Hello all,
To make up for all the angst and pain that I've been inflicting upon you, I have endeavoured to make this chapter even more wonderful than usual. Please do enjoy.
Wokingham
One month, and Deborah was still counting the days since she and Martin had been together. Then again, two weeks since she had heard anything about Theresa of Liechtenstein; for all of her internal panicking, Deborah was rather pleased that nothing had come of Martin's trip to Duxford. If it had, he would have been gloating about his success.
And in the past fortnight, things between them had become easier; Deborah felt comfortable saying that they were even friends again. After the horrible trip to Vaduz, Deborah had been hit with the realisation that perhaps teasing Martin wasn't the best way to win him back when everything was so raw between them; such an idea seemed painfully obvious when she considered that his main complaint was that she didn't respect him.
So she had made an effort to be nicer; not ridiculously nice, or over the top, simply the pleasant, kindness and consideration that she had shown him when they had first been orbiting around each other, tentatively cementing their friendship. As if by some miracle, Martin responded to this beautifully, and within days, Deborah could barely find an inch of animosity between them.
Things still weren't fine; there were uncomfortable silences, moments when one of them would say or do something that rehashed what they had once had, and instances where one or both of them would overstep a line…but all in all, Deborah was content within reason, and they were friends, able to play games, navigate around each other, laugh and tell jokes, and just be comfortable in each other's presence once more.
So comfortable in fact, that despite her irritable protests of a morning, Martin seemed to have no problem whatsoever using his key to waltz into Deborah's flat and rush her into work on time; even though she valued the sanctity of the morning, Deborah didn't quite have the heart to take her extra key away from him.
On this particular morning, Deborah was sitting cross legged on the sofa, bowl of cereals cradled in her lap, still swaddled in her pyjamas; she had only been awake about an hour, most of which had been spent trying to configure her pillow into a position that would adequately lull her back into the world of sleep. And it was still only four am.
Carolyn had told them only yesterday that they would be flying a businesswoman to Vilnius for ten in the morning, which meant they had to be at the airfield by at least five am in order to take off for half six; to say that Deborah was disgruntled would have been an understatement. No rational human being was awake so early, and anyone that was had surely been possessed by some sort of demonic presence.
Even as she was thinking such thoughts, Deborah heard the clacking of a key in her front door, and as she turned until she could peer over the top of her sofa, she was met by the sight of Martin letting himself in, humming a cheerful tune under his breath; he must have already been up for hours if he wasn't growling with coffee withdrawal.
"Wakey wakey, Deborah!" Martin called over his shoulder as he closed the door, nevertheless taking care not to let it slam, "Early flight today; you need to be up and out the door!"
When he turned around, Deborah observed that Martin's lips were curled into a contented smile above his lightly flushed cheeks, stained pink by the wind; he took a few steps into the sitting room, turning his head this way and that as he searched for her, and even though she made no effort to alert him to her presence, his eyes fell on Deborah after only a moment.
"You're not even dressed yet." Martin remarked, as if it were a travesty to find her in such a manner; the bridge of his nose crinkled as he took in the firmly closed curtains, and the badly lit nature of the sitting room, "What are you doing?"
"I'm eating breakfast." Deborah replied dryly as she settled back into the cushions, forcing him to come a little closer to see her face; she made a point of raising her spoon as slowly as possible, before slipping it through her lips, and repeating the motion, never breaking eye contact.
"Well, you should be dressed and hopping in my van so that I can transport you to the airfield." Martin told her, rolling his eyes at her as she chomped away; he moved close enough that he could rest his hands on the back of the sofa, "Honestly, I've seen you be up and out of hotel room in twenty minutes; how can it possibly take you so long to sort yourself out of a morning?"
"You've also seen me when I'm deprived of sleep, and so you are well aware that it's not a pleasant experience." Deborah remarked, quirking an eyebrow at him; she kicked her feet out to lie more comfortably, placing the still half full bowl on the coffee table. She wasn't even that hungry at such an early hour; it was just the rational part of her brain telling her that she couldn't fly on an empty stomach.
"I don't know," Martin smirked, letting a grin take over his face, as the tension in his shoulders eased somewhat; from this close, Deborah could just about identify the faint rings under his eyes, proving that at least she wasn't the only one inconvenienced by their client, "You say some interesting at one in the morning."
"Very private things that aren't to be mentioned outside of the intimate sanctity of the relationship." Deborah reminded him sternly, rising up on to her knees so that her glare was that much more intimidating; this was something else that Martin had been doing, slipping back into the rhythms of banter that they had maintained before, forgetting that there was a rift between them, "Or shall I bring up some of the things that you said?"
"I-I'm sorry." Martin apologised hastily, straightening his back and moving away from the sofa as he blushed a deeper shade of scarlet, dragging his bottom lip through his teeth; and now Deborah felt bad for upsetting him, damn, "That was-"
"It's fine." Deborah interjected, swallowing the instinctual desire to tease him, and smiling instead, however weakly as she folded her arms atop the back of the sofa and rested her chin on the dipped structure, "Don't worry about it."
"Right, w-well…" Martin stuttered, nodding and swallowing hard, his throat bobbing with the effort; he clapped his hands together and rocked back on his heels, releasing a sort of truncated laugh too awkward to be anything but a self-reprisal, and exclaimed encouragingly, "We should be getting a move on – don't want to rushing when we get to work, do we?"
If she was honest, all Deborah wanted was to go back to bed, but something about the imploring pout that Martin was wearing made it difficult to ignore the tugging sensation in her chest; it wouldn't hurt to do as he asked for once.
"Give me twenty minutes, Captain." Deborah instructed, heaving herself from the sofa before she could spend too long soaking in the radiant smile that lit up Martin's face even further, as he preened triumphantly; definitely worth it.
oOoOoOo
Unsure of what else she could do, Deborah responded to Martin's anxiety ridden horror by reaching across the space between them, and placing a consoling hand on his wrist, squeezing soothingly, a show of support; he was scared for his mother, and if he needed her, she would be there. While he tried to get the whole story out of Arthur, Deborah remained silent.
"No! No! I mean … oh, you really couldn't have got that more wrong, Skip!" Arthur insisted, his attempt at prevarication failing dismally; but he wouldn't lie, so Deborah was sure that as terrified as Martin was, his mother couldn't be in too much trouble, "A-a heart attack i-is what she has not had"
"What do you mean?! What has she had?" Martin demanded shrilly, his chest heaving as he worked himself up in an admirably short amount of time; he glanced desperately at Deborah, slipping his wrist from her grasp only to replace it with his hand, his fingers digging painfully into her knuckles. She could only offer a weak, almost non-existent thin lipped smile.
"Not a heart attack!" Arthur didn't quite explain, and it was almost possible to see him wincing at being the deliverer of bad news, "She was very clear about that!"
"Where is she?" Martin asked quickly, barely waiting for Arthur to inhale another breath; his hand was still crushing Deborah's, so she supposed that she was doing some good at least, though that did little to alleviate the feeling of helplessness that she felt at not being able to do anything to make things better.
"Okay … when I tell you where she is, Skip, you've gotta not worry too much, because in fact …" Arthur stalled, though his meaning was obvious; there was no point refraining from rolling her eyes, as nobody was paying Deborah any attention.
"She's in a hospital?" Martin squawked, interrupting Arthur's floundering excuses as his eyes widened desperately and he cheeks blanched; this far away from home, there was little that he could do to help, and the redundant flapping of his free hand proved as much.
"How did you know?!" Arthur asked squeakily; it wasn't until she heard Carolyn's exasperated sigh from somewhere near her shoulder that Deborah remembered that she was there at all, so focused had she been on Martin.
"Tell her I'll be there in three hours." Martin told Arthur, sighed with resignation, before reaching across to flick the sat-com off, not waiting for a reply; when he slouched back in his chair, he didn't release Deborah's hand.
"D-do you think she's alright?" Martin asked, his voice still frantic to match the shuddering of his chest, despite the dreary set of his shoulders; Deborah made sure to grip his hand particularly tightly in response, "I mean – of course she's not alright, bu-but do you think she's alright?"
"Yes." Deborah replied calmly, softly, turning in her seat and tugging gently on Martin's hand until he paused in his jittering and shifted to meet her gaze, worrying his lip between his teeth; it was such a pitiful sight that it made her heart want to topple from her chest in its race to get to him, "I'm sure it's just a small accident."
"Ha! Ac-ci-dent!" Deborah startled as from behind her, Carolyn's triumphant voice rang out; she turned her head in tandem to Martin's only to find the other woman staring at her, a smirk on her lips and a finger pointed proudly in the air.
"Carolyn!" Deborah scolded her, scowling furiously at her employer as Martin groaned and turned back to face the skies, finally pulling his hand from hers; the bloody woman couldn't even take two minutes to be kind to the man that she had practically been flogging for five years.
"Oh, I'm sorry Martin." Carolyn groaned, wincing at herself as she tentatively lifted a hand as if to place it on the back of his seat, then pulled back; Deborah pretended not to have seen the motion, "The moment we land you can head off; I'm sure Arthur will be happy to help Deborah clean up."
"Thank you." was all that Martin had to say, as he visibly drooped in his seat, hands curling around the controls like a drowning man to a life boat; drooped was how he remained, as neither Carolyn nor Deborah thought it fit to disturb his miserable silence.
Throughout the next few hours, Deborah left Martin to his thoughts, occasionally slipping her hand over his, squeezing encouragingly while he smiled wanly, gratefully each time; when they had landed, he insisted upon running through all the checks, and when he finally hoisted his flight bag over his shoulder, Deborah remained on his heels until he reached the porta-cabin, fighting with the stiff door, and eventually hurling his bag onto the desk while he rifled through his locker and hunted down his coat.
"So I – I need to get this - " Martin murmured under his breath, loud enough that Deborah could just about make out every word as she stood in the middle of the porta-cabin, watching him snatch up his coat, only to drop it when he went to scrabble for his bag, "a-and I need this – oh, bugger - "
Before he could drop down to retrieve his coat, after dropping his bag with an echoing clunk, Deborah hurried to pull Martin to a halt, placing her hands in his upper arms to straighten him up, and then slipping her palms up and over his shoulders, soothingly, like she had many times before.
"Martin, stop." She instructed firmly, making sure to pinch the tender spot on his shoulders before stroking secure circles over the top; the last thing that Deborah wanted was for Martin to get in his van when he was so riled up, "Take deep breaths, and calm down before I have to put you down."
Martin nodded hastily, his hands leaping up to grasp at the back of hers, though he didn't remove them, simply held onto her; slowly but surely, the red began to recede from his cheeks, and as the heaving of his chest eased, so did the tension in his limbs.
"Good, well done, Captain." Deborah congratulated him, making sure to smile warmly, even so keep a tight hold on Martin lest he sprint away; this she could help with, in this she could make things better, "Now, I am going to take your bag for you, and I'm going to drop it off at your house for you. That way you don't have to worry about a thing other than getting yourself down to Wokingham, understand?"
"Yes – yes, god, thank you." Martin didn't quite sigh, but more exhaled every breath that he had ever taken, eyes growing wide and watery with relief; before she could react, Martin had lunged forwards and wrapped his arms around Deborah, pulling her into a well practised hug, fingers curling into the material of her jacket as he tucked their heads together, close enough that Deborah could feel his breath on her ear, and could do little else but return the embrace, "I don't know what I'd ever do without you."
It was a sentiment that she had heard so many times, in different circumstances, but Deborah didn't say a word; instead, she cherished the first shred of intimacy she had received in a month, and closed her eyes as she relished the warmth and solidity of Martin pressed against her, held close in her arms.
Then he was gone, bumbling after his coat, and whirling out of the door; Deborah couldn't blame him, she just hoped that what he found wouldn't upset him too much.
oOoOoOo
Working alone with Carolyn was torturous, even though Deborah had known the woman for years, and would only reluctantly admit, trusted above most others; but she was willing to undertake such suffering so that Arthur could look after Martin's mother, and Martin could try and fit caretaking around his already packed life of piloting and vanning.
Deborah had barely seen Martin over the last week, but the times that she had had been positive in terms of their relationship, and deeply worrying in terms of Martin as a whole. He had only been at the airfield twice, and both times he seemed exhausted, with black rings around his eyes, and a sleepy tinge to his skin as he behaved far more docilely than he ever had when not drunk.
Even so, it was a joy to actually see him on those sparse occasions, and even more of a joy to actually get to talk to him, and listen to him share his thoughts and fears about his mother's health, and his hectic timetable; such conversations came over the phone. It had been a surprise when on the first evening since his mother's hospitalisation, Deborah had picked up the phone to find Martin eager to relieve the weight of the day and seek the comfort of her wise words.
So his mother was fine, Martin was running himself ragged, and Deborah was sheepishly enjoying being able to lie in bed and offer words of comfort and consolation as he spilled his fears and general annoyances; it was just like before.
On the first day that Martin stayed in work for the full day, sort of pottering around and not doing a lot, Deborah made sure to keep one eye on him from behind their desks; it was a surprise when a shadow fell over the document that she was dutifully scanning, and Martin smiled shyly down at her when she lifted her head.
"Hey, Deborah." Martin greeted her, as if he hadn't been wandering around aimlessly for the past half hour, a tentative blush colouring his cheeks as he drew his bottom lip through his teeth; he made a show of peering at the papers under her hands, before his eyes flickered back up to meet hers, "Are you busy?"
"No more busy than you normally are when I interrupt you." Deborah replied honestly, shrugging nonchalantly and pushing the papers away from her, instead resting her elbows on the desk and tenting her fingers; even though she was feeling light and airy just having him want to be in her presence, Deborah didn't want to make Martin uncomfortable by being too unlike the her that he perceived, "I'm double checking your paperwork, just in case you've made any more sleep deprived mistakes."
"Yeah, that last one was a bit awful wasn't it?" Martin chuckled, running his hand over the back of his neck, and then reaching up to pluck his hat from his head and twist it between his hands; definitely exhausted if he wasn't even slightly worried about his unprofessional mishap, in which they would have left all of their next client's cargo in Sicily, instead of Hong Kong.
"Just a bit." Deborah agreed fondly, quirking her eyebrows at him, enjoying the way that Martin smiled and cocked his head in response; this was how it should be between them, "What do you need?"
"Oh, nothing…I just, I-I wondered if we could talk –you know, properly." Martin explained, whacking his hat against the palm of one hand, trying to appear nonchalant, but failing in his typical fashion, "I miss talking to you, e-especially now, when I could really use someone to talk to that actually…gets me, like you do."
"Of course we can talk, you can always talk to me." Deborah reminded him seriously, frowning at him until he grimaced apologetically, and a pang of guilt rang in her chest; rolling her eyes and sighing, Deborah batted a hand towards the sofa, "Oh, go and sit down, I'll be there in a moment."
"Right, yes…" Martin mumbled distractedly, and began making his way raggedly over to the sofa, dropping down onto one end while Deborah rose from her seat and rounded the desk, following him in his own time.
Martin slumped on one end, kicking his legs out until they took up most of one half of the sofa, crossed at the knees as he slouched; Deborah felt that she had no other option but to mirror his posture, lowering herself down onto the opposite end of the cushions, and pulling her legs up to rest fully upon it, until their knees pressed together. Martin said nothing, but merely smiled warmly in response to her own pleasant show of affection.
"Alright then, what's the problem?" Deborah inquired, toning down her cheer and merging it with concern, as she leaned forwards, resting her arms on her knees, bringing them that much closer, and making it easier to watch the expressions flit across Martin's face.
"Oh, god, it's not even a problem." Martin groaned, rubbing his hands over his face momentarily muffling his voice; he leaned forwards as well, just enough to prop his elbows up on his thighs, adding feeling to emphasise his discontent, "I just need someone to vent at, that's all."
"Well vent away Darling." Deborah proposed, extending a welcoming hand to him, before folding back into her comfortable position; surely she could fix something for him if he talked long enough, "It's not as if I haven't endured your chagrin before."
"Yeah, s-sorry." Martin shook his head at himself, his eyebrows furrowing briefly; then he exhaled sharply, and the words fell from his mouth, accompanied by hand gestures as if desperate to see the light, "It's just – everything at the moment! Not only have I got to be up all hours to fit in all the van jobs, and the flying when I can, which is barely anything recently, I'm still spending most of my days trying to look after Mum, while she makes it as difficult as is humanly possible. It's as if she's so desperate not to be a hindrance that she's being as much of one as anyone has ever been."
"You've got Arthur to help you now though." Deborah suggested, pressing her lips together as she watched Martin roll his eyes tiredly and shrug as if nothing could be helped, and he was doomed to live in resignation until the end of eternity.
"No, no, that's just the start." Martin exclaimed, really beginning to delve into his frustrations; this was good, he just needed to let it all out, "Now Simon's turned up, and it's living hell at Mum's; I was doing absolutely fine managing on my own, then he just waltzes in and pretends as if he's some sort of great martyr for taking a few hours away from his job at the council."
"Do you and Simon not get along?" Deborah inquired; she played with a few loose strands of hair so as not to look too interested, but Martin was too busy venting to pay her curiosity much attention.
"Well, we're polite when we're together – but I try to avoid us being together as much as possible." Martin explained, and Deborah imagined that he was thinking of all the things he'd wanted to do to his brother over the years to get him to shut up; instead, the threads around his knees took the brunt of his irritation, "You know, he really is insufferable, h-he goes out of his way to embarrass and patronise me, a-and Mum just soaks it all up."
"Can't you just stand up to him?" Deborah asked, blinking up at him; despite his floundering, she had never thought of Martin as someone that wouldn't stand up for themselves, however bad at it they may have been.
"I try, but he just sort of steamrollers over me with his voice and his moustache." Martin pouted; he brought his knees up onto the sofa a little further, so that he could wrap his arms around them and use the motion to bring his forwards a little more, creating the illusion of closeness.
"With his moustache?" Deborah replied, allowing a faint giggle to bubble up in her thought; that was the ticket, she thought, Martin's frown was erased as the corners of his lips began to rise, and he shrugged carelessly.
"Really hard to argue with someone with a moustache that bushy." Martin remarked wryly, clicking his tongue and shrugging again; his fingers tapped where they curled around his knees, as if he were growing restless.
"I've seen some moustaches in my time." Deborah suggested nonchalantly; there was something about how happy Martin looked despite his complaints that she wanted to simply package up and keep, and if she could do anything to maintain it, she would, without a second thought, "I reckon I could have a crack at it."
"I'm sure you could – you or Carolyn, but I'm afraid I'm not you or Carolyn." Martin retorted, snorting a little as he presumably imagined the scenario, and gestured towards himself, "I'm me."
"True – but you know me and Carolyn." Deborah prompted patiently, deliberately holding his eye contact, waiting for him to catch up with her train of thought; if she had expected waves of gratitude, she was sorely disappointed.
"So?" Martin asked, so innocently as his eyes flittered over her face; surely he couldn't have forgotten that she was always willing to come to his aid without a second thought.
"Well, we're driving to Stansted on Sunday, aren't we?" Deborah explained, taking advantage of the opportunity to make it sound as if her plan was one of mystery and wonder; the rapt attention that Martin was giving her was wonderful, and she quirked her eyebrows demonstratively, "Perhaps we ought to call in on the way and wish your mother well – the whole crew. In our uniforms."
"Oh, yes!" Martin exclaimed excitedly, his face lighting up as hi eyes widened, and he leaned forwards to grasp at her arms just above her elbows, grinning so hard that his teeth showed; Deborah had to fight not to blush, as it occurred to her that the last place she had heard that low rumble of joy was in the bedroom, "Fantastic!"
"Anything for you dear." Deborah remarked, voice perhaps a little too airy, as she was distracted by the tickling in her cheeks; she lifted her hand as if to place it over his, but settled instead for brushing the backs of her knuckles against his, dropping her hand. It wouldn't do to push her luck.
"Really though, you are perfect!" Martin continued fondly, apparently unaware of the intimacy of their position, his thumbs rubbing small circles into her arms as he grinned excitedly; as much as she loved it, Deborah couldn't let it go on, not when her heart was doing funny things in her chest and they had no idea what they would do if presented with such an idea.
"Now, now, Martin, there are other people around." Deborah remarked awkwardly, trying not to grimace as she patted his arm, and leaned back imperceptibly; she regretted it immediately, when Martin cleared his throat nervously and jolted back, covering his mouth with a curled hand, cheeks flaming.
"Yes…sorry." Martin murmured, pulling his legs down to place his feet firmly on the ground, and then hastily hoisting himself to his feet, shuffling a bit as if unsure of what he should do.
"No matter." Deborah assured him, smiling pleasantly, placing her hands in her lap, as non-threatening or assuming as she could muster; that seemed to work as Martin nodded, and coughed again, but smiled wanly, before turning stiltedly on his heel, and striding away.
oOoOoOo
Now that she was at the Crieff residence, Deborah felt like she was having her eyes open to why Martin was…well, the way that he was; with his mother and sister fussing over him and telling him what to do, and his brother actually hoisting him off the ground despite his protests, talking over him and disagreeing with his every statement, she could absolutely understand why Martin was so desperate to be respected as Captain.
It even made a fluttering of sympathy, and affection, rustle back into life in her chest, and she found that any annoyance that she had previously had with Martin's preoccupation with his job and his pride, simply faded away; if Deborah had known, she wouldn't have been so quick to disregard his pride when they were together, might have even cushioned the blows when they were fighting.
All that she wanted now was to make Martin feel better, assure him that he always had her, that she would supported and respected him at least in front of his family; the only obstacle to that was Carolyn, standing to the side, smirking like a shark smelling blood.
"First officer?" Martin's sister, Caitlin, as red haired and freckly as he was, asked, looking Deborah up and down as if she couldn't believe that she was ranked below her brother; oh dear, "Is that like the captain's captain?"
"Not quite, in fact." Deborah replied stiltedly, linking her fingers together at her front as she awkwardly swung her arms; she wasn't going to let Carolyn win this, not even when she was as distracted as she was.
"I'm the captain." Martin insisted vehemently, pressing a hand to his chest, emphasising his desperation as he glared at his sister; it didn't help that she was still holding his precious hat between her hands, "You know I'm the captain."
"Well, yes, but you're not her captain, surely." Caitlin contradicted him, snorting as she gestured towards Deborah, oblivious apparently to the inner turmoil that Deborah thought Martin was transmitting quite well.
"Yes, I am! Aren't I, Deborah? Tell them." Martin turned to Deborah, eyes wide as he begged, gazing down at her like a parched man straining for water, as if she were the most important person in the world in that moment; she almost spoke up to defend him, when she was cut off before even opening her mouth.
"Oh yes, do." Carolyn interjected eagerly, grinning from the side-lines; Deborah rolled her eyes, but refused to let herself be caught out, no matter how much Martin's gaze burnt into her skin.
"Oh yes. He is …" Deborah spoke carefully, wincing as she tried to ignore the nauseas churning in her guts as her she watched from the corner of her eyes, Martin's face falling, as his features softened into a miserable facsimile of how he should have been looking at her, "… he is my … That is who he is."
"Oh! And is he good?" Caitlin inquired, sounding surprised, possibly so much so that she didn't notice the uncomfortable configuration of her words, which was something, Deborah supposed.
"Oh, yes!" Deborah exclaimed, grasping at the slither of a chance to redeem herself, not that it lasted long, or did anything to cheer Martin up; in retrospect, perhaps she shouldn't have asked Carolyn to come along, "He is most … most … good."
"Great." Martin remarked flatly; when Deborah turned to look at him, she felt as if the rejected, terrible expression on his face, the slump of his shoulders, was like a knife to the gut, his dejection a tangible cloud choking her, "Thanks, Deborah. Terrific."
Deborah tried to tell him via an imploring, miserable stare that she was sorry, to translate her guilt into a physical apology, but he was too busy talking to his family, trying to work out what Carolyn was doing. Then apparently he had had enough, as he ordered Carolyn to the kitchen, and guided Deborah with a firm hand on her back, nudging her purposefully into the other room and away from his relatives.
When the kitchen door slammed behind him, and Deborah and Carolyn were lined up on one side of the room, Martin on the other, he scowled furiously, his lips trembling with the effort of puffing out his chest and glaring indignantly between them.
"You're still playing the game!" Martin hissed irritably, as if he couldn't believe his own words; he swallowed hard, waiting for one of them to answer, and Deborah couldn't ignore the horrible clenching coldness in her guts.
"What?" Carolyn insisted, feigning cluelessness, shaking her head as if affronted by Martin's suspicion; it wasn't a very good act, "No! Of course not!"
"You are!" Martin snapped, jaw clenching as his eyes flickered frantically between the two women; she couldn't decide whether the expression on his face was disappointment or anger, but what Deborah did know, was that his eyes lingered on her most of all, as if her betrayal was the worst.
"What game?" Deborah asked as innocently as she could manage given the guilt that was simmering just beneath the surface of her skin; she folded her arms over her chest, and then regretted the motion, as Martin's expression became more certain, as if he could read her avoidance.
"Say "sausages" – either of you." Martin instructed, standing back a fraction so that he could purse his lips and stare at the both of them expectantly; Carolyn remained silent, glancing sideways at Deborah.
"I think not." Deborah said quietly, after a pause; even though she winced, and grimaced, knowing that it would only annoy Martin further, she couldn't let Carolyn win; she would never live it down.
"You said you'd help me!" Martin groaned in frustration, jerking forwards with the power of his disappointment, extending his palms into the air as if pleading for some sort of compliance; seeing his eyes water did nothing to aid Deborah's resolve, "That was the whole point! For once I was gonna look good in front of my brother, and now you're too busy playing your stupid game!"
"Well, we can do both." Carolyn remarked, shrugging as if it were no problem whatsoever; it was fair to say that she still wasn't quite in tune to the subtler quirks of their Captain, not nearly enough to read the trembling of his limbs as more than just a habit.
"No you can't!" Martin hissed furiously, clenching his hands at his sides, now glaring quite pointedly at Deborah, and only Deborah, "You sound like a couple of broken Speak and Spells."
"That is a touch harsh." Deborah interjected, calmly raising her hand to gesture definitively at him; not that it helped, as she had to press her lips together to avoid quailing under the irritable scowl that he aimed at her.
"Stop it!" Martin ordered, barely keeping his voice low enough not to be heard from the other room; his hand was shaking as he held it up, countering Deborah's gesture, "Okay, look: I'm declaring an amnesty. While you're in this house, the game's on hold, okay?"
"Suits me." Carolyn remarked cheerfully, glancing at Deborah for confirmation.
"And me." Deborah agreed nodding dutifully; she still felt guilty about lying to Martin, but if Carolyn was going to keep up the game, then she wasn't going to fall for any of her tricks.
"Good!" Martin sighed, physically sagging in relief; he kept his eyes trained on Deborah, which only serves to force her not to visibly squirm under his scrutiny, "Thank you."
"Right, then, shall we go back in? Deborah suggested, eager to divert Martin's attention elsewhere; his family were probably wondering what was wrong, or else, being bedazzled by whatever Arthur was using to entertain them.
"Yes, let's." Carolyn announced; she began to step forwards, but Martin threw out an arm, blocking her path as he glared once again between the two of them,
"Wait a minute." Martin ordered suspiciously, his eyebrows knitting as he narrowed his eyes at the women; he couldn't just leave it alone, "Say "sausages"."
"You first." Carolyn muttered swiftly, nodding towards Deborah, still determined to win the game.
"No, you." Deborah replied quietly, ducking her head so that she didn't have to look at the betrayal plastered across Martin's face; winning was beginning to feel awfully like losing, she thought, as she pulled her arms more tightly around her chest.
"Oh, for heaven's sakes! All together, after three. One, two, three …" Martin instructed, his chest heaving as he became more desperate, lifting his hands into the air either side of him; he drew in an expectant breath, but when neither of them answered, he let out a quiet scream of frustration, and almost turned his back on Carolyn, closing the gap between himself and Deborah to glare down at her, "Seriously! Deborah, you said that you were going to help me, you said that you would be here for me, but never mind –it's clear now that you don't care-"
"I-" Deborah tried to protest, her head snapping up to meet his gaze, but Martin shook his head and cut her off, his cheeks burning with exertion; did he really think that that was what was going on?
"No, you don't care, and don't try to tell me that you do." Martin insisted bitterly, his lips trembling as his eyes almost watered; Deborah could only gape helplessly, suffocated by the flood of guilt that flooded her chest, "It's always the same thing with you; I need you to do this one thing for me, and you're too busy wrapped up in your stupid games to actually care about how I feel."
Just like that, Deborah was hit by a moment of complete clarity as she took in how truly miserable Martin looked as he stood over her; it wasn't quite betrayal, or disappointment that glistened across Martin's face, it was hurt. Martin was actually hurt by the way she was acting; he wasn't just throwing a fit because of some distorted sense of pride, this was actually important.
And had been since the start. Their relationship had fallen apart because Deborah thought that Martin was too wrapped up in his bloody pride to even try and understand how she felt…but here she was, too wrapped up in herself to understand that his pride wasn't pride, not quite, but that it was actually important, more important than just showing off that he was Captain.
Oh…they had messed up, so badly.
"No…I- I do care…" Deborah told Martin, softly, though she knew that I such a small room, Carolyn could hear everything that they were saying to each other; she lifted her hand to brush affectionately against his arm, but Martin pulled away.
"Prove it: One … two … three …" he instructed, stepping back to encompass Carolyn in his gaze; she must have found herself plagued by a wash of emotional reprisal as well, as she wasn't smiling quite as proudly any more.
"Sausages!" Deborah murmured, as Carolyn said it more loudly; her shoulders sagged, and she rolled her eyes at the other woman's over exaggerated sigh of relief, far more concerned with the fact that Martin, for all he allowed them to go back to speak to his family, the tension didn't leave his limbs.
Returning to the sitting room, and listening to Simon talk down to Martin and contradict his every decision regarding his own career, Deborah couldn't stand by any longer; Martin still wasn't looking at her, but the whirling in her stomach was too much to ignore. She had to make this right.
"So, Simon." Deborah drawled, stepping up to Martin's side (Carolyn flanked the other one), smirking salaciously; Martin paid her no notice other than to glance fleetingly down at her when her arm brushed against his, "I didn't introduce myself properly before. I'm Deborah. I'm Martin's first officer – his junior – his second in command."
"Well, pleased to meet you." Simon replied cheerfully, giving Deborah an appraising look, whilst nodding politely from the armchair beside his mother's, "I must say, you look more my idea of a pilot than old Martin here."
"Really?" Deborah feigned surprise, placing a hand lightly over her chest; if there was one thing that she could do without fail, it was doll out the false charm for her own purposes, "You look exactly my idea of a council administrator."
"Well, senior administrator." Simon amended, scrunching his face a little with the pride that he possessed; there was really no doubt in Deborah's mind that he and Martin were related, even if Simon was a good foot taller, and brunet. It was as if righteous indignation were hereditary.
"Oh, really? Senior. Gosh." Deborah remarked as she would have with Martin, back when they had first met, taking care to exaggerate her movements and peer thoughtfully at the man; beside, Martin huffed quietly, and Deborah had to refrain from elbowing him for misunderstanding her intent.
"The sights you must have seen." Carolyn added, twigging Deborah's plan and smiling shark-like across the room at Simon, not even bothering to turn and meet Deborah's eye to ensure that she was on the right track as she pressed her hands together.
"Yes, well, I …" Simon seemed to choke somewhat, clearing his throat awkwardly at the idea that someone was actually praising his work; it was far, far too easy to read the signs that had been present in Martin from the day that they had met, "I could tell you a few stories."
"Please, do." Deborah encouraged him; to her pleasure, an awkward silence followed, in which Simon glanced helplessly to his mother and his sister, before rolling his shoulders back and adopting a nonchalant demeanour.
"Well, you know – mustn't talk shop, you know." Simon prevaricated, shrugging and placing his curled hand in front of his mouth; perfect, now all Deborah had to do was get Martin happy, and everything would be fixed.
"Oh, but it would be such a treat for us!" Carolyn exclaimed, blinking hopefully at the man; it was nice to know that the woman had some sense of loyalty, if nothing else, "We've been dying to hear more, ever since Martin told us all about you the other day as we flew over Monte Carlo."
"Was it Monte Carlo, Carolyn?" Deborah inquired, shifting a little closer to Martin so that she could peer around him, but more so that she could take in his expression without having him suspect that she was staring; Martin, for his part, was turning his head between the women either side of him, his mouth opening and closing in stunned silence, "I think it might have been Uganda."
"Oh, yes, of course, when we took those nice cameramen to film mountain gorillas." Carolyn agreed, shaking her head and batting her hand through the air as if she were such a silly person, floundering among the many happy memories that they shared.
"Sorry." Deborah apologised, pursing her lips playfully and looking back to Simon, who was watching the exchange wide eyed between his equally bewildered family, and Arthur, who simply looked confused, "The-the trips rather blur into one after a bit."
"Well, except for the ones like St Petersburg, where we had a bird strike on take-off and Martin landed us on one engine." Carolyn reminded her brightly; perfect, that was exactly the sort of thing to raise Martin's self-esteem, and show off for his family.
"Hmm!" Deborah hummed her assent; as Martin's head snapped around, and he met her eyes, staring down at her, an unspoken question scrawled across his face, along with something akin to…gratitude, Deborah drawled, "That was a sight to behold."
"Martin! Did you?!" Wendy gasped, sounding thrilled as she placed both hands over her mouth, gazing up at her son with eyes full of wonder.
"Oh, he was brilliant." Arthur chipped in, beaming at Martin while the Captain's cheek filled with even more red, more than must have been healthy; Deborah didn't think he knew what was going on, precisely, but Arthur was always happy to boost anyone's ego.
"Well, you know, just part of the job." Martin stammered, shrugging weakly; he barely took his eyes off of Deborah for half a second, before they were back again, and the pain of before was replaced with something that Deborah couldn't identify, that she didn't want to call yearning, so instead called it wonder, and simply cherished the fluttering in her chest.
"Huh! Well, it's my job too, but I went to pieces." Deborah remarked, unable to look away from him for more than a cursory glance at Simon to make sure that he was still convinced; just to add to the act, and because she couldn't deny herself the moment, she shifted a little closer to Martin, and slipped her hands around his arm, in a way that could be construed as congratulatory, or as a display, but was far too intimate when his elbow could brush against her chest, and she had to tilt her head back for Martin to see her smile, "Not like our brave, fearless leader here; there's a reason Martin's the Captain after all."
"She started crying." Carolyn interjected cheerfully; Deborah thought that Martin was about to start crying, as he blinked down at her, a faint smile forming unbidden on his lips, as his face grew more and more grateful, and his chest almost stilled as he held his breath.
"I'm not ashamed to admit it." Deborah drawled, still moving her hands ever so slightly up and down his arm, comfortingly, as she should have been doing before everything went wrong; she couldn't take her eyes from Martin's blue ones, and felt like she was drowning in how open and beautiful whatever emotion they held was.
"Like a schoolgirl." Carolyn chirped; she was enjoying this far too much.
"That'll do." Deborah said sternly, then continued in the same airy and entranced tone that she had been using before, "But Martin here slapped me across the face, told me not to be a damned fool, and landed the plane single-handed, fighting the crosswind all the way down to the icy runway and saving all our lives." She gave Martin a little smirk, to which he quirked an eyebrow in confusion, as she continued, "I've never thought of myself as much of a damsel, but I'll admit, Martin damn near swept me off my feet with his heroics."
"Martin!" Wendy gasped, as Caitlin exclaimed that he was 'Amazing!', the both of them gaping, astounded at Martin, who tore his eyes away from Deborah's to gulp and chuckle weakly as he took in his family's reactions.
"But I'm sorry – we're getting sidetracked." Deborah remarked, leaning back ever so slightly to address Simon, but not removing her hands from where she held Martin, too happy to be allowed to do so, "You were going to tell us your story, Simon."
"Yeah. Yes." Simon stammered, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, his cheeks as red as Martin's, "Well, er, I would, but, um, but, you know, b-best not. Official Secrets Act, you know."
And that was the end of that; if Deborah had to comment on the rest of the visit, she'd have given herself a hearty congratulations for making such a bright and joyous smile appear on Martin's face, as when she shifted to retract her hands, he tugged back, mouthing 'thank you', staring at her as if she were the most beautiful thing in the world, and she replied by mouthing 'you're welcome darling', feeling as if she might fall into him if she wasn't careful.
oOoOoOo
Finally, after another hour at the Crieff residence, listening to Martin regale his family with toned down stories of their more professional flights, and being cornered by Wendy in the kitchen to be told that she didn't understand why her son had broken up with her, because he had never looked so happy, and that Wendy would have loved to have Deborah as part of the family because she was a 'dear', Deborah leaned back against Arthur's car, watching Martin say goodbye to his mother.
"All okay?" Deborah inquired, as Martin didn't quite bounce down the path that led to the road; his lips were pursed in the corner of his mouth, as if he were deep in thought, and he came to stand in front of Deborah when she pushed away from the car.
"Er, yes. I-I think so." Martin replied uncertainly, scratching at the top of his head with the edge of his cap, as he peeked at Deborah just as he always did when he thought that they might be doing something unprofessional, or god forbid, illegal, "You don't think we were too mean to Simon, do you?"
"Good lord, no!" Deborah laughed, letting a wide smile overtake her face, as she watched Martin sigh in relief; if Martin deserved anything, it was to feel good about himself, that she had realised over the course of the day.
"I don't think so." Carolyn interjected, from the other side of the car; she peered over the top of it, face scrunched as she held a hand up to shield her eyes from the sun, "Why – do you feel bad?"
"Er, maybe a bit bad, but also, sort of mainly AMAZING!" with that, Martin laughed with delight, and lurched forwards, sweeping Deborah into such an enthusiastic embrace that she barely had time to catch herself with her arms around his shoulders before she was very nearly swept off of her feet and in a small circle, "I'm sorry, I know it's petty, but it was AMAZING!" Martin chuckled again, wearing the biggest, warmest smile that Deborah had ever seen on his face as he lowered her down, but his arms remained curled tightly around her back, keeping them pressed together as he murmured wonderfully into her ear, "Thank you so much. Thank you, thank you, thank you…"
Deborah was unsure of how to respond, other than to let out a nervous sort of complimentary giggle as she shifted back just far enough that their foreheads touched; Martin drew his bottom lip through his teeth when their eyes met, and seemed to be lost in confused and boundless thought, though he made no move either way. If she could have described it, Deborah might have said that he looked as if he might simply press his lips to hers and ravish her there and then, such was the intensity with which Martin stared at her.
"Oh, not at all." Carolyn remarked loudly, now leaning against the top of the car as Arthur watched the exchange in silence, lips pressed together as if afraid that too much noise might shatter something, "I know what it's like. Well, you've met Ruth. She still makes me feel like a five-year-old."
Martin sighed, and leaned backwards; to Deborah's surprise, even though his mind seemed made up about making any move towards her, as his eyes flickered away, Martin didn't remove his hold on her, instead allowing whatever they were doing devolve into a loose hug, where she could stand back with a yard between them, and still rest her arms on his shoulders.
"You know, I think I could handle him if it weren't for that moustache." Martin bemoaned, shooting a devious glance back at the house; of course, he couldn't let anything go for too long.
"I do think you set too much store by moustaches." Deborah drawled warmly, fondly brushing the back of her hand against Martin's cheek as she stepped back, reasserting the space between them, and allowing her arms to wrap around her chest; Martin rolled his eyes, but nodded in acceptance.
"Ah-ha!" Carolyn declared, shattering the peace and pointing triumphantly at Deborah over the car, "Moustaches!"
And that was the end of what could have been a peaceful and pleasant day, and the beginning of a flight filled with a very smug CEO, a resigned First Officer, and an unusually pliant Captain, who even listened to the steward's suggestions on how to entertain the passengers without mentioning once that every single one was unprofessional.
I'm so much happier with this chapter than the last, and not just because of the content. Hopefully this makes up for the emotional torment of the last ones : )