AN: Trigger warning - attempted suicide in first chapter.

They say your life is supposed to flash before your eyes in the moments before your death.

Right now, Martin was both doubting the old myth and wondering if there was possibly something else wrong with him that he didn't already know about. If there was then it could hardly take away from his resolve. Or lack thereof.

Because right now, Martin was leaning against the railings of Bristol bridge - not the big suspension one, though, the one in the city, which was easier to get to. Only a fifteen minute walk from the not-very-nice hotel Carolyn had booked for them this time and the argument he'd walked away from. Hopefully, it was high enough to do the job.

The wind was nice, and he leaned into it, closing his eyes. So far, he wasn't doing anything that anyone would stop and stare or look twice about. Just feeling the wind, and thinking about how it reminded him of when he was younger, much younger, really, when he'd do the same and hold out his arms and pretend he wasn't just flying, that he was the aeroplane, and gravity couldn't stop him or hold him back, and aeroplanes didn't have funny ear problems, either, and they helped people, by taking them places. Back then, he'd thought it'd be like an odd sort of piggyback, that he'd be able to perfect when he was older, maybe. Now, though, he knew better, but that didn't make the feeling any less special. Flying was just like falling, wasn't it, though? Except without the crash or the thud or the splat or the splash at the bottom, weightless and free.

And then before he knew it he was flying, and while for a moment it felt incredible, the then, with a crash, it was all over before it had even properly begun.

Maybe not high enough, after all.

Over the roar of the water in and around his ears - oh god he didn't have his ear plugs in - he half remembered, half heard a voice, which might have been calling out his name, but it was lost in the rush of water, and a heady feeling of I'm going to die and it doesn't matter whose voice it was if I'm going to die here, drowning in a river.

But then there was a splash, and the water, which had already been trying to push him down even further, started eddying around him, and his head started to spin. Funnily enough, it wasn't the fact that he'd just jumped off a bridge that made him want to start fighting to stay alive, but the instinct caused by the knowledge that he was about to black out due to his inner ear problem. He really ought to have thought this through a little better. His gasp for air had just caused him to swallow in a mouthful of water, which was hardly the cleanest, either.

Something started to grab at him, and he tried to fight back before realising that it was a hand, not some strange river-creature or fish he'd never heard of. Someone's hand, then, reaching out to grab a hold on his arm. Which it - they - did, pulling him toward them and toward the surface.

Oh, god, he found himself thinking. I hope it's a stranger. Please god let it be someone I don't know.

"Martin? Martin! No, stay with me, Martin." Oh. Douglas. Right. The fuselage. But his eyes were rolling back no matter how hard he tried to stay conscious, and he almost felt guilty for the impending dead (ha ha) weight that he was about to become. "Damn it all, I'm not about to lose you again...!"

...Again?

...Why... again?

But before he could ask, the world went dark.

….

AN: TT_TT

Oh, Martin…. *ahem*. Um. Please, please forgive the author for the sheer amount of angst in this fic, and if anything's been done wrong. But someone caught my eye with the idea of Martin and the bridge, and… I had this idea. And unlike some ideas of a similar sort, I simply had to take this one somewhere.

This is NOT all that there is. Not by far. I simply can't continue it right now, but will… tomorrow? It's late…. ;u;