There are a lot of good stories around already starting with the end of S6. I hope you don't mind me adding my own take on the events following Louisa's operation.

I started writing this story immediately after the end of S6, but being busy with my other two stories I didn't publish it yet. So the story is not influenced at all by any information leaking out from the shooting of S7. The whole story is only a product of my imagination.

I thank Buffalo Pictures for the inspiration and for creating such interesting characters. All characters and places are owned by Buffalo Pictures.

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Chapter 1

Martin left the hospital in a hurry. Today's events were getting to him and he was on the verge of losing his composure. He didn't necessarily need an audience for that.

His head was buzzing and he had to find a way and a place to get his thoughts into an order that actually made sense.

He hardly noticed the nurses and doctors hurrying around. He'd had years of practise ignoring them and could find his way in and about a hospital blindfolded if necessary. It was also no problem for him to blend out the noises, announcements and discussions around him.

The surroundings actually helped him to get into a mind tunnel, shutting all impressions out.

At first he didn't even notice when his name was shouted behind him. Only when the caller was almost caught up to him, Martin realised an angry voice shouting "DR. ELLINGHAM!"

He briefly considered stopping to turn around, but then decided against it. He simply moved on, wanting nothing more than to be alone.

However, it was of no use, as the person chasing him was equally used to having his instruction followed as Martin was. The assistant medical director of Truro hospital grabbed Martin's arm shortly before he had made it outside.

"Sir, may I inquire what you were thinking in locking one of my surgeons in a cupboard and performing an operation without being authorised?!" The senior physician bellowed. He was at least half a foot shorter than Martin and slightly younger, but almost as commanding.

Martin paused just for a moment, but knew immediately that he had to hold his ground quickly, or otherwise his battle would be lost. He pulled himself together, squared his shoulders and replied sternly: "I guess the question is why you hired an imbecile like Westmore in the first place. He might be competent enough to patch a paw of his favourite Teddy bear, but that doesn't qualify him to butcher human beings."

"He was a good enough surgeon before you turned up."

"Good enough for what? Actually, he didn't give an impression of being good enough to operate on my wife!"

"Ah, that's the rub. You know that if anything, this information makes the whole matter worse. I will report you, of course."

Martin gulped. That was to be expected, presumably, but he hadn't really realised the kind of trouble he was in until now.

"You know that you are risking an assessment of the competence of your surgeon boy that way?" Martin replied.

"I'll take that risk." His opponent retorted dryly. "I have every confidence in the competence of my staff."

"Sure you have." Martin smirked. "At least I hope your staff will be competent enough to keep my wife alive until she's released this afternoon."

"Ah, about that. Not to take any risks and considering the recent car accident your wife had been involved in I guess it's safer to keep her here over night. Just to check on her. To be on the safe side. Wouldn't you agree, Dr. Ellingham? We don't want anything happening to her." The doctor could hardly hide his satisfaction.

Martin looked quietly at this other man who was responsible for his wife's welfare right now. Even if he didn't like it, he had to agree that it was a reasonable suggestion. Besides, it would give him a bit more time to clear his head.

"Good." Martin finally said. "But make sure your negligent staff keeps an eye on the thrombosis risk, turns her regularly, keeps her hydrated…" Martin was interrupted sharply.

"Thank you very much, but we know the routine. I suggest you head home and we'll contact you as soon as you can pick up your wife. In the meantime, I don't want to hear or see anything from you. Understood?"

"Hm." Martin cocked his head. He knew when he was defeated, and he had brought himself into serious trouble in taking charge. However, he would have done it again. It had been necessary to save his wife's life. He was sure of that.

Martin rushed to the car park only to remember that he didn't have his car with him. He had no clue how to get back. He could have taken a taxi, but the drivers had the uncanny knack to keep talking.

His head couldn't process any more information. He snapped his smart phone out and googled for the nearest hotels. He scrolled through the hotels in Truro just to feel that he positively wouldn't be able to stay in any of these. Hotel rooms always make you feel a bit homeless, and he wouldn't be able to cope with a feeling like that on top of things.

Next he googled for the train connections, but he realised soon enough that it wouldn't help much to get to Bodmin Parkway. He would have to call Ruth to pick him up. He also wasn't up to that encounter.

The next thought was to find a rental car. That didn't prove to be too difficult.

So he walked to the nearest pick up station and soon he was alone in a car on the way to Portwenn.

The car wasn't at all what he was used to. It was of minor quality but the only thing he could get on short notice.

He just had the urge to get home, ASAP. He needed the sanctuary of his consulting room to finally release his pressure.

He was speeding over Bodmin Moor when suddenly a creaking sound followed by a loud bang didn't imply anything good. He stopped the car to find that the exhaust had fallen off and was lying on the road as a bleak contrast of the civilised world to rough nature. He didn't have the strength anymore to cope with the next blow. He gave the vehicle a good kick, sending the indicator to the ground, and then sat down behind the wheel of the immobile automobile. He stared in front of him, in the direction of his destination.

Hours later he realised he must have started to cry.

With the rising sun he was awoken by a vehicle blowing its horn. He was startled and sat bold upright, by reflex he said. "Good morning, James.", but when he looked for a child seat, he found none.

It was then that he remembered the wild dream he had. Not really a dream. Psychedelic images floating in his mind. An angel telling the moon it had a nice face. Mountains of snow with waterfalls of blood. A smiling child in the clutches of a witch.

Martin ran his hand over his face and over his neck. He couldn't stay like this any longer. He had to start doing something.

He got his mobile out, hoping to contact a taxi or at least the rental car company. His bad luck held on, as he noticed that the batteries were empty.

"Gosh, will this never end?" He noticed he wasn't even angry anymore. He was sad and frustrated and lonely and he felt guilty, but he wasn't angry.

He shortly mulled over his options, but only one was really practical. So he got out of the car and locked it carefully. Out of habit, as no thief with an ounce of self-respect would touch a wreck like this, and anyway, no one could possibly move it.

Then he started hiking to Portwenn.

A glance at his watch gave him hope he could manage to get upstairs before his receptionist arrived.

He covered the ground quickly. While walking, he assessed his situation. He had often thought in his life that he had reached his lowest point, but somehow he had always managed to drop lower still.

So had he really reached rock bottom now? There must be a point when it couldn't get any worse. Or was being miserable not something that approached zero asymptotically but a steep drop ad infinitum?

What more could happen to him than to lose his family? He had even lost his ability to function properly as a doctor, considering his performance yesterday. He didn't ask for much. He didn't even ask for happiness. But why couldn't he find a stable level which allowed him at least a content existence?

Portwenn came in sight as it started to drizzle. He put his collar up and tried to dug his hands into his pockets, but he couldn't get his right hand in.

There it was. James' toy left behind on the stairs. Martin stood nailed to the spot staring at the yellow fluff in his hand and tears started streaming down his cheeks. He stood there until the rain had progressed into a proper downpour.

Soaked, he made his way downhill.

Finally he reached his cottage twenty past eight. He should just have enough time to get upstairs unnoticed. He didn't know yet what he would do about his patients, though.

He turned the key, slipped inside and looked around. The reception was empty, as was the waiting room.

He tackled the stairs, but after only three steps, Morwenna was coming out of his consulting room.

To be continued...