Hello all, and I hope you've had a great weekend. Here's the next chapter, super long
Xinzhou
With nothing but white for miles around, and the wind whistling until it burned their ears, Deborah was willing to declare that China had never seen so much snow in such a concentrated area; then again, when the crew of a small aeroplane were bumbling around on a runway, of course it would feel like that.
As far as she knew, Carolyn and Arthur were waiting by GERTI's door, but Deborah couldn't quite see, as even squinting, she found that the chill stung her eyes just enough to make the effort not worth the pain. If only Martin would hurry up, they could get on the plane and leave, and spend the next few hours nice and warm, tucked up in the flight-deck.
"Oh, Oh No!" from her side, Deborah heard Martin let out a frantic cry, a sort of reedy squawk, and she turned just in time to see Martin, large coat bundled over his uniform jacket, scrambling in the snow, hands outstretched, "My hat!"
Before Martin had time to grab his hat, the wind picked it up and blew it another three or four feet away, into another pile of wet snow; Deborah watched Martin unfold himself from where he had leant down, trying to avoid putting his knees into the snow, and then trip after the accessory.
"You don't think that that noise was perhaps a little extreme?" Deborah inquired lightly as she hugged her arms around her chest, then rolled her eyes, smirking faintly as Martin audible scowled and grumbled under his breath, almost falling as his hat slipped once more like smoke through his fingers, "Oh, I'm sorry, what was I thinking?"
When no reply was even attempted, Martin far too preoccupied to bother retorting as he gritted his teeth and chased his hat across the snow, looking a little too reminiscent of Bambi for Deborah to bear, she sighed, and wandered around the plane until she found Carolyn and Arthur. Deborah decided not to question the pile of stylised snow standing defiantly next to them.
"Twenty-one minutes to go." Carolyn announced as she turned at the sound of Deborah's crunching footsteps, and her eyes fell on her First Officer huddled into herself; she waved her arm through the air, ushering Deborah closer, "Come on, come on, come on! Where is Martin?"
"His hat blew off." Deborah explained briefly, hurrying to step onto the metal stairs and to get her feet out of the snow; her uniform was in no way designed to protect her from the cold and soggy dampness that was seeping between her toes.
"Blew off? How did it blow off?" Carolyn demanded, turning back to spy Martin stumbling into view, still chasing his hat, which was tumbling in the wind; she let out a huff of despair, "It's bigger than he is." Deborah rested her arms on the stair's railing, and watched him scrabbling, with a find little smile creeping onto her lips, "Martin!"
"Yes! Just-just coming!" Martin yelled, though he was doing nothing of the sort; while Carolyn ordered Arthur about, and gaped at his snowman, Deborah watched Martin flopping about, until his hands finally closed around his hat, which he clutched to his chest, red faced and breathing heavily.
Deborah smiled warmly at Martin as he trotted over to join their gathering at the bottom of the stairs, but he merely rolled his eyes and grimaced good-naturedly, still clutching his hat as he panted and leaned his weight against the railing.
"Here I am." Martin declared, as Carolyn halted her conversation with Arthur; Deborah reached over to give his shoulder a little squeeze, providing that slither of attention and acknowledgement that he had very obviously been looking for. Ever since she had realised why Martin was…well, the way that he was, that recognition was actually important to him, that he wasn't just being a stubborn git, Deborah had been taking pains to be as subtly affectionate as possible.
It seemed to be working a treat, as the tension visibly left Martin's limbs, and his lips curled into a pleasant smile and his eyes lingered on her face; recently, it didn't just feel as if things were going back to the way they had been before…it felt as if Martin was letting things fall back into their proper rhythms.
"At last." Carolyn muttered, then gave Martin a cursory glance, taking in the state of him as he thrust his hat back onto his head, pinning it down with the palm of his hand, "Can't you get a chin strap for that thing?"
"Don't give him ideas." Deborah sighed, taking a second to brush her fingers over the rim of Martin's cap before retracting her hand; his eyes followed the motion, and she pursed her lips and pouting playfully at the inquisitive, cheeky cock of his eyebrow.
Carolyn didn't wait for them to exhaust their flirting, or whatever it was that they were doing, and she ignored Arthur's attempt to return to his snowman, instead striding up the stairs and past Deborah, bumping her with her elbow as she yanked GERTI's door open, and stepped inside.
"All right. Everyone in." Carolyn instructed, waving the three of them into the warmth of the Cabin; offering Martin one last glance, Deborah clapped Arthur on the back to stop him from ignoring his mother's request, and did as she was asked, marching up the stairs, eager to remove herself from the biting chill of the outside.
As much 'fun' as it was watching Martin and Arthur clutz around in the snow, in the middle of the evening, in a country far from home, Deborah was ready to start making her way back to her own house, and her own bed. Three coffees and she was practically itching for it actually. And then no clients for at least a week, and nothing to keep her occupied in that time; she might spend the first day lounging, but if she was lucky, Deborah might even be able to convince Martin that he needed an assistant manager on his van job, which was all the way on the other side of England, or so he said.
oOoOoOo
It was only because she loved him that Deborah humoured Martin's request, and let him lead her by the wrist (which he held daintily between his fingers, as if afraid that too much contact between them might shatter the mood) outside, back into the snow, in which she was now shivering, her arms no help as they wrapped tightly around her chest.
There was something about Martin shuffling around, kicking at the snow with the toes of his boots, almost childlike as he pointed down at the ground, red cheeked and bundled lumpily into his coat, that filled her with fondness and made it impossible to be truly annoyed with him.
"See, l-look." Martin instructed, his finger extended towards the ground as he looked between it and Deborah, unimpressed it seemed by her reluctance to take an adequate interest in the frozen water, "Look at the snow."
"Yes, it's absolutely fine." Deborah replied, her voice pitched at least an octave higher than it should have been, as she huddled into herself, fighting the cold; humour him, she might be willing to do, linger outside while he fussed over nothing, she would not, "Come on!"
"No, I … I-I-I just think it looks a bit slushy." Martin explained, gesturing decisively with his hands, his teeth chattering against the chill; now he really was just being stubborn for the sake of it. Either that, or the snow had gone to his head and insanity was taking hold, forcing him to see problems where there were none.
"It's not slushy at all!" Deborah insisted; rolling her eyes, she knelt down and began scooping snow into her glove covered hands, taking a sizeable chunk from the ground, "It's lovely, dry, fluffy snow." she said, standing again so that she could mash the mush together more tightly, and hold it out for Martin to look at, shifting closer so that he could peer down, "If it was slushy, I couldn't make a snowball out of it, and yet, look."
"Yeah," Martin acknowledged, nodding indulgently, but dragging his bottom lip through his teeth as Deborah squeezed the snow a little tighter, "but it … it-it's not a proper snowball. It hasn't got much structural integrity …"
In the spur of the moment, Deborah decided that the best, and most enjoyable thing to do, would be to curve her arm upwards, and let the snowball arc through the foot of space between them, only to splatter with a thump into the scarf covered area between Martin's chin and his neck.
Martin let out a small sound of surprise, and squeezed his eyes shut reflexively, but when he opened his eyes, Deborah was smiling wickedly at him, her eyes trained on his face, her hands linked and swinging at her front as she rocked on her heels.
"Seems all right to me." Deborah remarked airily, as Martin brushed the snow away from his face with the back of his hand, wrinkling his nose at the dampness. She had been right, he really did look lovely all flushed with white flecks in his hair.
"I did know you were going to do that." Martin replied wryly, attempting to stare seriously down at her, but Deborah could tell that the longer he looked at her smile, the more he was forced to fight his own; wonderful.
"And yet you didn't duck." Deborah sighed, placing a dramatic hand against her chest, grinning at the sardonic twist of Martin's features as he began to bend down, presumably to brush the remainder of the snow from his clothes, "You really do care."
"Yes," Martin agreed, chuckling under his breath; a little grin slipped onto his lips as he began gathering his own lump of snow in his hands, glancing upwards to ensure that Deborah was watching his overly demonstrative movements, "but look: if you just scoop it lightly …"
The moment that she saw what he was about to do, Deborah jolted back, her hands rising to hang palm out in the air between them, as Martin froze, snowball still clutched between his fists, still half crouched in the snow.
"Don't you dare." Deborah drawled, nevertheless eyeing Martin's hands warily as he straightened up; a small, daring smirk appeared without her permission, even as she began to inch away, slipping her foot back ready to run, "Martin, don't you even think about-"
Before she could finish, Martin's face was taken over by a devious glint in his eyes and a wicked grin, and he lunged forwards, not quite releasing all of the snow in his hands; Deborah dodged out of his way, but Martin didn't give up, scooping up more snow and following her movements.
Deborah wasn't sure how it happened, between the chuckling and the giggling and the flurry of snow and water that flew here there and everywhere, but somehow, she found herself flat on her back in the snow, the icy chill barely noticeable as Martin pinned her down, his legs either side of her thighs as he knelt over her, sprinkling snow onto her face while laughing joyfully, as she sniffled and giggled and batted her hands in the air, both of them beaming.
She whacked her hand gently against his side, but that only caused Martin to drop the snow onto her face, and for him to wobble, falling forwards until he was propped up above her on his wrists; they were effectively pressed together, albeit clumsily, and as Deborah propped herself up on her elbows, bringing their chests closer together, her eyes met Martin's blue ones, and she felt her smile begin to waver.
Then Martin grinned even wider, and his eyes bored into hers, lingering and burning, but Deborah could see his chest stutter slightly; Deborah rose a little further onto her elbows, and Martin leaned down, and the tip of his nose rubbed affectionately against hers, before he pulled back and stared into her eyes again, the smile never fading from his face. It was like being run over by a bus constructed entirely of flaming moths, and Deborah found herself momentarily breathless, and completely content.
Then in the distance, there sounded the clacking of boots on steel, and Martin sat back on his heels as if scolded, dragging Deborah up with him, enough at least that she could sit up, hands digging into the snow either side of her.
"You see?" Martin asked, swallowing hard as his eyes darted back and forth, wide and horrified, chest heaving; Deborah could just about understand that perhaps, they might have got a little carried away, "It's still spattering before impact. That's why it's not safe …"
"I hate to intrude on your pilot-y winter wonderland, but we have eleven minutes to get this thing in the air." Carolyn remarked dryly, standing with her hands on her hips as Martin rose to his feet, then offered Deborah a hand to drag her up after him, the both of them brushing the residual snow away from their clothes.
"Carolyn, I think the snow on the wings might be too slushy for take-off." Martin explained hastily, rubbing at the back of his neck as he shuffled his feet and pulled his coat a little more tightly around himself.
"And I think it's absolutely fine." Deborah contradicted, standing at his side, wrapping her arms around her chest and avoiding the suspicious glare that Carolyn was directing at the two of them; what had just happened was awkward, but Martin was apparently as eager to forget about it and just be friends as she was. When he was ready to stop being friends, and fix things, then she would accept.
"And so you're settling it with a snowball fight." Carolyn sighed exhaustedly, rolling her eyes and shaking her head.
"No; slushy snow won't hold its shape in any great volume, whereas dry snow …" Martin argued weakly, pointing as he had been before at the ground, kicking at the snow as if to prove a point.
"Uh, Martin." Deborah cleared her throat and extracted one of her arms to poke tentatively at his arm, drawing his attention towards herself as she stepped just a fraction closer.
"What?" Martin replied, his eyebrows rising inquisitively as he turned to her; she might have been deluding herself, but Deborah thought that he was giving her his complete attention.
"Take a look at that." Deborah instructed him, stepping close enough that she could turn Martin to look towards the plane, keeping one hand on the back of his arm as he peered at the structure, "One of Arthur's finest snowmen. You can't make that out of slush."
" … Oh." Martin remarked after a moment of squinting, open mouthed at the snowman, the cogs turning in his head; then his expression brightened, and he turned his head back to Deborah, shrugging carelessly, "Oh – oh well. It must be fine, then."
Deborah was momentarily surprised at how quickly Martin agreed with her, not even a fight, or an implication of stubbornness; he just, accepted it, as pliant as he was capable of, smiling and nodding, shoving his hands in his pockets. It was nice…
"Yep. So everyone back on. We're flying tonight!" Deborah announced, plastering on some not entirely false cheer, and striding past Martin and Carolyn so that she could step onto the stairs, where Arthur was now waiting, "Arthur?"
"Yeah?" Arthur replied curiously, stepping aside to let her enter the plane, while Carolyn and Martin's footsteps clanged up the steps behind her.
"Your snowman saved the day." She answered, before heading through the cabin.
"Brilliant."
oOoOoOo
A hotel would have been nicer, but Deborah couldn't complain too much about having to sleep on GERTI; compared to everything else that was nagging on her mind, the discomfort of having to lie back, cushioned only by the passenger pillows that Martin had so graciously allowed her to take control of, though he remained on the opposite side of the aisle.
She had been having fun actually, trying to think up games and staying awake…but then Martin had asked about Swiss Airways. It had been so long since he had even mentioned other airlines, years in fact, but discovering that Martin was actually considering leaving…it felt like a heavy weight was slowly pushing at her chest, like a compactor crushing her lungs and stealing the breath from beneath her ribs.
Even worse, Martin thought that Deborah didn't believe that he could get the job; even after everything they had been through, he didn't think that she had any faith in him. The past few weeks really had been eye openers as to why they had fallen apart; Martin being a stubborn, proud pest was only one issue, Deborah being self-absorbed, and shut off was another. How else could he possibly think that she didn't believe in him…or that she would maliciously make his shirt smell like bacon.
Deborah didn't know how to fix that; that would mean changing her, and that wasn't something that she could do overnight.
It was agonising, knowing that even though she loved him so much, and he obviously still felt something for her, Deborah couldn't even stop Martin wanting to go and live in another country altogether; in retrospect, in made sense that he loved flying more than he loved her. It wasn't as if she could offer him anything close to the joy that he got from flying 747s, not when they were only just beginning to truly understand each other.
So Deborah compensated by playing her word game as loudly and frequently as possible, as if it might drag her out of misery and help her forget that she didn't want Martin to leave, but that she couldn't say that without making him think that she had no faith in him.
"What's Eating Gilbert Grape?" Deborah declared into the darkness; when nobody acknowledged her statement, she concluded drearily, "Twelve Monkeys."
"Er, would you really let Herc go to Zurich, Carolyn?" Martin's voice sounded in the cabin; of course he hadn't been listening, of course he was still thinking about that other bloody airline. Deborah held her tongue, and stilled as much as she could, hoping that they forgot she was there; surely he would remember that he didn't want to leave her.
"It's not a question of letting him." Carolyn answered evasively, rustling as she shifted, "He's a grown man."
"Well, yes, but would he stay if you asked him to?" Martin asked, his uniform scratching audibly as he sat up a little straighter; why was he asking this? Was he building up to ask more pertinent questions? Was he genuinely concerned for Carolyn? Was he hinting, hoping that Deborah was listening?
"… So I have been led to believe." Carolyn replied slowly, resignedly; of course Herc would stay if Carolyn asked. Deborah may have had her problems with him, but any fool with eyes could see that the man was completely devoted to Carolyn; more devoted than Martin ever had been. If Deborah asked Martin not to leave, he would, just to prove that he could.
"So it is a question of letting him." Martin muttered drearily; she didn't want to move to see him, but Deborah was sure that he was inspecting his hands, which would have been pressed together, as he did when there was no need to worry about who was watching him.
"Go to sleep." Carolyn ordered him quietly, and that was the end of that conversation, and Martin hummed his assent; but now that the subject had been stirred up again, Deborah couldn't let it go, even as she inwardly cursed herself for being like a dog with a bloody bone.
"What about you, Martin?" Deborah asked, feigning nonchalance; god forbid he think that she was worried, "If Swiss Airways took you, you'd have to live in Zurich too."
"Oh, I thought I wasn't going to apply." Martin replied snippily; he definitely thought that she was only mocking him, Deborah realised, that wasn't what she was trying to do, not at all, "I thought they were too good for me."
"Oh, I-I didn't say that." Deborah assured him, lifting her voice into a lighter tone, and sitting up, moving until she was sitting cross legged on the edge of her seat, just right for seeing Martin sitting with his back against the opposite window.
"No, you just thought it really loudly." Martin remarked wryly, dejectedly, as if he were disappointed, or resignedly hurt by whatever he thought that she meant; that wasn't what she wanted, or felt, that would only push him further away. Damn, she had to be able to save this, to make Martin believe that she still cared.
"But would you move to Switzerland?" Deborah asked faintly, dropping her eyes to her hands; that was honest, with no false voices or intonations. Martin had to know what she was really asking.
"If someone would let me fly airliners, I'd live anywhere they wanted me to and …" Martin answered, flippantly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world; in a way, it was, as Martin couldn't and probably never had understood what she was trying to say, "how far is Zurich from Vaduz?"
Like a train slamming to a halt, the constant buzzing in Deborah's head was silenced, and a sensation similar to being punched in the gut caught her off guard, making her head snap up, and her mouth fall open. Martin…he wasn't…
Then again, it was Martin. Of course he was.
"Ooh, about fifty miles or so, I think." Carolyn told him, completely oblivious to the significance of Martin's request, "Why?"
"Oh, I see!" Deborah drawled, her voice high pitched and reedy as she sucked in sharp breaths, her lungs suddenly moving far too quickly; she could already feel her lips trembling, and was glad that nobody could see how wide her eyes were, or that they were already beginning to burn with the temptation to water, "Duxford went well, did it? You never mentioned."
"What's Duxford?" Carolyn asked carelessly; oh, to be free and oblivious, Deborah would have sold the world in return for a respite from the stabbing, agonising ache in her chest, her throat, everything.
"Duxford Air Museum is where Martin recently escorted a charming young woman from Liechtenstein." Deborah explained bitterly, frantically quickly, though perhaps she was the only one that could hear such a pace; it was just about possible to make out Martin, sitting ramrod straight, his eyes wide as he stared at Deborah, "And when I say, "from," I mean the princess of."
"What, that snotty woman we flew?" Carolyn inquired, sounding surprised; it occurred to Deborah that this might have been the first time she had heard of the matter. Arthur must have kept his word when he promised that he wouldn't speak a word of why Deborah was so miserable; at least there was one person that she could rely on.
"Umm, she's nicer when you get to know her." Martin murmured weakly; he didn't sound too sure of himself, but even so, Deborah couldn't obey the voice screaming in her head for her to shut up and stop before she upset herself further, or found out something that she didn't want to know.
"So? How did it go?" Deborah inquired stiltedly, picking at the fabric around her knees; don't answer, dear god don't answer.
"How did what go?" Martin retorted, his tone indecipherable; now was the perfect time to stop, not to push this, not while Carolyn was there, not at all if this could be avoided altogether.
"Duxford! How was it?" Deborah pushed, wincing as she heard how high pitched her voice still was, bordering on hysterical; this was just making things worse, and Martin, private as he was, would rebel against her inquisition with a vengeance.
"It was excellent, as always." Martin remarked cluelessly; the image of him pottering around the air museum might have made her smile any other day, but now it felt like claws at her guts, as it should have been her. She would have gone to Duxford with him if he'd asked; he should have asked, it wasn't as if it cost anything to get in, so he couldn't have used money against her.
"Learn anything new?" Deborah inquired sarcastically, fuelled by that little spark of bitter jealousy, that faded almost immediately; she didn't want to know, she most definitely didn't want to know.
"Well, no – it's really aimed at the lay person rather than the professional pilot …" Martin explained, adopting an ever so slightly proud and superior tone; the bloody, bloody museum, of all things.
"I didn't mean about aviation!" Deborah snapped irritably, pulling her knees a little closer to her chest as she heard Martin choke at the sound of her voice; god, she could throttle him, or cry, or throw herself at him, she hadn't decided.
"Deborah!" Martin exclaimed, affronted…or perhaps, hurt…but Deborah didn't wait to find out.
"Oh, keep your hair on! I'm not asking for the gory details …" Deborah sneered pushing the back of her hand across her face as she sniffled and her chest heaved again; she didn't know whether she was angry or sad, but she had to know, and desperately didn't want to, not after they had spent the last few weeks on the precipice of…something… "but did you get on?"
"Yes, we did." Martin replied defiantly; then as Deborah inhaled sharply, loud enough that he must have heard it, he paused, and continued more carefully, quietly, as if he regretted every word, "She was nice. It was a nice day. It was … nice to be with her. She was … very nice."
"Ah, love." Deborah spat wanly, rubbing her hand over her eyes; those words burned her tongue, made her want to scratch out her throat, but not his, even now, "It brings out the poet in us all."
"I'm not in love!" Martin snapped, raising his voice for the first time; of course he would say that though. Deborah didn't know whether to believe him or not, even as a treacherous flicker of hope was mercilessly strangled in the pit of her stomach.
"So are you seeing her again?" Carolyn interjected; Deborah startled, inhaling sharply and rubbing hastily at her eyes. She had forgotten that Carolyn was even there; but then again, Carolyn had seen her at worse points in her life.
"Mmmmight be," Martin replied tentatively, rustling as he shifted, turning away from Deborah so that he could look towards the area that Carolyn's voice was emanating from, "next week."
"Ooh! The difficult second date!" Deborah sneered, wishing that she could just shut up, but finding herself incapable of doing so; she was hurting, Martin could be embarrassed, that was only fair.
"Yes, well, third, actually." Martin replied primly, as if proving a point; she thought that she could hear him sniffle, but wasn't sure.
"Oh, really?" Deborah inquired, feigning nonchalance, but sounding merely strained and overly interested, like a woman deranged; how could Martin not tell how much this was affecting her? "When was the second?"
"Er, well, you know when we had that day off in Delhi?" Martin asked; Deborah could imagine him twisting his fingers together, clearing his throat awkwardly, "She happened to be in Agra."
"Really? What for?" Deborah replied swiftly, giving in to the swell of morbid curiosity that clogged up her throat even as she wrapped her arms around her knees, taking no comfort whatsoever.
"… The, um …" Martin cleared his throat awkwardly; it must have been a big thing, as he didn't seem to be refraining from upsetting her, "… the king of Sweden's birthday in the grounds of the Taj Mahal, so we went to that."
"I see." Deborah exclaimed wanly, nodding even though he couldn't see it; and that, right there, made the churning in her guts cease, only to be replaced by a stone cold weight that stilled the whirring in her head, leaving only one, solitary conclusion, "You took her to Duxford Air Museum; she took you to a private party at the Taj Mahal." this woman was just as much better than her that she had been the day that they had met, and Deborah couldn't blame her; the only thing she had was the ability to tease Martin, to draw out the misery a little longer, and that wasn't enough, "Where were you going next week?"
"… Croydon Airport Visitors' Centre." Martin answered, making it clear from his tone that even he knew that he was punching far above his weight; but apparently far above his weight rather liked him, and that wasn't going to change no matter how much Deborah sneered at him.
"You spoil that girl." Deborah remarked drearily, the anger, or angst, beginning to recede, only to be replaced by a dull ache that she had no energy or inclination to fight as the tension eased from her limbs, and she sagged forwards to rest her chin on her arms.
"It was her idea!" Martin insisted, but Deborah wasn't listening anymore; Martin could be as defensive as he liked, it didn't matter anymore.
"Well, you must certainly apply to SA, then." Deborah remarked dryly, keeping her head on her arms, staring at the corner of the next aisle instead of meeting Martin's gaze; it she concentrated hard enough, her eyes wouldn't water the way that they were threatening to.
"What?" Martin asked, sounding surprised, and perhaps…disappointed; Deborah didn't know what he was expecting, but she wasn't going to fight for him, or demand that he stayed, "Really?"
"Absolutely!" Deborah replied, her voice sharpening as she finished; no, this was a good thing, she was furious, and aching, but dear lord did she still love him, "Major airline recruiting just down the road from your girlfriend?"
"She's not my girlfriend …" Martin said through gritted teeth; he could argue all he liked, Deborah had made her mind up.
"Too good a chance to miss." Deborah explained matter-of-factly, "Even if you don't get in, the interview will be good practice; and if you do, you might even get to fly with someone who …" she inhaled slowly, steadying herself; there was no point denying that they were both, very much, the problem, "doesn't pinch your travel iron out of your flight bag to fry himself a bacon butty."
"I knew it was you!" Martin hissed victoriously; she could imagine him narrowing his eyes at her and scrunching his nose up adorably.
"Sorry. I didn't know you were going to use it." Deborah apologised, sighing as she finally released all of the tension that had been stringing her up, "I forgot that we were no longer so close."
It sounded as if Martin were going to reply, but the only sound that came was the opening and closing of his mouth from across the cabin; thankfully, wonderfully, Carolyn was still there, and for once, she did the right, moral thing.
"You know, Arthur's been gone a very long time."
oOoOoOo
It was cold, and dark, and Deborah had forgotten to put her coat on when she had left the Cabin, so was forced to wrapped her uniform jacket around herself as she leaned back against the side of GERTI's shell; but she couldn't bring herself to care.
They had fixed Martin's hat into the snowman, and she had told Martin to go and apply at Swiss Air…all in all, a productive night; while the rest of the crew went back inside to catch up on their sleep, Deborah remained outside, too tired to cry, mind stuttering to a halt as she ran the same few thoughts over and over.
Not so much a moment of clarity as a drudging, dragged out realisation that the world wasn't how it once had been, and things had to, and would change; not for the better, not for her, but it was happening.
A metallic clanging filled the air, and Deborah glanced over her shoulder in time to see the light from the Cabin cut off, as Martin's shape moved down the steps and onto the snow, crunching as he tread slowly to her side. Even though he looked her up and down, dragging his bottom lip through his teeth and digging his hands into the deep pockets of his coat, Martin's eyes didn't meet hers as Deborah gave him the same once over.
Eventually, Deborah found herself leaning against a plane in the snow, arms folded over her chest as Martin did the same at her side.
"Do you mean it?" Martin asked tentatively, in a semblance of confidence; his voice sounded rough, as if he were choked up, or stressed, "When you said that I should go for the job at Swiss Air – i-it's just that I thought that maybe, you thought that I couldn't do it."
Deborah sighed, and slumped a little more against the side of the plane, wincing as another wave of cold lashed against her; it was easier to stare at the snow than to look at Martin in any case, and she wasn't ready to ignore him and go inside yet.
"Martin, I wouldn't have suggested it if I didn't think that you were perfectly capable." Deborah answered truthfully, if not miserably; it was time to accept that nothing was going to go back to the way that it had been, "So yes, I think that you should go for it, get the job you've always wanted, at a fancy airline, and just go and be happy."
"What about MJN?" Martin asked concernedly, shifting so that Deborah could feel his eyes on her; giving in to the impulse, she turned and ran her eyes over his face, taking in how the wind had already stained them red, and how he seemed so damn nervous that it just wasn't fair.
"We'll live." Deborah told him plainly, bereft of energy or feeling, simply the god's honest truth; they'd survive, more or less, for a small while, "Anything's got to be better for you than unpaid labour and a horrible crew."
"I don't think you're horrible." Martin said quietly; in fairness, it had been a while since he'd last accused them of anything more than petty pranks, so she supposed that Martin had rather settled in.
Still, the sentiment made her heart do meagre flops, do Deborah rolled her eyes dejectedly, and settled back to face the seemingly endless mounds of snow and runway. Martin sighed, but he didn't turn away from her; after a few moments, he caught her attention as he elbowed her while shirking his coat, making her stumble slightly.
"Here, you must be freezing." Martin instructed as he held out his coat towards her, giving it a little shake when she turned and looked at it down her nose; it was things like this that made Deborah want to just put her head in her hands and close her eyes.
"No, Martin." Deborah replied shortly, folding her arms tightly over her chest and pressing back even harder against the side of the plane.
"You're only wearing your jacket." Martin reiterated calmly, giving his coat another little shake as he held it out to her.
"I neither need nor want your jacket Martin!" Deborah snapped furiously, cutting herself off and swallowing hard in regret as Martin's arm trembled ever so slightly; but he didn't keep trying.
"Deborah-" Martin started, raising his voice a fraction as he shifted closer, forehead crinkling in irritated confusion, but she didn't allow him to finish; she'd had enough of him today, and it was time to say no, that was enough.
"No, stop, Martin." Deborah all but shouted, before lowering her voice, despising the emotion that practically welled up in her tone; she raised her hands, palms towards him, and Martin lowered his arm, tucking his coat back over his elbow, "You need to stop doing this, and you need to stop treating me like…"
"Like what?" Martin retorted, the bridge of his nose wrinkling with indignation; he really had no idea, and wasn't that just so typical, and made it so difficult to be angry, to be anything more than miserable, "I haven't been anything but good to you recently."
"Exactly." Deborah groaned, rolling her eyes but taking a deep breath, steadying herself; she blinked up imploringly at him, as if she could make him understand just through eye contact, "You've been acting as if we're still together, as if-"
"No, I've been acting like I care," Martin interrupted, catching Deborah off guard with the vehement seriousness of his glare; his jaw was set, and his nerves were replaced by irritation, "because I do care. Just because you don't-"
"I care." Deborah cut him off furiously, fuelled by a flare of anger that roared in her chest; she stepped forwards to face him head on, "Martin, I love you. I never stopped loving you – that doesn't just go away!" her voice shattered into a higher tremor, but she reigned it in, and caught herself gesticulating murderously, painfully at him, not quite poking him in the chest, "But you? You've been off with some other woman this whole time, and you never told me!"
"Because I didn't want to upset you!" Martin fought back, puffing out his chest as he glared back down at her; his cheeks flushed even darker, this time not from exertion, as if she were in the wrong, "Because I still love you."
"No, you know what upsets me Martin?" Deborah shook her head, and dug her teeth into her bottom lip, breathing heavily to try and calm herself; she couldn't allow herself to become angry, but she needed to get this out, while they were talking, "The fact that we've known each other for five years…we were together for nine months, and you wouldn't even move across town to live in a flat with me." Deborah's voice broke, and she hastily regained her composure, ignoring the pained, stunned expression on Martin's face, "This girlfriend who y-you've known for all of three weeks…you're willing to move across the continent to be close to her!"
"She's not my girlfriend!" Martin groaned, throwing his hands into the air and rolling his eyes; he stood back, and gnawed on his bottom lip, jaw set as he spoke with a determination usually found behind the control panel, "And I wouldn't move there for her…I shouldn't have asked, I r-realise that, but I wouldn't be moving for her." He insisted, waving his hands in a conciliatory gesture, as if clearing the air between them, "I just thought, that if I-I was going to consider moving away from my family, my home…you…that maybe it might be easier if I had something nice to fall back on."
"Is that all she is then?" Deborah inquired softly, with a restrained edge; she wrapped her arms around her chest to stop herself from rubbing agitatedly at her eyes, or her mouth, fighting the choking sadness that threatened to well up and flood her senses, "Something nice?"
This wasn't fair. Martin couldn't just keep hold of her with one hand while rummaging elsewhere with the other. It wasn't fair.
"Yes – b-because in the midst of all our fighting, and everything else…it's nice to have someone who likes me, who enjoys my company, who's nice, but that's all it is," Martin explained, his voice wavering as he trembled slightly, maintaining a calm and partially measured tone; every word that he said was true, but they also stung, "I-I'm not picking her over you, I'm not in love with her, she's not better than you, I don't-"
"Oh, come on Martin!" Deborah scoffed, rolled her head back and pursing her lips in defiance; his eyebrows leapt to his hairline, but he was listening, "A princess who's nicer and prettier and richer than me who you take to all your favourite places that you never took me…don't you dare say that your new girlfriend is just something nice on the side!"
"She's not my girlfriend!" Martin hissed; his eyes flicked to the side as if he were listening out for signs that Carolyn or Arthur might come out in search of them, but nothing came. He could argue all he liked, but Deborah was too far gone to let him get away without getting to the crux of the matter, finally reaching an understanding.
"So what?" Deborah asked pointedly, quirking her eyebrows and freezing where she had before been rocking unconsciously on her heels, as if unsure of whether to get closer of further away; a challenge, the last defence, "If I said 'let's get back together Martin', you'd drop her would you?"
"Yes!" Martin exclaimed, and then when Deborah's eyebrows rose even further, he close his eyes fleetingly and shook his head, correcting himself apologetically, "I mean - not 'drop', I'd be nice about it, l-let her down easily, but yes!" he reached out as if to place his hand on Deborah's arm, but she pulled away before he had the chance, leaving him with only a pitiful frown on his face, "I wanted you back the moment I broke up with you, but then you said no, and we fought, and things were hard for weeks."
"You didn't honestly expect me to just come and ask for you back?" Deborah asked derisively, shaking her head, and to her dismay, letting a twisted smirk curl the corners of her lips, like the hysterical response to a gruesome crime.
"I might have…a-a bit." Martin admitted, letting his arms fall to his sides as he shuffled his feet awkwardly; his eyes flickered away, but he kept trying to hold Deborah's gaze, as if imploring her to see how cute he was being. It wasn't working…not quite.
"Martin, the last time I tried to make the first move, we split up." Deborah remarked wryly, scoffing lightly, just a sharp exhale as she turned away and stepped back to once more lean against the plane; Martin followed suit, but remained facing her, "How am I supposed to ask for you back without thinking that I've overstepped one of your lines, or that you don't realise you're being overly romantic, or touchy…"
"Right, okay…I get it." Martin interjected, his exhaustion finally showing as he sighed, and rubbed a hand over his face; the ridiculous amount of time it took for his delayed blinks to take place made Deborah wonder whether she should just leave him be, let him go and sleep.
But no – that was the girlfriend Deborah talking; now she needed to make Martin understand, get it off of her chest…it wasn't her responsibility any more, even if she felt like it was.
"Do you?" Deborah asked, letting a small, sardonic little smile flitter across her lips as she lifted her eyes to meet Martin's, "Do you really get why I'm upset? Why it hurts to know that while we've been getting friendly again, you've been off with some secret girlfriend doing god knows what-"
"She's not my girlfriend!" Martin snapped, gritting his teeth; that alone made Deborah's calm evaporate, and she was caught again by a gust of fury, though she reigned it in, tried to remain collected.
"She's still another woman!" Deborah hissed, leaning in just as he did, before remembering, and pulling back; her guts twisted painfully, and her eyes burned as they prickled, "Do you know how many times I've had a man stand in front of me and say that he still loves me, even when he's been doing another woman behind my back? You're not supposed to be like that-"
"I'm not like that!" Martin growled, lowering his voice just as she did, reacting to her caution; he began to clench his hands at his sides, and the coat slipped from his elbow onto the ground, but he ignored it, "I haven't been doing her – I-I-I've seen her three times, the first time you were there – they're barely even dates, and we've only spoken over the phone to say 'well, I'm in Europe' 'Oh, really, well I'm in England soon'."
"Is this supposed to make me feel better?" Deborah remarked bitterly, glaring at him watt for watt; as if playing down whatever he had with Theresa would make everything alright.
"Ye-maybe…she's kissed me once, alright?" Martin defended himself, puffing out indignantly; how he could still be so damn proud was beyond her, as she watched his hand clench into a pointed motion, as he tried to explain away his behaviour, "And no matter where I've been with her, or what we've been doing, all I can think about is how much you'd love it, or how you'd know what to say to those bloody posh ambassadors, or how much I wish it were you." Deborah didn't want to acknowledge the fluttering in her chest, but she couldn't speak either, which must have spurred him on, "I don't feel like I'm seeing another woman…I feel like I'm trying to snatch a f-few hours of happiness with a nice person, a-a-and even then, it doesn't work because she's not you."
"And if I weren't around you all the time, if you really tried…you might end up moving the relationship forwards?" Deborah asked, carefully, as if she were treading on eggshells, not too concerned, but in no way detached; it wouldn't hurt so much if she were detached. The hope wouldn't hurt so much, like a sweet poison.
"Maybe…" Martin shrugged sadly, his eyes narrowing faintly as if this were the first time that he had considered it; Deborah highly doubted that, but he wasn't being malicious, and she couldn't stay mad at him, not really, only sad and indignant, "but you are around, and you are on my mind, and god dammit Deborah, you were here first and you've taken all the most important bits of me…hell, I-I could date Theresa, maybe even love her, b-but that important love, that huge, big one, th-that's yours, and I'd pick you in a second."
"But you didn't pick me did you." Deborah reminded him, lightly, like one might with a child save for the tremor in her tone, and the way that she drew her arms all the more tightly around her chest as her vision grew a little cloudy, "You hurt me. You asked someone else on a date right in front of me, when you knew that everything between us was still raw. And you've been seeing somebody else in secret, all the while getting cosy with me, leading me on only to remember 'oops – I'm seeing someone else'."
"I'm sorry." Was all that Martin could say, as he gazed helplessly down at her; if she wasn't mistaken, he was blinking a little too hard, but she didn't allow herself to linger on that thought. If anything, Martin's misery reignited some of her bitterness; he didn't get to be sad about this.
"Oh, you're sorry." Deborah scoffed rolling her eyes and tipping her head back to rest against the plane.
"I am…" Martin began, but Deborah turned her head back to face him, scowling stubbornly as she wetted her lips and tried to take control again.
"Well I'm sorry if I don't believe you…" Deborah retorted harshly, then regretted it the next moment, as her heart fell through her ribs, and Martin's face fell; the slim confidence that he might have been feeling faded, and for a moment, he was visibly overcome with misery, as his eyes turned wet, and he swallowed hard.
But he didn't reply, as if he had finally realised that there was nothing to say; they had been here before, and now, with time to think, there were no rash actions to be taken. Sniffling slightly, Martin shifted so that he could once again lean his back against the side of the plane, making sure not to brush Deborah's arm with his own. Deborah watched him, sadly, wanting to comfort him, but knowing that it would feel like bile to her tongue if she did, so simply turned back to watch a new layer of snow fall, and to wait for one of them to break the silence…or freeze to death. She was sure that one of those options was less painful.
"If…" Martin's voice broke off, and Deborah was reminded somewhat of a baby bird, poking it's head from within an egg; she would have enjoyed the sight of him looking so cautiously hopeful, rubbing his hands together, if she hadn't known before he spoke that she was going to crush the very spark, "if I called things off with Theresa, i-if…if we waited, a-and smoothed things out…"
"Would I take you back?" Deborah finished for him, offering a small, sad little smile as she shifted and turned to look him in the eye, pushing her hair behind her ears; Martin's eyes widened in suspense, and he looked so damn hopeful, that she could only answer him as kindly as she could, "No."
"Why not?" Martin squawked, throwing a hand into the air in his desperation; he looked so confused, his eyes tracking back and forth over Deborah's unthreatening, almost affectionate expression, "Look, we're talking now, we're having a mature conversation without shouting – we could work out what was wrong with us and-"
"I already know what's wrong with us Martin, and it can't be fixed." Deborah sighed, making sure not to break eye contact, no matter how much the pained glint in his eyes made her want to simply fall forwards into his arms and just pretend that nothing was wrong.
"What do you mean?" Martin asked, bringing his hands out in front of him as one might if catching a ball; Deborah knew that it was what he did when scheming, a jerky movement of his hands that came with deep thought. It wouldn't be enough.
"For starters…you:" Deborah explained as she squared her shoulders, taking comfort from the solidity of GERTI against her arm; this needed saying, because if it didn't get said, then they would never even be able to be friends, never really knowing exactly where they stood, "you're so obsessed with your career, with your pride, with being better, that you don't entirely trust me, and that you're willing to bite back, and risk our relationship for the sake of being 'good enough'"
"That's not-" Martin retorted almost immediately, his whole face scrunched in defiance as he shook his head, chewing on his bottom lip; 'not true' Deborah's mind added in, but she didn't allow him to say it out loud.
"I'm not saying that like it's a bad thing Martin…" Deborah assured him, and just like that, Martin's shoulders sagged, and the confusion was back, and a certain tentativeness as she cocked his head to the side, finally listening; probably because he knew that he wasn't being criticised, Deborah realised, so quickly moved on, swallowing hard and taking a deep breath, readying herself for what might have been the most honest thing she had ever told him, or any of her partners for that matter, "The second problem is me. I'm too wrapped up in myself, in being happy, both of us…I don't really like to talk about my feelings, or show them much, which made it difficult to even consider what you might be feeling…"
"Deborah…" Martin sighed, rolling his eyes, tone steeped in resignation; he almost stepped forwards as if to pull her into an embrace, or swing an arm around her shoulder, but one sharp look stopped him in his tracks, and he fell back, grimacing apologetically.
"Listen." Deborah instructed, raising her hands into the air between them, only lowering them when she was sure that Martin was doing as he was told; it was strange, but somehow, even though everything was all wrong, getting to say this, getting to finally put them on even ground, it felt like breathing properly for the first time, like a heavy weight being lifted from her chest, "I understand yours, I really do, i-it hit me, a while back. You can't help being that way, because your pride isn't just stubbornness. I understand Martin, I understand that it's important to you…and I respect that, and I rather love that actually… and me.."
"You've been getting better." Martin interjected sadly; he shoved his hands in his pockets, and ducked his head until he could have been staring at the toes of his boots, but there was no denying the verity of his tone.
"What?" Deborah asked, narrowing her eyes at him in bewilderment.
"I noticed, I-I just didn't know what you were doing." Martin explained, as if reluctant to admit that he had been watching, shy and bashful as he kicked at the snow, and struggled to hold her gaze for more than a few seconds, "You're not closing off so much anymore, not since that trip to Vaduz at least. Y-you've been – you've been listening to me, and actually getting what I've been saying, and-"
"I've been trying, because I thought that maybe we had a chance to fix things." Deborah admitted, feeling nothing but a sardonic, twisted little voice mocking her in the back of her mind, telling her that she still could; she ignored it.
"We still could." Martin said decidedly, apparently seizing some inner strength as he set his shoulders and brought his eyes back to meet hers, his whole posture the epitome of determination.
"No." Deborah repeated her earlier declaration, blinking sadly, regretfully back at him, never waver; oh, but what she would give if they could, "Because we're still us. We…we fight, and we bicker, and we argue, and that might be good for friends, but as partners we reach the point where it hurts Martin. That's never going to change because we're still us."
"We were good together." Martin remarked pitifully, pouting as watched Deborah smile sadly, in acceptance of a decision that she had already made; he allowed her to step forwards, and hook her little fingers through his, bringing their hands together.
"And not so much apart." Deborah countered his argument, sighing and looking away as another wave of disillusion barrelled unbidden through her chest, "Martin, in the five years we've known each other, we've done the same thing over and over again. We're good for a while, then we argue, then we're bad for a bit, but eventually we're the best of friends…it's a vicious cycle, and I won't get back together with you only to have to wait for the next time that we ruin everything-"
"We're not like that-" Martin insisted, tugging his hands from hers, and pursing his lips stubbornly; he wouldn't be Martin if he gave in easily.
"Yes, we are." Deborah argued wanly, rubbing the heel of her hand over eyes, and even letting out a shaky, hysterical laugh, "This whole thing with Theresa, with me teasing you even though I wanted to do the opposite, and you hurting me on purpose-"
"I wasn't trying to hurt you, I just – I didn't think she'd say yes," Martin snapped desperately; the worst thing was, Deborah absolutely believed him when he said that, "and –a-and even though I was a bit impressed by her, I-I just, you'd been teasing me all day about exes and relationships, I just stopped thinking, and my brain went 'I'll show her', and then-"
"And your brain will always do that." Deborah cut him off sternly, speaking loudly and clearly, thought gently, giving him no chance to argue or contradict her; it was time to stop, and accept that some things just remained broken, "Just as mine will always wind you up on purpose."
For a moment Martin stared at her, his mouth hanging open as he gaped at Deborah, hands outstretched as if to take hers again, lips trembling as his eyes watered imperceptibly; then miraculously, terribly, Deborah watched the shutters fall in his eyes as he finally realised the truth in what he was saying. If she could have risked hugging him, she would have, as she knew all too well what it felt like, that moment of clarity when suddenly everything that had been sugar coated becomes all too real.
"So that's it then." Martin remarked, barely moving, stunned into stillness; it wasn't a question, but he was clinging to hope, Deborah knew, "We're not getting back together."
"We'll end up fighting, and I'm sick of it Martin." Deborah sighed, a shuddering breath that seemed to drag her down; it felt like a knife to the chest, but she had to say it, even as Martin's head moved infinitesimally from side to side, "You go, and you get your dream job, and you try your damned hardest t-to…to fall in love with Theresa…and you go and be happy. I will support you all the way."
Deborah meant it; she loved Martin enough that she would give anything for him to just go and be happy and stop being there with all the pain that was sure to stay with her.
"But I love you." Martin said, redundantly, as the light was already leaving his eyes, and he was already sagging where he stood.
"I love you too," Deborah replied, hit by a sudden gust that made tears well up in her eyes, no matter how hard she tried to force them back; she gestured weakly between the two of them, "but we…us…it doesn't function."
It was true, at least that was the realisation that Deborah had come to; she couldn't allow the both of them to stay in such a relationship. Friends could survive that kind of torment…lovers could not.
Slowly, but surely, Martin nodded. He didn't speak, but he nodded, and held Deborah's gaze; then his eyes broke away, and he nodded a little harder, sucking in a sharp breath and rubbing his hands over his face. Deborah understood that that was acceptance. She didn't say a word as she settled back against the freezing plane, nor when Martin moved to lean beside her, still running his hands over his face, through his hair, the both of the staring at the snow as it gathered around them
A little while later, when his jacket rustled, Deborah turned her head a fraction to watch Martin bed down and pluck his coat from the ground; a moment later, the coat was placed gently into her arms, and Martin was telling her not to stay outside too long, lest she get ill. Then he was gone, back up the steps and into the plane.
A short while after that, Deborah closed GERTI's door behind her, and tread lightly under the cover of two sets of snores back to her pile of pillows, curling up on the flattened seat, and hugging Martin's coat around herself, burying her face in the collar as she inhaled deeply, praying that whoever was awake couldn't hear her sniffling.
If nothing else, she could always pass silent tears off as the early stages of hypothermia.
Arg, parts of that made me teary to write. I hope it's okay, and that all the extra thousands of words were worth it. I didn't even notice until the last paragraph or two how long I had been sat in front of my computer