her, adjusting to his presence.
It was nice; they might as well have enjoyed the pleasant peace of the morning while they could. Deborah had no doubt that in a few hours, everyone would be tearing their hair out over the bloody bird that Martin insisted needed to go on the plane with them.
I loved this episode, and the entire Douglas Arthur scene, even the Martin Carolyn bits despite his endless whump (he handled it so well all things considered)I hope you enjoyed this chapter.