Brace yourselves...

Interlude 16

They weren't expecting to fly today, but it was the first day of stand-by after a small break, so Carolyn wanted all of them in work and not lounging at home on the presumption that the client wouldn't turn up for another week. That made Deborah's life a little more difficult than it already was, but she supposed that needs must.

Deborah was tired of shuffling around matters and holding back, shutting up when Martin didn't want to talk about the more serious matters in their lives; that wasn't Richardson style, and she was finally going to take back her trademark confidence, putting forward what she wanted, laying matters out between them, and getting to the root of their problems. It might have been easier to do so at home, but work would have to do, as she couldn't allow herself to have second thoughts.

But for now, she needed to get Martin in as good a mood as possible, to make his agreeing with her desires more likely. He was always grumpy when he woke up, until he had at least one coffee in his system, but the past few days had been exceptional in terms of bringing him down and making him impossible to reason with; to say that both of their nerves were frayed was an understatement.

Their last client had been a pain, and had refused to believe that Martin was the Captain, despite his vehement protests; then not one, but two van jobs had fallen through, leaving him bereft of pay, and slumped on her sofa, scowling at the corner of the coffee table and sniffling as he put on a brave face and cuddled up with her. There was something to be said for the fact that he came to Deborah, rather than moping on his own, and she hoped that that was an encouraging sign.

When she saw Martin emerging, in full pressed uniform, from the hall, Deborah wandered back into the kitchen, flicking the kettle and pulling towards her the cup of coffee mixture that she had already prepared for him; step one was in motion, she thought, as she heard his footfalls pad across the carpet towards her. Her scheme was subtle, but hopefully the results would bring all sorts of gains.

"You're dressed?" Martin remarked in surprise as he sidled up beside her, leaning one arm against the counter and running his eyes over her uniform; even though it pained her, Deborah was going to let him get her to work on time today, just to lift his spirits even more, "How long have you been up?"

"Only a bit longer than you have; I checked your alarm for you before I came through." Deborah replied; as the kettle clicked, she poured his drink and swiftly placed the warm mug into his hands, before reaching across to the stove to retrieve the plate that she had covered with a tea-towel, releasing the enticing scent of bacon and eggs, "And here is your breakfast, freshly made, just for you."

Martin's eyes widened in affected shock as the plate was placed in his other hand, and Deborah beamed, leaning back against the counter to watch as he placed his mug down, trailing his gaze up to meet hers, apparently so overcome with emotion that his bottom lip was wobbling slightly before he pulled it through his teeth. It really had been a tough few days for him.

"Thank you." Was all that Martin was able to sigh, before reaching around with one arm to pull Deborah into a brief hug; Deborah chuckled pleasantly, and placed a kiss on his cheek, before retracting herself and nudging him towards the table, wafting him with quick hand motions.

"Oh, sit down, Martin." Deborah scolded fondly, standing with her arms folded over her chest until he was sitting, plate in front of him, with no chance of escaping or dropping anything, "I don't need thanking for treating my handsome man to a cooked breakfast."

"Hmm, why do I feel like you're buttering me up for something?" Martin retorted, a smile playing about his lips as he dug into the food lying before him; he may have suspected something, but Deborah was sure that his guess wasn't correct.

Simply shrugging nonchalantly, and winking to fuel his interest, Deborah left him in the kitchen area, and strode back to her room; Martin's flight bag was as usual, perched on the end of the bed, where he would place it in the mornings before he left. The only possessions that Martin had left at her flat were a toothbrush, and his old jumper, which got worn around the house when he wasn't there; everything else got carried around in his flight-bag, regardless of whether they were leaving the country or not.

Deborah hoisted the bag into her arms, letting it hang open, revealing the mixture of carefully folded and hastily stowed items and allowing them to poke into the open air; then she wandered back into the sitting room, dropped it onto the coffee table, falling into the sofa and glancing across to where Martin was still sitting in the kitchen.

"You know Martin, instead of carting these round with you all day, you could leave them here, and I could throw them in the wash for you." Deborah suggested, taking a t-shirt from within the folds of the bag; he had only worn it the day before, but it still smelt like him, and didn't need to take a trip to the airfield.

"No, don't worry about it." Martin replied, peering up from his food, forking hanging in the air over his plate; he was deflecting again, it was painfully obvious in the set of his jaw and the dip of his eyebrows, "I can wash them at home; I don't want to impose."

"It's not an imposition, Martin, I'm offering." Deborah said dryly, nonetheless doing as Martin wished, and folding his clothes so that they once more fit comfortably in his bag; she wouldn't push until she absolutely ready to say what she had to say, "You know, my house is your house…and all."

"It's a nice thought, but no, thank you." Martin stated firmly; a clink emanated from the kitchen, followed by the scraping of a chair as he rose to his feet and moved to the sink, and began running the water to wash up after himself, as always, eager not to impose or become a hindrance.

"Alright." Deborah responded, refusing to let herself be taken down by the wash of dejection in her guts; just a little longer, the right moment, preferably a moment alone, and she would make her move, "Whatever you want, Darling."

oOoOoOo

It was late afternoon, or thereabouts, and Martin and Deborah were the only ones in the porta-cabin; Herc had arrived a few hours beforehand, and he and Carolyn had gone to a coffee shop in Fitton, while Arthur had disappeared to talk to the grounds crew, or do whatever it was that he did in his free time. A whole day to stew, and Deborah was ready to burst.

The day hadn't gone badly, but Martin was still irritable at best, sighing here and there, frowning at his paperwork rather than humming jauntily to himself, scrawling looping letters across the pages. He could have been happier, it would have been easier if he was, but there was no changing things now.

But Deborah had made up her mind, and steeled herself, and she wasn't going to back down now, not again; this needed talking about, once and for all, and damn the consequences. Nothing too horrible could happen; she predicted an argument, but one that she would win, as always.

She was sitting on the sofa, one leg folded neatly over the other, watching him as he paced back and forth on the outer side of their desks, stacking his paperwork into tidy piles, ready for tomorrow; it was now or never, Deborah couldn't wait any longer.

"Martin, Darling, we need to talk." Deborah announced, clearing her throat to remove the lump of nerves that struck up in her throat; Martin turned abruptly, his mouth falling open with the upward leap of his eyebrows as he stared at her in tentative surprise, his lips wobbling as if words were on the tip of his tongue, "Don't worry, it's nothing bad, but it is important; to me at least."

"What?" Martin asked hastily, eyes flittering over her as if searching for injury; he dropped the papers onto the desk and turned to face her fully, giving Deborah all of his attention, which was enough to boost her confidence to where it should have been, "What is it?"

"Come and sit down first." Deborah instructed, patting the sofa beside her; this would be easier if she could talk to him whilst level, and able to take his hands and squeeze encouragingly if needs be. There was something just a little too worrying about trying to discuss this matter with him at an advantage, exit wise.

"Okay…" Martin agreed, narrowing his eyes at her in cautious suspicion; he tread across the porta-cabin, coming to sit on the opposite end of the sofa, making it dip in the middle, causing Deborah to have to take her eyes from him as she shifted to compensate, "What's wrong?"

This was it; Deborah took a deep breath, and turned until her knees only just didn't connect with Martin's, taking care to meet his eyes and dispel any temptation to drawl or put on a false expression, be it smirk or nonchalant smile.

"I want to move forwards in our relationship." Deborah explained plainly, steadily, dutifully ignoring the way that Martin's shoulders stiffened, and he glanced away from her, the corner of his mouth pinching; instead, she placed her hands together over her lap and continued, as if she had seen nothing, though a prickle of something twinged in her chest, "I love you very much, and I want to move past 'dating'. You may have not have noticed in the haze of the last few months, but I want you to move in with me."

There it was, a pleasant, rational, well spoken statement of her desire, put forward for Martin to listen to and agree to; no room for prevaricating, or pretending that she hadn't asked, Deborah had made it clear what she wanted, and there was no way that Martin could argue with that, not if he had been telling the truth all those months.

Which was why when she watched Martin roll his eyes, huff and tut, and shove his arms around his chest, slumping frustrated back into the sofa, Deborah felt something inside of her snap, and all of the emotions that she had been repressing for the sake of keeping Martin happy flooded into one single point of irritation, a slingshot back into her sharp tongued self.

"Deborah, you know how I feel about this-" Martin groaned, refusing to make eye contact, instead staring across the porta-cabin, pressing his lips into a tight line; but Deborah didn't allow him to finish, her own back stiffening as she shook her head.

"No, I don't know how you feel about it, because all I've heard is a load of nonsense about money, and jobs, and being able to afford things that don't even matter!" she snapped, choking on a rush of victory when Martin finally met her glare, finally acknowledged that there was actually an issue between them; she didn't want to upset him, but Deborah couldn't stop herself from tearing into him, as she had been refraining from doing ever since she had first realised how she felt about him, "This has nothing to do with money, or your bloody pride Martin. This is me, wanting us to live together, because that's what people do when they cobble their lives together."

"My bloody pride?" Martin repeated, slowly, as if he couldn't quite believe that she had said it at all, as if Deborah were the one at fault; he leaned back where he sat, eyebrows at his hairline as he stared back at her, open mouthed, as if daring her to carry on. Of course, Deborah couldn't stop; she'd made things so clear for him, and the bloody man was still trying to claim the high road, without a thought towards how she felt.

"Yes." Deborah replied shortly, pursing her lips to stop them from trembling under Martin's indignant glare; she wrapped her arms around her chest, and nearly protested when Martin suddenly surged to his feet, striding purposefully back to his desk, but she held her tongue.

"No, Deborah," Martin said agitatedly, turning his back on her and rifling through his papers aimlessly; his hands were shaking, but that didn't' stop the shards of upset from prickling the walls of Deborah's chest as she was ignored, again, and pushed metaphorically to the side, "the answer is no, because we've talked about this."

"No we haven't!" Deborah insisted petulantly, barely raising her voice; she refused to stand, hoped that stayed down, arms crossed on the sofa, glaring at Martin as he turned back to face her, not quite leaning on the desks, might make this less of a fight, "At no point in the 9 months we've been together have we sat down and talked about where we want our relationship to go, other than that we do want it." She swallowed hard, blinking hard to avoid breaking the contact between them; Martin's face was stiff, his cheeks inflamed, his hands clenching at his sides, but he didn't reply, merely shook his head, "Martin, wanting to be in love long term is not the same as discussing the future. I've tried, but every time I do you knock me back."

"Why do we need to discuss it?" Martin exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air, his lips flickering briefly into a sour facsimile of a smile, before falling again; it made it so easy for Deborah to understand how he was able to become so frustrated so quickly, as her stomach gave another lurch, making way for vitriol, "Or live together as some sort of validation?" he ran a shuddering hand over the bottom of his face, and huffed, glaring across the gulf at her, "You know I love you, I say it all the time."

"Because sometimes I don't believe you!" Deborah almost yelled, almost rising from the sofa with the effort; the moment the words left her mouth it was like an empty space opened up in the pit of her chest, and her eyes widened and her mouth clamped shut as she froze in place.

Martin's reaction mirrored hers, almost to the imperceptible motion of his lips pressing together, and his eyes widening beneath painfully knitted eyebrows, the bridge of his nose scrunching in shock; she had never thought that before, she had no idea where that had come from. Yet now, now that the words had been spoken, Deborah's mind played host to a wave of memories, thrusting themselves into her consciousness and stringing threads of doubt throughout every happy moment that they had had together, each one soured by the stark refusal on Martin's part.

And that, that little niggling bite at the back of her throat stopped her from taking it back, silencing the voice that was screaming in the back of her head to stop, stop right now and apologise.

"You what?" Martin asked, sounding as if she had slapped him, gaping at her as if daring her to confirm what she had just said; his hands moved to grip the desk behind him, as if grounding him, as he narrowed his eyes as her, "You don't believe that I love you?"

"Not when half the time it feels like your damned pride, your bloody insistence that you're the proper man ticking all the boyfriend boxes, seems more important than actually being with me." Deborah replied tensely, her nails digging into the curve of her elbows, pinning her together and preventing her from just stopping; she couldn't, not when she had put her heart out in the open for him, and Martin had just thrown it back in her face, he just didn't listen, "Just saying you love me isn't good enough, Martin, when you clearly don't want to even share a flat with me."

"Hold on, h-hold on!" Martin ordered, throwing his hand up, palm open, curling into an accusing finger as he continued to shake his head at her in indignant disbelief; Deborah inhaled sharply, drawing herself together where she sat frozen, as he carried on, voice shaking, "If you don't believe me then w-what's the point in us even being together?" Another painful pang in her chest, that made it feel as if she were drowning, "What's the point in any of this if you think I've been lying this whole time?"

"I don't know." Deborah retorted, hating herself for saying it; but she was good at this, she was good at fighting back, she could win this, she couldn't let him pay too much attention to the way that her lips were trembling, or admit that she was wrong, because she wasn't, not at all, "The way you've been treating us, it's as if we're just in it for a bit of fun on the side, something to do. What's the point in us being together if you won't commit to more than a night in?"

There was a moment of silence, in which Deborah felt like her arms around her chest were keeping her from bursting into a sickly torrent of water, held in by small, flickering shards of anger, so much easier to feel than the abject horror that tried to pulse through her veins. It was strange looking up at Martin from across the room, watching his cheeks pale, and the quivering set of his lips droop into something more stunned and miserable, as his hands clenched around the desk, and his eyes trailed from the carpet, then up to meet hers.

"I-I don't know," Martin replied, echoing Deborah's own words back at her; staring back at his watery blur eyes, she had never hated herself more, nor wanted to tear at him and yet cling to the remains with such an aching vehemence, "m-maybe there is no point."

Just like that Deborah felt like the rest of the world disappeared, and was replaced by a sharper world, in such high definition that the sounds were like nails on chalkboards, and every inch of her skin felt as if it were pressed against blocks of ice, while her guts lurched, and then collapsed into a bottomless pit.

Martin couldn't mean that; he couldn't, because if he did, than her accusation had been true, and she might just fall victim to the itching temptation to claw the flesh from her bones to force away the heat behind her eyes. But he was still staring at her, stiff, still, waiting for her reaction; waiting to see how much he had just hurt her, just like their first few months, when they'd push and prod at each other to try and get a rise.

"What an astute observation Captain." Deborah drawled stiltedly, her chest constricting with each syllable; anger was better than misery, it was better than choking on the anxious screeching that leaked from her brain. If only Martin's expression didn't fall the way that it did, as the tension left his limbs, leaving only a defeated pallor.

"Fine, f-fine," Martin stuttered, his voice heavy with what might have been repressed tears, as he shook his head slowly and dragged his bottom lip through his teeth; he waved his hand through the air in a definitive gesture, and Deborah shifted as if to stand, though she didn't, held still as if a wall had appeared between them, "you know what, we said this wouldn't work, we said right at the start that we were going to muck it up, and we have, and it clearly hasn't worked as well as I thought it had. We are on completely different pages."

"What are you suggesting Martin?" Deborah asked quietly, unable to make her voice rise loud enough, but it didn't seem to matter, as the airfield had never been so still; she didn't stand, fearing that her legs might shake from beneath her if she did. This was all wrong; Martin was supposed to shoot back a snappy retort, then she would do the same, and then they would grump and grouch but eventually get in the same car and go home; this wasn't right, he couldn't mean it.

"I'm suggesting we end it, right now." Martin answered, swallowing audibly as he took his hands from the desk behind him and brought them forwards to slip into his pocket, still clenching and unclenching, as he took in a shuddering breath; there was nothing that Deborah could do but open her mouth and gape at him, haughty stillness replaced by ice cold denial, "B-because you don't understand at all, you don't u-understand how I feel, and I don't understand how you can't see, and you know what? I can't be dealing with that any more. I-I've been trying so hard, so hard to be good enough, and you still don't get it."

Her? That jerked Deborah back to life, filling her with a flare of indignation; even standing there, Martin had the audacity to imply that she was the problem? No; there was no way that she was going to take that lying down, not from Martin of all people.

"If you want to end it then go ahead." Deborah remarked sourly, forcing a flicker of a twisted smirk, inhaling sharply once, then twice as she sucked in the shudders rippling through her chest, and unravelled her arms from her chest to grip the edge of the sofa; she shouldn't dare him, she knew that, but she couldn't stop herself, "I obviously haven't got any sort of hold over you."

"Fine, F-f-f-fine." Martin hissed, as if the words burnt his tongue; it felt as if the ground had collapsed around them, and Deborah's whole being washed clean of thought, rhyme, or reason as he withdrew his hands from his pockets and made a definitive motion through the air, "We're over, we are officially no longer a couple - I'm done." He pushed away from the desk and began striding towards the door, rubbing his hands over his face, "I can't – I can't fight with you over this anymore. You just had to keep pushing."

"Martin?" Deborah's voice was barely a whisper, but it rang through the air between them like a siren; this couldn't be happening, he wasn't doing this, and she still couldn't make herself stand, rooted to the sofa, through hanging from the edge.

"No, Deborah, I can't do this anymore!" Martin snapped, whirling on his heel to stand in the centre of the room, his eyes scorching alongside his cheeks, even as they watered slightly, his jaw shivering where it jutted in anger, "You don't listen to a single thing I've said, y-y-you don't get it!"

"Oh, I get it Martin." Deborah replied, grasping at that last thread of indignation, of hurt; if he stayed, if Martin stayed to fight, then it wasn't over, he would stay and fight and then they'd fix it, that was how they worked, "I get that you've got some damn inferiority complex and you won't even listen to me when I tell you that I don't care how-"

"Exactly!" Martin cut her off, squaring his shoulders and puffing his chest out ever so slightly; with that one motion, that single implication of confidence, of certainty, any hope that may have resided in Deborah's chest evaporated, leaving nothing behind but a void as she stared wide eyed at the man she loved, "You don't care, and you don't believe that I love you, so I'm done. We're done, that's it, we're done."

"Martin…" Deborah breathed desperately, unclenching her hands where they gripped painfully into the edge of the sofa and rising slowly to her feet; she could barely hear herself think over the welling up of hot, horrible, angst in her every pore, threatening to overflow.

"No." Martin said firmly, taking in another shuddering breath and shaking his head sharply, "We agreed when we started that if we hit any speed bumps, we'd call it off, and this is one hell of a speed bump. I'm done."

Then he turned on his heel, and was gone before the door to the porta-cabin even had time to jam or slam in his wake, his presence ringing nonetheless in the space left behind.

"Martin?" Deborah called after him, her voice strained with the effort as she took two stumbling steps forwards, not quite believing that he had gone; but the door slammed shut, and the sound of his boots on the concrete faded fast, and she could hardly form another word as her chest began to heave.

No…no, no, no…no…

"Oh, God…" Deborah groaned, as she fell backwards into the sofa, folding in on herself, her head dropping into her intertwined arms, as the broiling in her chest intensified, as if it were falling into a pit, and everything that she had been holding in burst from her all at once, felling her in one fell swoop.

She didn't know when the tears started burning her eyes, or when they turned into sobs, wrenching the air from her lungs without her permission, but Deborah could barely think straight, too torn apart by wave after wave of misery thrusting against every sense.

Oh god Martin…Martin come back…please…

She didn't hear the door opening, but she heard Herc's voice, out of place; but Deborah couldn't find the energy to lift her head, the most she could do was to inhale sharply, cease her gasps, even as her eyes continued to weep.

"Have you two had a falling out?" he asked cheerfully, "It's just I saw Martin-" Hercs voice broke off, and there was a pause in which Deborah opened her eyes long enough to peer through the gaps between her arms, only to see him standing in the doorway, examining her with a strange expression on his face; it was too much to take, so she closed her eyes again, and just withdrew back into her misery, "Oh Deborah…"

The next thing Deborah knew, there was an arm around her; she knew that she wanted to push it away, but she just couldn't be bothered.

Sometime later Carolyn arrived, and Herc escaped; by that point Deborah had collected herself enough to take in what Carolyn said about how she thought that it would be her, and not Martin that messed things up between them. She didn't care; all she wanted to do was go home.

oOoOoOo

The middle of the night rolled around, and Deborah lay in her bed, curled on her side, clutching the covers between her fingers. She couldn't cry anymore, that had ended hours ago; now all that was left to ponder was the aching emptiness in her very being.

She had always thought that quite a cliché, laughed at the idea, but now…Deborah could have sworn on any book that a chunk of her life was missing, replaced by a chill that seeped through her skin despite the warm weather, and made the space between her eyes water and prickle as wave after wave of painful sadness penetrated her mind.

Every now and then Deborah would be hit with a surge of anger – how could he? How could he leave after everything? Martin…that pernicious, puffed up…Martin…then another sense of drowning in how much she would give for him to dictate prissily at her everything that was wrong so that they could move on.

He was all that she could think about. It was over between them; that much had sunk in, finally, after hours and hours of running the fight through her head. But she wanted him back.

After Harry had gone, after Chris had kicked her out, after the first one (damn, she couldn't even remember his name), after the other men had gone, Deborah had mourned the loss, but she had wanted them away from her, accepting the flaws when they were laid out and prepared to move on, no matter how much it stung.

Not Martin…Deborah would have given anything to have Martin next to her now, to hold him, to just talk to him, put everything right. Just the thought made tears threaten to well up again. They'd ruined it all…

A metallic little ding broke her from her ever more morbid musings. Rolling onto her back so that she could better reach the bedside table on her side of the bed, Deborah retrieved her phone from its customary resting place, and clicked the correct buttons instinctively. When the message appeared on the screen, held above her head, she almost wished that she hadn't.

Are you okay? – Martin

Deborah sucked in a breath, lowering her arms and rolling back onto her side, tucking the phone as close to her chest as possible without hiding it from view; if nothing else, she could thank Martin for snapping her out of her reverie.

Okay? After all the misery that she had endured after he had stormed from the porta-cabin, he asked if she was okay? Perfect. Anger was perfect; that perfect, sublime anger that had kept her afloat when her marriage had been sinking and Martin had merely been an unusually bewitching annoyance.

We just ended a nine month relationship – DR

She sent her reply with a surge of vitriol, then thought again; Deborah Richardson didn't let herself get walked over, and she most certainly wouldn't leave it there.

Why do you care?- DR

Martin's reply came almost immediately, the content of which was enough to make Deborah pause, and sag into the bed, regretting her hasty strike.

Because we just ended a nine month relationship – Martin

It hadn't occurred to her that he might be as sad as she was. A glimmer of hope, just a slither in the middle of the night, now that they were half a town away from each other. Deborah slowly tapped out another message, biting her lip as she sent it.

Are you standing by that decision? – DR

Two minutes passed before his response lit up her phone; Deborah watched them pass on the little digital clock face.

Yes

Then another text arrived before Deborah could truly absorb the weight of realisation that slammed into her, like bricks, only heavier, and far more of a surprise.

Are you going to try and change my mind? – Martin

It might have been hopeful, it might have been sardonic; Deborah knew that it was the final, desperate call of a man that questioned his every decision, the Captain waiting for the First Officer to correct his orders when he couldn't admit that he might have got it wrong.

Even though it hurt, there was no question what the clarity that spread across her mind meant; there was no question as to how she was going to respond.

No.

oOoOoOo

Making herself go to work the next day had been hard, but Deborah had taken a deep breath, cleaned herself up, and got in the car just like any other day; seeing Martin may kill her, but she'd be damned if she didn't take back the strength that was rightfully hers, and carry on like a queen.

When she arrived at the airfield, Deborah pulled her car up beside Martin's without even thinking about it; a force of habit that struck her as she closed the door of her Lexus, and began to walk slowly down the gap between it and the van. Just like any other day.

Which was why she was caught off guard when the driver's door of the van clicked open, and she turned on her heel just in time to see Martin climbing from inside it, shutting the door and turning to lean against it, arms coming together over his chest. Deborah took in the paleness of his cheeks, the red rings under his eyes that suggested he hadn't slept, and the downward tilt of his lips, and felt a stirring of something in her stomach; so she wasn't the only one that had suffered.

"Have you been waiting for me in your van?" Deborah asked wanly, quirking an eyebrow even though just that gesture made her feel exhausted, and drained with each second that she looked at Martin, shyly watching for her reaction to his presence.

"I wanted to talk to you, and not in front of Arthur and Carolyn." Martin answered sheepishly, bringing his hands together at his front, and glancing down at them as if that might ease things between them, if he didn't spend too much time staring at her as if she were water in a desert.

Unable to ignore the affection that she still (and always had, always would) feel for him, Deborah took pity on Martin, and took the few steps that were required for her to lean against her car, facing him; the proximity only served to remind her how much she loved him, but she couldn't let herself give in to that self-pitying expression on his face.

"Go on then." Deborah instructed him weakly, waving her hand in a facsimile of nonchalance that she knew he wouldn't buy; the way that his face lit up imperceptibly made her want to wrap her arms around him, but she refrained, and wrapped them around her chest instead.

"Look, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the way that things went; I-I never wanted…" Martin trailed off, his bottom lip slipping beneath his teeth; the thing was, Deborah believed him, she knew that he was sorry, which was the only reason that she nodded for him to continue, "The thing is though – the thing is, that when we started this, when we decided to give it a go…we agreed that no matter what happened, we would always be friends."

The implication that they had merely been 'giving it a go' made her bristle, but Deborah had always been the one person that listened to Martin when he was speaking, and she knew that underneath his awkward delivery, it was the sentiment that came with his dewy eyed gaze that she should pay heed to.

"Yes, we did." Deborah agreed, nodding as she pursed her lips and forced herself to glance around her, instead of gazing into Martin's eyes, or worse, staring at every inch of him until she gave in.

"Yeah…and I meant it; even though I'm angry, and upset…" Martin's mouth clamped shut as he swallowed hard and cleared his throat, rubbing a hand half encased in his sleeve over the lower half of his face; Deborah felt her lips tremble as she watched him, and pulled her arms more tightly over her chest, "Even though we didn't work, I-I can't stand the idea that I might lose you as a friend…I still care, and I need you…"

"Martin, no matter what happens, I will always be your friend." Deborah assured him before he could work himself up; the bloody man was making her feel like crying again, and that was enough to remind her why she should ignore the feelings that his bright eyed relief instilled, and make no secret of the other feelings that he was producing, "Believe me, I am more than upset and angry, I can't even – but even though it may not seem like it for a while…this hasn't changed the fact that you're my best friend."

"So things can go back to the way they were before?" Martin asked faintly, his fingers picking at his epaulets as he tentatively looked into her eyes; then he blushed, and looked away, correcting himself, "Before, before."

Just thinking about it made Deborah's heart grow heavy, and if she wanted to, she could have drowned in the flood of emotions, her absolute love for the man standing in front of her, making her hurt so badly it made her want to tear one or both of them apart; she prayed that she didn't look as close to tears as she felt.

"Yes…but give it time." Deborah replied drearily, making an effort to sound confident, falling far short of the mark; Martin nodded hastily before she had even finished, "We're both in pain Martin, and I need time – just, don't expect things to go back to normal straight away. Allow us both a little time to be sad, yes?"

"Yes." Martin nodded solemnly in acknowledgement, sniffling slightly; he bit at his bottom lip and exhaled shakily, but smiled at her as if she had provided light for his sun starved home.

When no other words came, Deborah looked down and blinked hard, sucking up her feelings and packing them away for work, before turning away from Martin and making her way towards the porta-cabin; at the sound of him falling into step a short way behind her, Deborah realised just how difficult the next chapter of her life was going to be.

I'm so sorry...

I hope you enjoyed that in a bitter sweet way?