Chapter Text
Chapter Ten
It was a bright new day. The sun was shining, and the airfield wasn’t particularly busy; even Carolyn and Arthur were mysteriously vacant, even though Deborah could see their cars parked up as she crossed the grass to the porta-cabin. It was true, her morning had started off a little rocky, with Harry moaning that she would be spending the next couple of days in Europe instead of with him; Deborah had swiftly reminded him that it was him that had chosen to fill the rest of his week with ridiculous exercise programs, like aerobics, and tai chi.
She was almost looking forwards to meeting her new colleague. It would be wrong to hold against him her demotion, which was entirely Carolyn’s fault. No, Deborah was confident that she could handle such a recently qualified pilot, and determined to get along with him, if only to make up for her otherwise dreary mood. There would be no games, no falsity, just plain and simple honesty, in the hope that it worked this time.
As she reached the door, Deborah took a deep breath and plastered on a smile; all the better for making a good first impression, earning the Captain’s trust, and most importantly, asserting her own authority. She stepped forwards, gripped the handle – and stumbled backwards as the door flew out towards her, knocking her to the ground as a ginger, uniformed mess tumbled through in its wake.
Thankfully, Deborah had stuck out an arm and caught herself before she could hit the ground too hard, and the man didn’t quite fall over his own feet, even though he flapped and floundered so erratically that it was difficult to get a good look at him, even as she pushed her hair away from her face, and grasped the frantically clumsy hands that were searching for hers as he bent down to help her.
“Oh, god, I'm sorry!” the man, the Captain, Deborah assumed, stammered as he pulled her in one swift swing to her feet, lurching forwards as if to help brush her down, only to be impeded by her own hands doing exactly the same thing; as he hastily withdrew his hands, Deborah lifted her gaze, and took in the scarlet flush across his high freckled cheeks, the wide-eyed panic in his blue eyes, and the defensive tremble in his lips, “S-sorry, sorry...wow…”
All of a sudden, the path of his eyes stopped as they landed on her face, and the Captain’s expression slackened, as his mouth opened and closed a few times. Deborah was so busy trying to dust herself down, and rearrange her hair, that she didn’t realise he was staring at first, and was too caught off guard by the unorthodox introduction that she wasn’t sure what to make of it.
“Wow?” Deborah repeated, raising her eyebrows expectantly and letting her shoulders relax, almost freezing in an attempt not to appear too ruffled; first impressions were out of the window now, and she had to admit, if only inwardly, that she was rather wrong footed by the break from tradition.
“Not wow.” The Captain amended quickly, swallowing so hard that his throat bobbed as he tugged at his striped sleeves and dragged his bottom lip through his teeth; then he shook his head, and his eyes widened even more in horror, while his hands splayed in the air, as if in surrender, “S-sorry, I um, yes wow, but not, I um, I-I-I uh-”
“Wow's alright.” Deborah assured him, carefully, as she felt the corners of her lips begin to curl as she watched him fluster; after a line of pilots that thought that they were absolutely worth the space they took up, of arrogant, self-satisfied men, being presented with someone so innocently nervous was…refreshing…and all she could think to do as her heart went out to him was to extend her hand and smile, “Hello.”
“H-hello! Hi!” the Captain spluttered, a relieved smile spreading across his lips as took her hand and shook it vigorously, before releasing it and clasping his hands behind his back; he rocked on his heels and forced an awkward smile, the redness in his cheeks never receding as his eyes darted here and there, “Y-you must be the other pilot. Hi...hello.”
“Hello.” Deborah said again, because she couldn’t think of what else she could say to the man to put him more at ease, or to push her pleasant smile into something warmer; she inclined her head, slightly, and made a point of stepping past him and into the porta-cabin, as she introduced herself, “Deborah Richardson.”
“Hi, I-I'm Martin.” The Captain informed her, eagerly stepping aside, and pulling the door shut almost on his back in his hurry to stride back into the middle of the room, abandoning whatever he had been leaving to do; on closer inspection, he was dressed to the nines, uniform pressed and perfect, and his posture was just the same, regardless of the extra inches that he could have benefitted from, “Martin Crieff, that is- um, I'm the Captain.”
“Oh, really?” Deborah drawled, smirking at the surprise that flashed across his face, as he stilled slightly; she watched him over her shoulder, as she unbuttoned her coat and slung it and her bag onto the coat hook in the corner, registering his reactions, “You know, I was so blown away just now that I didn't notice.”
“Really?” Martin asked, brow furrowing as his eyebrows dipped, and his nose scrunched up in confusion; the overexcited smile that had jittered on his face seemed to sag, but the lack of a sharp retort or insult, or any attempt to put her in her place, was enough to make Deborah feel slightly, just slightly, less inclined to prod him as she might have otherwise.
“No, it was a joke.” Deborah assured him, as she turned on her heel and tread back across the room to meet him, leaving a few feet of space between them; he was hanging on her every word, and there was something appealing about that, even if the man had yet to prove that he was fit to command an aircraft, “Pleased to meet you.”
“Of course it was a joke, o-of course.” Martin scoffed, shrugging his shoulders and clearing his throat a little too quickly for him to have been nearly as nonchalant as he was trying to appear; he was trying too hard, but it was only his first day, “Silly me. You'd have to be blind not to see my hat, o-or these-” he pointed to the stripes on his sleeve, “And what would be the point of a blind pilot?”
“You could put her with the drunken sailor.” Deborah remarked indulgently, as she took the opportunity to peer past him and towards the previously empty desk, which was now laden with papers and folders, books, and all number of things that she didn’t quite recognise. Her curiosity was piqued, but she maintained an air of attentiveness as best she could; things were going well, but she needed him to calm down if she was to actually get a reading on him, and find out what he was like when he wasn’t crippled with anxiety.
“Yes!” Martin snorted, trembling imperceptibly as he ran his hand over the back of his neck, and rocked on his heels, meeting her eyes for only a moment before he couldn’t seem to stand it any longer; he hovered over the precipice of speech for a few syllables, until he blurted what must have been a joke, “And the, uh, the handless handyman!”
“Yes...quite.” Deborah replied, unsure of how best to respond to what was most definitely not funny, not at all, not even a little bit; and yet, even as she surreptitiously wrapped her arms around her chest, she couldn’t help but press her lips together to prevent the smile that she could feel lighting up her face and warming her chest. It was just so…funny, but not at all; he was obviously trying, so hard, waiting for the laughter, so damn pleased with himself, that it was impossible not to find him amusing, in his own way…like watching someone trip over their own trap.
“Oh, and I'm pleased to meet you too!” Martin blurted, before Deborah had too much time to think about what he had said; he bit at his bottom lip, and blushed, and rambled on as if he were trying to avoid letting her speak and steer the conversation in ways that he couldn’t keep up with, “I didn't know what to expect - Carolyn didn't tell me anything about you, but this is a nice surprise.”
“Why's that?” Deborah inquired, just shy of curt as settled more stably on her feet and arched one eyebrow, lips pursed as she held his gaze; she wasn’t insulted, as for once, it didn’t seem as if the sexism was personal, or even deliberate, but it was important to instil an understanding of the balance of power early on. If Carolyn hadn’t been punishing her, Deborah would have been the Captain anyway.
“Well because - I don't mean - Oh god.” The words tumbled from Martin’s mouth fast in the wake of the abject horror that dawned on his face; his hands flew into the air, as he flailed and dissolved into an avalanche of garbled placations, “N-not because you're a woman, th-that doesn't matter - not that it's irrelevant, i-it's just that there aren't many women pilots, so i-it's a surprise- a nice one- not that you're nice to look at! I mean, of course you are, you're really nice to look at- oh no, no, no, that's not what I meant, I mean-”
Deborah understood what he meant…just about. It was difficult, picking out the important words from the cacophony of sound, and a lesser person might have taken offence, but she knew, what he was trying to say…listening, she had learnt over the years, was the most important talent to possess if one wanted to succeed in life. It told you the best way to appease one person, and how to cripple another; most importantly, it meant that instead of scorning the poor, pitiable man, Deborah could remain calm and in control, safe in the knowledge that…he was really trying…trying…and that was admirable, in an odd way.
“Stop.” Deborah instructed sharply, raising her hands into the air and holding them palm flat towards him, taking care to make her glare just a tad more pointed, until Martin’s mouth stopped moving, and silence fell as he stared at her in shock; she wanted to tease him, she most definitely would if he lasted more than a week, but for now…it would be wrong of her not to extend a hand of sympathy, “Take a deep breath.” Martin inhaled sharply, and then exhaled, eyes wide, but Deborah didn’t smirk as she wanted to; instead she lowered her voice into the kindest, although still authoritative, tone that she could manage, “Would you like to start again?”
“Yes...thank you.” Martin practically groaned in relief, his shoulders sagging; then he suddenly straightened his back and tipped his nose up as if he were trying to balance a lemon on its tip, and said with a professional smile, “It's nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too Captain Crieff.” Deborah replied warmly, stealing one final sweeping glance from the top of his ginger hair to the tips of his smartly shined shoes; he wasn’t too young, early thirties at best, and the frown lines around his eyes and lips revealed as much, but overall, when his lips curled into a smile and his cheeks lit up…he wasn’t half bad to look at. Pleasantness had its benefits.
“M-martin's fine.” Martin assured her, with a cheeky smile, winding his hands together at his front; eagerness aside, he was off to a good start, all things considered. Deborah could even forgive being knocked to the ground for the smile, and that thought was enough to make something twist in her chest; given that Martin was overly verbose, accidently insulting, and a little too visibly proud of himself, that wasn’t an altogether pleasant idea.
With another strained smile, and a nod, Deborah turned and wandered towards the previously empty desk, taking slow strides until she could run her eyes over the perfectly laid out mess of what appeared to be all of MJN’s official documents; she recognised her own handwriting, and the sketchy sums that had been scrawled down the edges of…the man had managed to get his hands on her log book…her other log book.
“You look like you've been busy.” Deborah remarked wryly, glancing over her shoulder to gauge Martin’s reaction; she lowered her hand to trace the pages, but decided against it at the last moment, “Excited for the first day on the job are you?”
“Yes, I'm um...I'm going over the books, the log-books, the operations manuals, the safety procedure.” Martin explained, and he bustled past Deborah to fiddle with the papers and books, moving them, but not really doing anything productive; after a moment he pulled out the wheelie chair and took a seat, hands still wandering over the pages as he looked up at her, “I want to get everything in order before I start properly.”
“Everything should already be in order.” Deborah retorted lowly, biting her tongue and narrowing her eyes at him; the prickle of annoyance at the base of her throat wasn’t enough to risk unsettling their new working relationship, even if she did want to lean in a little further and snatch her paperwork from his grasp.
“Well, I mean, it is, sort of.” Martin replied, shrugging his shoulders as if he just couldn’t help it, and plastering on a prim smile that Deborah, irrationally, wanted to wipe from his face; it appeared that his rush of nerves was over, and he wasn’t nearly as anxious when it came to his job, “But everything's a bit lax, and it all needs putting in order and sorting out, and it looks like in the rush of all your previous colleagues, some things have fallen through.”
“The other pilots haven't been doing the paperwork, I have.” Deborah informed him tartly, swallowing her indignation, for Carolyn’s sake…for Arthur’s sake; they needed a fourth member of the company, or they’d all be out of a job, and Martin, for all of his many, and ever emerging flaws, hadn’t actually done anything unforgiveable…yet, so she forced herself to be polite, “But if you're not happy with the standard of the work, then you can feel free to take it off my hands from now on.”
“That's not really how it's supposed to work.” Martin remarked, grimacing, although the self-satisfied glint never left his eyes; he was slowly but surely undoing his previously good first impression, as he turned his chair so that he was facing her properly, and cleared his throat in a business-like, falsely conspiratorial way, and said, “But um...I'm glad you're here actually. We need to go over everything together.”
“How do you mean?” Deborah asked curtly, dreading the answer even as she stared down at him, tightening her arms around her chest instead of reacting as she was sure he intended; the new employee wasn’t supposed to start making demands, and he most definitely wasn’t supposed to tear through the business on the first day…he was supposed to listen to how things were done and accept it.
“Well, as I'm now your commanding officer, I need to know that we're on the same page, and that everything is running by the book.” Martin elaborated, making a curling motion through the air as he lowered his gaze back to the documents laid out on the desk; it was infuriating that he didn’t pick up on her indignation, instead ploughing on with his own agenda, “I'd like to go over the safety procedure, and the operations of the plane, and things like that...you know, to make sure that we're running efficiently and professionally.”
“That's not really necessary.” Deborah remarked, biting the inside of her cheek as she felt her chest expand to take in too much air, and hold it there, ready to put him in his place as her expression stiffened; she couldn’t do that, she’d be out on the streets if she drove away one more person.
“I think it is.” Martin retorted, adopting a throaty, shrill tone of voice that simultaneously grated on Deborah’s nerves, and made her notice his confidence faltering; she hadn’t noticed his cheeks lose their flush, but she most definitely saw them turn scarlet again, “I-I can't take command of an aircraft if I don't know how well we work together, or how good you are at your job.”
“I'm very good at my job.” Deborah said sharply, then reigned herself in; she reminded herself that he was nice, and of his almost endearing glow after he had finished picking her up from the ground, and forced herself not to act too harshly, to bat her eyelashes and drawl, make him want to do things her way, as she placed a hand on the back of his seat, “Martin...I'm sure you're very...enthusiastic, and I appreciate that, but I've been a pilot for a very long time now. I've never had an accident, and I'm extremely familiar with the plane and the procedure. There's no need to go through all of the paperwork.”
“There is a need.” Martin insisted, jolting around so that he could look her in the eyes; he was such a stubborn…Deborah straightened up immediately, because the man was completely oblivious, or ridiculously single-minded, because his voice grew higher with every word, “I'm the captain, and the proper procedure now that I'm here is to go over everything. It doesn't matter how good you think you are-”
“I know that I'm good.” Deborah interjected, in case he thought for a moment that he could imply that she wasn’t the best pilot he was ever going to have the honour of working with; she had worked too damn hard to have a man that had only been qualified a few months look down on her.
“I'm not going to just believe that because you worked for some big airlines in the past, or because you've always been good at everything-” Martin started to retort, nose scrunching with something that might have been disdain, might have been jealously, as one hand curled around her log book; it was uncalled for, whichever he had been attempting.
“I have been as a matter of fact.” Deborah cut him off again, pursing her lips and digging her fingers into the crooks of her elbows in an attempt not to snap at him; it was his first day, he just didn’t know how things worked yet…everyone else had been given a chance, and he showed potential…she just had to be nice.
“Regardless, I'm not flying with you until we've been over the rules.” Martin insisted sternly, puffing out his chest like the pedantic little…he was turning out to be; only the trembling of his lips gave away his nerves, “I'm the Captain, and I don't care if things around here have been slipping, I'm going to run this ship to the best of my abilities.”
“Golly.” Deborah drawled, as she blinked down at him; granted, she was taken aback slightly, but the previous Captains had had far greater problems than perfectionism…Martin was staring straight back at her, giving her the fight that Carolyn had promised, jaw squared…wishing that she could tear out her own windpipe, Deborah conceded, “Fine, you run me through everything then.”
oOoOoOo
They were finally on the plane, finally, after hours of going over the log books, the safety procedure, anything that Martin could get his hands on. And Deborah had sat through all of it, growing more and more frustrated…with herself.
On the one hand, Martin was pedantic, ruthlessly professional, and curt with her, to the point that she was starting to think that he was actually jealous of her; he must have known the manuals inside out, and boy did he let it go to his head. On the other hand…he was nice, when he was getting his own way, and for all that she was indignant, every now and then Deborah’s bad mood would flutter as he tried to make a joke and say something funny, and flounder completely; it had been a while since she had known anyone, even a spouse, that had tried to make her laugh, as if it were important that she enjoy their company.
So, for all that she wanted to throttle him for his audacity…Deborah was grudgingly willing to give him a chance. Martin was quite obviously one of those people that tried so hard, but couldn’t help but fail…but damn did he try. That much was evident as he tried to take control of the aircraft, but couldn’t quite get the plane started so that they could begin the pre-take-off checks.
They had been in the flight-deck for half an hour. Martin had been in the Captain’s seat for twenty eight minutes, his gold braided hat aligned perfectly atop his head. He had been trying to turn on the APU for twenty-minutes, to no avail.
“Why isn't it...this should be working.” Martin muttered, gnawing on his bottom lip as he jabbed first gently, then harder, at the controls in front of him, brow furrowing his frustration; it wasn’t his fault that GERTI was temperamental, but he didn’t know that, and his eyes were darting about the flight-deck in his attempt to make her work, “Why isn't it-”
“Here, let me.” Deborah sighed, giving in and taking pity on him; it wasn’t his fault after all. Without any further ado, she leaned across the space between them, perching on the edge of her seat as she reached for the correct controls, unable to even muster a sarcastic comment as she did so; she suppose it was her responsibility to show him the ropes, after all. If she had been allowed to, that is.
“No, I don't need your help!” Martin snapped shrilly, throwing his hands into the air and fixing Deborah with the sort of glare that could have burned someone lesser; even as she sat back, it didn’t wane in intensity, and Martin’s flushed cheeks remained set as the desperation grew more evident in the tense set of his shoulders and the shaking light in his eyes, “I'm the Captain - I know how to fly the plane, I don't need telling how. I can do it.”
That was the perfect moment to make fun of him, and assert her dominance…but Deborah couldn’t do it. She remembered only too well being fresh from flight-school, trying to convince some old codger that she didn’t need his help. Martin’s anger was uncalled for, but she couldn’t blame him…damn him and his pitiful self; what an awful time to realise that she was actually a nice person.
“I believe you.” Deborah assured him, softly, as one might address a wounded puppy with very sharp teeth; she watched Martin’s expression shift, become more guarded, and make a show of letting her hand wander back through the air towards the control panel, as if to demonstrate her point, “However, GERTI isn't quite like the model that you were type-rated on. She's old, and sometimes she needs a little kick to get her going.”
Just to make sure, she tapped the backs of her knuckles against a more rusted patch of the control panel, and GERTI provided a dutiful little creak in response. As she waited for a reaction, Martin swallowed hard, and sniffed, blushing, if possible, an even darker shade of red, as he pushed his hand under his nose and then tipped his hat back on his head; it didn’t make him look more like a Captain, but it did make his guilt all the more evident.
“Oh...I'm sorry.” Martin murmured sheepishly; he turned away from her, and began holding his hands over the control panel, grimacing as he refused to make eye contact, and tried to explain himself with a shaking voice that made Deborah’s heart go out to him against her will, “I'm just - i-it's a bit...I'm not…”
“Yes, big day, I understand.” Deborah acknowledged, suddenly struck by an odd sense of awkwardness as Martin’s head snapped up, and she found herself on the end of a ridiculously grateful stare; steeling herself, she asked kindly, leaning forwards again as if to take over for him, “Can I show you?”
“Yes...” Martin replied reluctantly, sniffing and sitting back in his seat, arms folded; then he sighed, and frowned apologetically, offering Deborah a tentative glance, as he nodded at the control panel and cleared his throat, adopting what he must have thought was an authoritative tone of voice, “Yes please.”
“Here.” Deborah reached in front of him, and was only marginally surprised when he elbow bumped into his chest as Martin leaned forwards, rapt with attention; she took care to exaggerate her movements, pressing on the front of the panel to squeeze together the mechanisms underneath the metal sheet, tugging to the right when she pressed and pulled the controls, and finishing with the little waggle that never failed to kick-start the APU when it was being troublesome…then she sat back, and asked gently as she watched the understanding in Martin’s expression, “There you go, see? Now you can do it yourself next time.”
“Thank you.” Martin replied curtly; he didn’t linger, but instead set about flicking the other controls, as the clanking hum vibrated through the walls of the flight-deck, and ended what might have become an uncomfortable silence.
“You know, we don't get rid of people for being less than perfect.” Deborah remarked after a moment, in which she couldn’t quite take her eyes from Martin’s face as he tinkered, not that his bad mood was any of her business; even digging her nails into the arms of her seat did nothing to lessen her sympathy for the damn man…his wounded puppy demeanour, compounded by how ill-fitting his uniform was, was inescapable.
“No?” Martin asked, his hands stilling over the control panel as he turned his head, and blinked imploringly at her; the glimmer of desperate hope in his gaze was heart-breaking, but not quite heart-breaking enough to make up for his previous behaviour, or the petulant edge to his tone, as if he were daring her to change her mind.
“No, definitely not.” Deborah promised wanly, shaking her head and pursing her lips; taking a deep breath, she folded one leg over the other and crossed her arms, making sure to stare out across the slightly tilted horizon of the airfield so that Martin didn’t think that they were bonding, or anything of that calibre, “If you're struggling, then I'm happy to help, I really am.”
“I'm not struggling.” Martin muttered quickly; she could feel his scowl burning a hole through her cheeks.
“Alright...but if you were, I wouldn't hold it against you.” Deborah assured him steadily, as she held her head high, chin tilted up into the air; then, because she thought that it might help get her win his favour, cheer him up, for manipulation’s sake of course, she plastered on a smile and added sweetly, with a polite nod, “Captain.”
A short, truncated noise echoed from Martin’s throat, but as Deborah waited, he didn’t say a word; he simply dragged his bottom lip between his teeth as if he were trying to turn it a darker shade of red than his cheeks, and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, fidgeting until his back was pressed against the back of his seat. It wasn’t a thank you, but Deborah could appreciate that she had placated him, if nothing else…the flight might be peaceful…the travesty that was their working relationship so far might just be recovered.
Deborah was about to make a start on the pre-take-off checks, inwardly praying that Martin didn’t take issue with her taking the lead, when she was cut off before she could even open her mouth.
“What do you get rid of people for?” Martin asked suddenly, voice brimming with curious suspicion, toeing the line of what was appropriate to ask about the previous activities of his new employers; as Deborah looked to him, she was taken aback, almost unsettled in the hollows of her lungs, at the way that his blue eyes narrowed, unabashed.
“For being horrible, mostly.” Deborah retorted, smirking at the surprise that flashed across Martin’s face; it wasn’t a lie.
“Oh.” Martin nodded, and cleared his throat, giving his sleeves a quick tug as his eyes darted down to his knees, then back up to meet Deborah’s; just like that, he was pleasant again, and Deborah was once again unsure whether they were getting along, or at odds with each other, as all that she knew was how the nervous smile on his face was good, “Well, I'm not horrible...definitely not.”
She couldn’t be sure whether it was a joke, but Deborah couldn’t stop the flicker of a smile that alighted on her lips, or the low giggle that threatened to bubble in her throat; Martin stole a peculiar glance, but said nothing, and she hoped that that meant he hadn’t noticed. For a moment, neither of them said a word, despite the pressing need to get in the air, so Deborah took it upon herself to get things going again.
“So you haven't been a pilot long then?” Deborah inquired, catching Martin’s eye for only a second before she focused on the loose threads at the end of the arm of her seat, exposing them even more; it was supposed to be a friendly query, to get things back on track.
“What's that supposed to mean?” Martin demanded, flipping, just like that, into charged indignation, shoulders seizing with tension as he glared at her; there was no winning with him, there really wasn’t, and the only reason that Deborah could think of was that he was extremely proud of his new position as Captain, “What are you implying?”
“I'm not implying anything. It was a harmless question.” Deborah replied tartly, forcing herself to swallow hard and suffocate the pang of offence that threatened to bite back; she had to be nice…Carolyn would murder her if this one walked out…honesty…that was her policy today…perhaps if she was honest, Martin would feel less threatened, less defensive, “If you like, I could clear the waters by talking about Air England, or...my ex-husband...or my daughter…”
There was a moment of silence, in which Deborah could feel the tautness stretching between them…and then Martin broke.
“You have a daughter?” Martin inquired tentatively; his head was ducked, and he didn’t quite look at her, as his fingers rapped anxiously on the side of his chair, as the rest of his fidgeting calmed.
“Yes.” Deborah replied shortly, pulling her arms fractionally more tightly around her chest, as she measured her breathing, and accepted that sacrifices had to be made for the good of the company; the last thing she wanted to appear was ashamed of her life, so she took control of her own mistakes…and showed Martin that she was flawed too, “She lives with my ex.”
“Oh, I'm sorry.” Martin murmured sheepishly, pouting as the blood that had been receding from his cheeks flooded back; he stammered, but he didn’t say a word to condemn her, “Y-you probably don't want to talk about that. I-I've never been married, o-or had any children. And I don't really have much to say about my last job either, so…”
Martin trailed off and inhaled sharply, staring hopelessly at the control panel, doing little more than tapping one button over and over again. It was a pitiful sight for the Captain of an aircraft to be presenting, and he deserved to feel pitiable for his petulance and pedantic pride….and yet, Deborah was touched by his lack of interrogation over her failings.
“How do you take your coffee?” Deborah asked softly, looking away just as Martin lifted his eyes, mouth falling open; she shifted, preparing to surge into action without appearing to do so, steeling herself.
“Wh-what?” Martin gaped, staring at her, although he leaned away as if afraid to bridge the gap between them; then he shook his head and pushed his hand over the bottom of his face, answering in a grumbling mumble that juxtaposed his every effort at authority, “Oh, I um...black, no sugar.”
Without any further ado, Deborah reached forwards and clicked the intercom, leaning in to speak into the microphone. This was sure to settle things down and break the tension; it didn’t matter that they weren’t in the air yet…Arthur wouldn’t notice.
“Arthur, be a dear and bring Martin a coffee with nothing in it.” Deborah instructed, feeling her confidence boost at Martin’s stunned flustering at her side; because it wouldn’t do to appear as if she were doing something solely for him, she added, “And bring me a tea with everything in it.”
Arthur was on sparkling form, and the flight-deck door swung open after only ten minutes of uncomfortable quiet, in which Martin flicked a few switches, and told Deborah to pull others, getting GERTI just that little bit more prepared. He had greeted Martin that morning with the vigour that he was famous for, and it hadn’t gone badly; Martin didn’t understand him, but he hadn’t rebelled against the cheer either, so Arthur had no qualms about leaning between the seats and grinning at both of them.
“Here you go Deborah.” Arthur chirped as he handed Deborah her tea, hot and steaming, which was a good sign; he offered Martin his drink, and waited to straighten up until Martin had curled his hands around it and lowered it slowly towards his lap, fingers curled stiffly despite how scolding it must have been, “And Skip, here's your coffee.”
“Th-thank you, Arthur.” Martin muttered, smiling wanly as he made a show of taking a sip, and then taking far too long to swallow, grimacing at the taste; he would get used to it, after a few days of eclectic coffees, some good, some bad.
“Alright Arthur, that's great.” Deborah remarked dismissively, waving her free hand over her shoulder, shooting Arthur a pointed glare that Martin missed; having him there did nothing to ease the tension, and she needed to get Martin comfortable with her, not simply ‘getting along’ with the company, “Could you go back and make sure that the passengers are nice and tucked in?”
“Okay.” Arthur agree, far too easily, and with far too much of a smile on his face for someone being sent away from the action; he patted the backs of both of their seats, before stepping back, calling out as he slipped through the door and back into the Galley, “I'll leave you two alone.”
“What's that supposed to mean?” Martin demanded, as the door clanged shut, and he swivelled in his seat, glaring over the back of it, and then back at Deborah, eyes wide and wild; the panic had returned, just as fresh and erratic as it had been all morning, “Why did he say it like that?”
“It doesn't mean anything.” Deborah sighed, rolling her eyes; then she shook her head, and recalled the itching desire to tease him, letting it return and settle like the smirk on her lips, as she shrugged her shoulders and weaved him a tale that was ninety per cent true, “It's just been a while since we had a captain that didn't annoy me, that's all. They've all been ghastly so far, so you're doing well. You haven't groped or insulted me directly, or anything like that.”
“Do you, um…do you get a lot of groping and insulting?” Martin inquired coyly, and when Deborah glance towards him, his eyes snapped up to her face from where they had quite obviously been lingering lower; he didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, “Not that I'm interested, not that I'm not, I'm just um - forget I said anything.”
“No, that's alright.” Deborah replied, as the pleasant warmth of success settled in her stomach; if they kept up this sort of repartee, then everything should move swimmingly, regardless of any initial hitches, “Normally if anyone tries I just dazzle them with one of my many skills, or charm them into apologising.”
“Yeah right.” Martin snorted, ruining the mood just enough that Deborah had to bite her tongue, not that she would have been able to get a word in anyway, as he barrelled on; there was no limit to his clumsy mastery of rudeness, as he delivered it with a smile and a jaunty tip of his head, making it impossible to be genuinely angry at him as he said, “It's just a bit smug, isn't it - thinking you can just charm your way out of anything.”
“Give it two days.” Deborah drawled, settling back against her seat and folding her hands neatly over her lap, smirking as Martin laughed, and then seemed to realise that she meant what she said; it might take a while, but sooner or later he was going to understand that she really was as good as she said she was, and he’d learn to respect her judgement.
The newly earned power would wane soon, and Martin Crieff would fit into MJN perfectly…as the nervous, inexperienced pilot that he was, eager to do well, and therefore perfectly malleable.
oOoOoOo
If Deborah had thought for one minute that she could bend Martin Crieff into shape, or that his abrasiveness would fade once his nerves had been eased and his need to show off pandered to, she had been completely and utterly wrong. Oh, he tried to make her laugh, and to be the Captain, but he was a damn petulant, proud, prissy, self-obsessed, pathologically obstinate bastard.
The man actually had the guts to be damn near incompetent on the flight-deck, to overreact at the slightest trigger, and then to overrule her experienced suggestions, divert completely out of the way of their destination, and then blame her for the trouble they were in – as if they would have been perfectly fine had she not argued with his decision, which was idiotic and redundant, and was going to get both of their necks on Carolyn’s woodblock.
As the engineers said goodbye, and GERTI was locked into a foreign hangar, the wrong foreign hangar, MJN’s crew found themselves standing redundantly on the tarmac, silently fuming; well, if Carolyn and Arthur hadn’t been talking to the airfield manager, Deborah was sure that she wouldn’t have been silent…in fact, as she watched Martin sling his flight-bag over his shoulder, and shuffling his feet, pouting petulantly all the while, she decided that she wasn’t going to remain silent either.
“I have been working for this company for years, and we have never diverted.” Deborah hissed, as she sauntered to stand a foot or so away from him, her arms folded across her chest; he might as well know exactly what he had done wrong, so that he would most definitely not do it again, she thought, “Ever.”
“Well maybe you should have if today was anything to go by.” Martin retorted, having the audacity to check his watch before lifted his gaze to meet hers, a prim, far too pleased with himself, expression on his face, as he tipped his nose into the air; the way that he glared at her was almost like a challenge.
“Excuse me?” Deborah demanded, as her eyebrows rose to her hairline, and she was left agape, shaking her head and biting her tongue; the prickling distaste in her stomach, the tart itch at the base of her throat, all of them were telling her to throttle him there and then…but she didn’t.
“I made a command decision to divert, and you argued with me, your captain, and tried to convince me that it was okay to carry on as we were.” Martin explained, as if he were in the right, and all of this was perfectly reasonable; it just made Deborah want to knock the cap from atop his head, “If that's the kind of recklessness that you've been bringing to the job, then maybe it's a good thing I'm here to instil some sense.”
“Oh, really?” Deborah drawled, settling more securely on her heels, as she tilted her head back just a tad to look him in the eyes; she wasn’t sure when they had moved so close to each other, but she wasn’t inclined to care when scolding the man from afar seemed to have no effect whatsoever, no matter how much she lowered her voice into a growl, “Well I'll have you know-”
“The both of you stop bickering now!” Carolyn’s furious shout shattered any sense of bravado that Deborah had been manufacturing, and she stepped back just as Martin jolted away from her, the both of them turning to see Carolyn storm across the tarmac towards them, Arthur on her heels, looking suitably cowed, “I did not hire you, either of you, to waste my money.”
“But he-” Deborah started to argue, in the same moment that Martin whined, “I had to-”, their voices clambering over each other in an attempt to be heard and crowned victor.
“Zip it!” Carolyn snapped, raising her hand in a definite motion that had both of their mouths clapping shut; she glared between the two of them with a heat that practically radiated from her pores, “The money I'm having to spend getting the passengers somewhere to stay for the night is coming out of your pay, and don't think for a minute you'll be staying somewhere nice.”
“You've got to set us up in proper accommodation!” Martin exclaimed, so foolish, so new to the company that he honestly believed they functioned properly; he’d soon learn though, the hard way, if he even lasted that long…Deborah wasn’t so sure.
“Oh, do I?” Carolyn inquired, adopting the honeyed tone that so often emerged alongside her most shark-like demeanour, hands wound together and her front, the picture of civility; it was going to be wonderful to watch, of that much, Deborah was sure…it always was lovely to see someone else at the end of Carolyn’s rage, “Martin, what is your job?”
“I-I'm a pilot.” Martin replied, his brow furrowing with bewilderment as his eyes darted towards Deborah, as if actually asking her for help; not that she was going to give it, even if Carolyn had been the sort to allow that kind of camaraderie, “I fly the plane.”
“And who owns the plane?” Carolyn asked sweetly, nodding in encouragement, as Martin stammered and looked more and more like a lost puppy with every second; there would be no mercy, even if Martin was the most agreeable pilot that she had hired since Deborah herself…even that couldn’t save him.
“Well, you do.” Martin answered matter-of-factly, cheeks turning slowly more red with each second, as if he knew what was coming, but couldn’t perceive it to be true; the poor, poor, utterly deserving of everything he got, poor soul.
“Exactly.” Carolyn stated sternly, losing her sweet façade in a fraction of a second, as her face hardened into a glare and her shoulders squared; the final blow, and the definite decree, certain to put Martin in his place, and perhaps even drive him to quit in a few days, if he had as little nerve as he did manners, “I don't care what your sleeve says, I am the boss.”
“Didn't I say so?” Deborah remarked lowly, leaning in close so that she could murmur near his ear, but careful not to get so near close that they touched at all; it wouldn’t do to be smug and overly familiar at the same time, it would only confuse the man.
“Shut up.” Martin hissed, taking his eyes from Carolyn completely to glare at Deborah with something so akin to hatred that it actually knocked her back into the flats of her feet, arms tucked around her, frustration falling away only to be replaced by an odd dejection that hollowed out her chest and wondered what she had done to deserve that; she took back her earlier assessment…Martin wasn’t quite as much a pushover as she had thought…and that only made things more depressing.
The exchange felt like it lasted hours, but it couldn’t possibly have been more than a second, as Deborah realised that Carolyn was still talking, so caught up in her speech that she was paying little notice to what her employees were saying to each other.
“I am your boss, and you'll do as you're told.” Carolyn informed them both, thin lipped and authoritative as Martin could never hope to be; nevertheless, she couldn’t quite hold all of Deborah’s attention, as her eyes wandered back to Martin at every syllable, searching to see if the hatred was still there, “You are not to waste any more of my money. In order to not waste my money, and as a cruel punishment for the both of you, you're getting one room between you.”
“Carolyn, no!” Deborah most definitely didn’t whine, but she did have to swallow hard and school her expression, to mask the clot of apathy that had lodged in her throat; she turned away from Martin and implored the other woman, “That's not fair.”
The very last thing Deborah wanted was to spend any longer than necessary in Martin’s presence, and she couldn’t put her finger on why; that was the problem. He had proved that he had his moments in which he was endearing, and pleasant…and then he was pernicious and prim…and she had been labouring under the illusion that it was all a symptom of his pride and determination to be good at his job…but that didn’t merit the loathing that he had shot at her…what had she even done to deserve that?
It wasn’t as if there was anything truly detestable about her…she had no idea.
“No, it's not; that's the point.” Carolyn replied smartly; she raised her hands into the air, and made a motion that would have pushed the two of them together had she deigned to make physical contact with her pilots, “Use the time to talk through your problems, and make sure that when you board the plane tomorrow, you can do so without letting your personal disagreements interfere with my company!”
There wasn’t even an attempt to say goodbye as Carolyn stormed away, leaving Arthur standing uselessly, staring after her, his bag thrown over his shoulder as he walked cautiously to join Martin and Deborah.
“Well this is just great.” Martin muttered, loud enough that Deborah could hear him as he grumbled and pouted at the ground, scuffing his shoes; it was a surprise that he wasn’t walking off himself, heading out of the airport instead of hanging around waiting for the two of them…he probably just didn’t know where to go.
“You're the one that insisted we divert for the sake of a dodgy alarm.” Deborah snapped, letting go of her temper for a fraction of a second, as she shifted her bag over her shoulder, and began leading the way out, slowing her pace so that both men could walk beside her; it was all his fault, and she had told him to trust her judgement, the arrogant arse, “ Honestly, everything on GERTI's dodgy!”
“Oh but of course, I'm sure with all your years of experience and your incredible talent as a pilot that you happily ignore plane faults all the time.” Martin sneered sarcastically, shooting her a bitter glare out of the corner of his eyes, not even doing her the justice of facing her; it was intolerable, completely and utterly unacceptable, “Nothing ever goes wrong for you!”
“Let's just get to the hotel.” Deborah raised her voice, then reigned it in as her hands flew into the air, a tarnished facsimile of surrender; she could have fought back, but as she pursed her lips and stared at Martin, jittering as he was with annoyance, she could only sigh and roll her eyes, shaking her head, “I'm tired and I want to go to bed.”
Absolutely fantastic; now Martin would think that he had won and she’d never live it down.
“Aw, come on guys.” Arthur implored; in what might have been a flash of wisdom, he slipped behind Deborah so that he was walking between her and Martin, making it all the more difficult for them to snap at each other, “It'll be fun. You can get to know each other, become friends.”
“Give it a rest Arthur.” Deborah sighed, letting her eyes fall shut for a moment; when Martin said nothing, she assumed that he was stewing in his own anger just as she was…good riddance.
oOoOoOo
Martin barely said a word to her at the hotel, and Deborah was willing to let him get the keys, and to endure the silence for the sake of peace, if a mottled one at that; there was nothing to say that wouldn’t make the flight home miserable, and Deborah…Deborah couldn’t think of what she wanted to say to him…she couldn’t decide whether she was mad at Martin, or upset at how he had treated her, how he had betrayed his amiable first impression.
It was only when the sky was completely black, and Deborah was sprawled out under her covers with a book, while Martin pottered sluggishly from the grotty bathroom to his own suitcase beside his bed, that Martin spoke. It wasn’t anything of the sort that Deborah wanted to hear, and she lowered her book slowly, pressing her lips into a thin line as she heard him clear his throat.
“So wh-wh-what’s the protocol?” Martin asked quietly, as if he’d rather be talking to anyone else, as he shuffled on the far side of his bed, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck while he dragged his lip through his teeth and blanched when Deborah’s eyes rose to drink him in, “For this…I-I-I mean for tonight, a-and tomorrow, before the flight?”
“You can do what you like, Martin, it’s not my problem.” Deborah sighed dismissively…then she stopped herself, choking on a breath, as she actually looked at him, smaller now in his pyjamas than in his uniform, although not ridiculously so, and far less confident; she remembered, with a pang that struck her stomach and made her eyes prickle in indignation, and possibly shame…it was Martin’s first day…the man hadn’t been flying long, and now he was there, in a foreign country with people he didn’t know, and probably didn’t like…and he was miserable…it was most definitely shame, “But…I do tend to have breakfast with Carolyn and Arthur…it would be silly, really, as we’re rooming together, for you not to join us.”
“Oh…oh alright.” Martin murmured softly, nodding his head as if he didn’t quite know what else to do with himself; once he had dithered a moment more, and rubbed his hands up and over his elbows, he lowered himself onto the edge of his bed, and leant down to root through his bag, coughing awkwardly, “Thank you…”
Deborah tried to raise her book and distract herself, but she couldn’t help turning her head and watching him through the loose strands of hair that fell over her face; the inexplicable sadness that lingered in her guts was intolerable, and yet, all she could think was that a ridiculous part of her was mourning for the man that she had thought she’d be working with. Despite being knocked to the ground, she had liked Martin that morning…now…she didn’t know.
But if she extended an olive branch, perhaps he would relax, and things would become easier between them.
“Martin, do you…” Deborah started speaking, and then caught herself as Martin’s head snapped up, and his eyes widened expectantly, almost fearfully; pinned under the anxious force of his blue eyes, and his lightly flushed cheeks, she suddenly found that the words wouldn’t come, and the air stopped in her throat, “I…are you…um…never mind.”
“What?” Martin demanded indignantly, shifting around to stare at her; his chest heaved, and if the day that they had had was any indication, there would be no dissuading him now that he was interested.
“Nothing, I…I just...it’s…you’re…” Deborah didn’t stutter, but she might as well have done; when it became too much to look at Martin, she ducked her head and fiddled with the pages of her book between her fingers, swallowing hard, speaking softly enough that if she were lucky, he might not hear, “It’s always difficult, I know…working with new people.”
“It’s not difficult.” Martin retorted glumly, sniffing far too loud for a young Captain fresh to the flight-deck; he didn’t even sound as if he believed himself, “I’m fine.”
“Alright.” Deborah acknowledged; she knew that she should have let the matter lie there, but she somehow her closeted sense of honour emerged and it was impossible not to carry on, not when she had a slim chance to put things right, “But…I do understand that it’s hard…really, I do. Just…you should never take the first day to heart…first impressions aren’t always correct.”
“I-I…I’m not sure what you’re trying to tell me.” Martin remarked, and when Deborah stole a glance towards him, he was blinking, bewildered, and winding his hands together; it was a lost cause.
“No…neither am I.” Deborah sighed, letting her eyes fall closed as she pressed the heel of her palm against her forehead; with a long exhale, she slid down the bed and curled onto her side, tugging the covers up to her shoulders, an effective end to the conversation, even as Martin made an odd noise in his throat, “Ignore me, I’m exhausted.”
oOoOoOo
Being in the air with only Martin for company was agonising. The flight home, as Deborah had wanted, wasn’t marred by arguments, but that would have been a welcome addition to the whirring of the engines. Carolyn and Arthur, having endured the tense silence over breakfast, were keeping away from the flight-deck, which meant that Deborah was alone…felt alone…Martin was there, but he only spoke to ask her to do the checks.
She wasn’t angry anymore…and it didn’t seem as if Martin was mad either. They were just sad, and unhappy in each other’s company. Under the guise of flicking a switch above her head, rapping the metal with the backs of her knuckles, Deborah stole a glance at Martin; the sight of him frowning and moping as he stared into the sky was unpleasant. He was a damn sight more likeable than the other pilots that Carolyn had hired…it would be a shame if he decided to leave.
Perhaps she should test him properly, get the ball rolling.
“Martin…” Deborah said coyly, taking care not to appear as if she was watching for his reaction, even though she was doing exactly that; she waited for him to turn to her, eyebrows rising expectantly, before she plastered on a faux tentative smile, and pushed her hair behind her ears, “I realise that you want to do everything 'by the book', but surely you don't want to spend the flight in silence?”
“What are you suggesting?” Martin asked, stiffening as he wrapped his hand around a lever; he failed miserably at pretending that he wasn’t withdrawn, visibly leaning away from the space between their seats, despite his apathetic curiosity.
“Something to clear the waters between us, perhaps.” Deborah suggested, feigning nonchalance with a shrug of her shoulders and an airy smile, a curl of her wrist; inwardly, she was holding her breath, hoping despite herself that Martin passed this test, and that she wouldn’t have to sit through another stream of pilots that she couldn’t stand, “A word game?”
“You...you mean like the ones you'd play on the bus on school trips?” Martin inquired after a moment, cautiously, as if he were poking his toe into a shark infested pool; even so, it was impossible to miss the way that his eyes brightened, and he practically perked up, lips quirking at the corners.
“Yes, exactly those sorts.” Deborah replied brightly, offering him a smile that was possibly a little too genuine, but whose warmth she knew she could use to her advantage; it would have been a lie to say that she wasn’t’ pleased with his enthusiasm; it had been a very long time since she had played a proper game with anyone, and she missed winning, “What type of game did you play?”
“Oh, I-I...I never actually played them,” Martin admitted bashfully, his cheeks flushing as he did; that wasn’t really a surprise, given his attitude the previous day, but he carried on so quickly that Deborah didn't have time to do more than nod, “b-but the kids around me did. They used to start with a word and then move on with words that they thought of, and they'd make a chain of weird words.”
“Well, yes, that's the sort of idea.” Deborah remarked stiltedly, wetting her lips for the sake of doing something other than lingering on Martin’s statement; she had to be polite, which wasn’t all that difficult when presented with enthusiasm for something that she loved…perhaps Martin wasn’t so bad after all, “I was thinking of something a bit more complicated though; the sort of game that has a winner.”
“A competition?” Martin replied, opening and closing his mouth like a clam until Deborah took pity and nodded quickly; then his expression shifted, and the tension left his shoulders, until he actually appeared shy, genuinely touched that she had asked, vacillating as he seemed wont to do from on edge to calm like the pendulum of a clock, “That um...that sounds quite fun actually. Sure, I'd, uh, I-I'd love to play. I-I mean I'd like to-not love.”
“Excellent.” Deborah drawled, grinning as Martin fidgeted; perhaps things were going to go well, after all of the hassle that the company had experienced…it would be good for everything to go well, just this once, “I've got an idea, that's sort of like eye-spy, but different...”
oOoOoOo
“And that’s six o’clock.” Deborah groaned, pushing away from her desk and kicking her feet down from its top, sparing Martin only the most fleeting of glances; they had stopped talking once he realised that Deborah wasn’t going to listen to him outside of the flight-deck, and most definitely in regards to the way she was sitting, “Finally…”
Without another word, Deborah rose to her feet and strode across the room, snatching her coat from the hook and sweeping it over her shoulders as she wandered back to her desk and began packing her bag. The only sound was the clattering of her pens as a few hit the ground in her haste to go home; not that there was anything at home worth hurrying for. It was only as she bent down to retrieve them, then rose from behind the desk, that she paused.
For what must have been the eighth time in the two days that they had known each other, Deborah found herself watching Martin…and holding her breath. He was sitting behind his desk, but he wasn’t doing paperwork as he had been an hour beforehand; it wasn’t possible for him to still be working, even after all of his blustering over proper procedure. Instead, Martin was hunched, arms curled around his log-book, as he traced the wrong end of a pen back and forth over the same area, frowning pitifully all the while, eyes unfocused as he occasionally sniffled.
Damn him…Deborah should have walked away then, but there wasn’t a force in the world that could have made her leave him like that. All of a sudden, she could see herself years and years before, sitting at the back of a medical lecture, completely out of her depth and trying so hard to fit into the system, really trying.
Martin Crieff wasn’t that bad, she supposed, and the Deborah Richardson that she wanted to be would never forgive herself if she let the man wallow in isolation; MJN needed a fourth member after all…and the lesser evil was always the better.
“So, Martin, what are your plans for tonight?” Deborah inquired smoothly, sauntering up to Martin’s desk and leaning down until she was propped up with her palms flat over his paperwork; she wasn’t going to be unnaturally nice, simply welcoming, and hope that it put things right, “A round of drinks with your mates to celebrate your first MJN flight?”
“Wh-what?” Martin blinked blearily, and he met Deborah’s gaze without wavering in his confusion; he plastered on a smile, but there was a sag in his shoulders and a twist to his lips that betrayed his emotional exhaustion, and perhaps his lack of patience with her, “N-no, I…I’ll probably just sleep it off actually. It’s been a…i-it’s been a long few days.”
“That it has.” Deborah agreed, biting the corner of her lip as she nodded and squeezed her eyes tightly shut; then she opened them again, and smiled wanly, ignoring how withdrawn Martin looked, pretending that she had never seen the hatred in his eyes the day before, “I’m sure that we can put that behind us though; nerves are destined to grate on the first day after all.”
“Thank you.” Martin replied, then choked and corrected himself, making rapid and entirely unnecessary hand movements, “I-I-I mean, that would be nice, thank you.” He ended so nicely, so neatly, that Deborah thought he was finished, yet when she straightened up, he piped up with an odd, probing tone of voice and a scrunched nose that had her quirking an eyebrow in anticipation, “So, um…Deborah…do you, I, uh d-do you have any plans for tonight?”
“Sadly no.” Deborah replied with a sigh and a shrug, as she pulled her coat more tightly around her waist, ignoring the niggle in the back of her mind telling her to tease Martin, though for what she wasn’t sure; all that she knew was that she’d rather not imagine whatever Harry was doing, or whether he was even at home, “Straight home to see if my husband has actually bothered to fill the fridge in my absence, I’m afraid.”
“Oh - y-you’re married?” Martin inquired, his eyes blowing wide as his tone turned shrill for a fraction of a second; it was odd really, how he sat back, throat bobbing, almost awkward in his realisation.
“Yes. Very happily.” Deborah answered as briefly as she could, not hesitating to smile despite the sour taste on her tongue; letting her gaze linger on Martin’s face for a moment longer, she offered him a polite nod, as she took the first step backwards, to leave him to his thoughts, “Well, Martin…I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”
“And you…Deborah.” Martin replied, and with that, he settled into the first real, utterly relaxed smile that she had seen on his face since he had bowled her over in front of the porta-cabin, one that made his whole form light up; then, as if he just couldn’t help it, he tried to be funny, and floundered, “Unless I see you first! No, um, that wasn’t right...”
Deborah sighed, but there was no denying the warmth that blossomed in her chest as she forced herself to swallow the tail end of a chuckle. Nevertheless, she turned her back on him, shaking her head as she walked back to her desk, to retrieve her bag. As she took the final steps towards the door, Deborah glanced over her shoulder, and called out one final farewell.
“Goodbye, Captain.”
Hopefully, everything would be alright, for MJN…for her. After all, it had only been the first day; there was no way that Martin Crieff could really be so pernicious, pernickety, and damn pompous…and if he was, then he wouldn’t last long at all.
Deborah was confident; she’d either whip Martin into shape, or he’d be out of her life sooner rather than later.