A/N – This story is an alternative take on the events of Series 3, Episode 5. What if something happened that might mean Louisa would never see Martin again; what would her reaction be? Thanks go to Gill for her encouragement and Diane for sorting out my dreadful punctuation.
Disclaimer – Doc Martin and its characters belong to Buffalo Pictures Ltd. I'm only playing with them for a short while.
Rating - T
Heartbeats
By
littleguinea
It was the best opportunity that was ever likely to come his way. A date with Louisa and one that had been eagerly anticipated by both of them. The day had started so positively. He'd even managed to compliment her when he saw her in his surgery earlier in the day, getting her blood test. She'd seemed so excited about the concert, and he believed that perhaps it could really be the start of something new between them.
Louisa looked so beautiful when he went to pick her up that evening - stunning, in fact - and he couldn't help staring at her during the concert every chance he got. From the corner of his eye, Martin had also caught her looking at him. It seemed that shewas keen for physical contact with him, placing a flower in his buttonhole, and then eventually they'd shared a brief moment of passion.
Even before she'd led him by the hand into the secluded copse, he'd noticed that she was very emotional and, unfortunately, that observation set off a chain of reactions on Martin's part that was destined to see him ruin his chance once and for all.
Why couldn't he have just accepted that it was the music that Louisa found so moving or, God forbid, the fact that Louisa actually wanted to be with him? She'd wanted to feel his lips against hers, wanted him to be a part of her life, and it was for that reason her eyes glistened and she'd felt the need to display her feelings in such an emotional way. No, that was far too simple an explanation and not one that Martin could ever have accepted. There had to be a medical explanation for her emotional state. What an idiot he was, a stupid, arrogant idiot.
He was violently shaken from his reflective mood by the sound of the door latch being lifted. As he looked up, he saw his Aunty Joan come bursting through the door in her usual blustery fashion. Ungrateful thoughts ran through his mind and immediately he regretted them. She was the only person in the village who really understood and cared for him, and he shouldn't despise her presence in such a way.
Martin had known that it wouldn't be long before she came to see if he was alright. He'd had to walk right past her when she was talking to Bert earlier. If he'd stopped and she'd asked him what the matter was, he knew that he wouldn't have been able to remain composed at that time, and he really didn't want to make a fool of himself in front of Bert. It would have been round the village quicker than a dose of diarrhoea.
The reason he'd stormed back up the hill was that he'd been disgusted with himself. He'd stood at Louisa's window staring at her and then not having the guts to just stand there and wait for her to answer the door. Then her annoying friend had turned up.
How Louisa could believe that Polly or Molly - or whatever her name was - was any better than her, was beyond him. Just because she owned part of her school and could play the bloody cello, Louisa was a hundred times the woman that stuck-up bitch could ever be. If only he had told her that at the concert, but oh no - instead he'd told her that she smelled of urine. What a complete fool!
"Yes, what?" asked Joan.
"Sorry, erm, what did you say?" asked Martin, who hadn't heard a word she'd said since she came through the door.
"What are you so glum about?" she asked.
There really was very little point trying to hide anything from her; ever since he was a child, she'd always been able to read him like a book. She always knew when he was feeling sensitive or isolated. She really was like a mother to him in that respect.
"What's for lunch?"
At that precise moment Martin couldn't imagine ever wanting to eat again and, as guilty as he felt, he really didn't want to spend the next thirty minutes explaining his feelings to his aunt, however caring and well meaning she might be.
"Um, I'm not actually, err, eating."
"Right, I'll be off then," said Joan, bluntly.
Relief washed over Martin as he walked to the door to see Joan out as quickly as possible and then - wham - there it was, exactly the conversation that he wanted to avoid.
Hearing her tell him that any outing between him and Louisa was bound to end in disaster brought back the painful memory of Louisa's words from the previous night to haunt him.
"We're not going anywhere and we never will," she had said, just before she got out of the car and calmly closed the door on their relationship for the final time.
Martin couldn't control his feelings any longer. His throat tightened and he felt the tears start to sting his eyes. All he could think of was to carry on as normal, so he thanked his aunt for the vegetables and slowly closed the back door behind her. He knew that she would be back; she'd seen his grief and would now know how deeply he felt for Louisa.
~x~
After making himself a strong cup of coffee to keep himself alert after the restless night that he'd had to endure, he made his way back through to the surgery.
On his way, he noticed Pauline and Al, looking very agitated, heading towards the surgery door. He followed them outside and wasn't at all surprised to see that Pauline was involved in a scuffle about her scooter, but the last thing he wanted was for either Pauline or Al to get into trouble because of it.
Remarkably, for once he managed to actually diffuse a situation rather than make it worse, and as he turned to walk back into the surgery, he happened to glance across the harbour and saw Louisa walking with her friend. This was the most he could ever hope for now- brief glimpses of her every now and again, perhaps even the odd amiable conversation, if he was very lucky.
With a very heavy heart, he walked back into the waiting room and stumbled across a distraught Pauline. Today more than any other day he was reluctant to become embroiled in the personal life of his scatty receptionist, but he knew that he would have to at some point, in order to help her with her gambling addiction.
Luckily for him, the telephone rang and he immediately sprung up to answer it.
It was Louisa's voice on the other end. It was wonderful to hear her but she was panicking. Her friend had fallen awkwardly on the beach and couldn't move, so of course Martin gathered up his bag and off he went.
Seeing Louisa sent a tingle through his entire body, but he was there to assist in an emergency, and so again his medical persona came to the fore and he set about taking control of the situation. There was absolutely no way that Holly could drive back that afternoon and so Louisa had said that of course she could stay with her.
Once back at Louisa's cottage, with half of the village in tow, Martin made his way up to Louisa's bedroom to check that it was a suitable place for her friend to recuperate.
He couldn't help thinking that if he hadn't been so tactless with Louisa the previous evening, he might actually have found out what Louisa's bedroom looked like under more pleasurable circumstances. His thoughts embarrassed him, especially when he looked across at Louisa as he patted her bed and felt sure that she knew exactly what he was thinking. He hadn't often had carnal thoughts in the past - that was, until he'd met her, and now it seemed that most of his nights alone were filled at some point with dreams of an erotic nature.
After making Holly "comfortable" in his usual uncaring fashion, he excused himself and headed for the door. The quicker he could get out of there the better. He didn't want to get into an awkward conversation with Louisa, but before he'd shut the door behind himself, there she was. He said that he'd come back the next day to check on Holly's progress and Louisa had seemed to find that acceptable, so perhaps there was some hope after all.
~x~
That evening Martin was just preparing to have an early night, in the hope that sleep would come to him easier than it had the night before, when he saw his aunt passing the back window.
"Oh, God", he grumbled to himself.
He'd been expecting it, though; ever since she'd seen him crying earlier in the day, he knew she'd be back.
As usual, she carried a casserole dish in her hands and after asking him if he had eaten and ignoring the fact that he once again said he wasn't hungry, she proceeded in placing it in the oven and started to prepare a pan for some vegetables.
The conversation turned to the fact that Martin and Louisa would never be compatible; at least that was his aunt's view. She'd never make him happy, but Martin knew deep down that if anything, it was he who could never make Louisa happy. Joan was right, even though he hated to admit it to himself. Louisa liked people and was liked by people, and he was neither.
But his aunt was wrong in one respect: said that he wasn't capable of changing. Just because he had chosen to be forthright and honest with people didn't mean he couldn't pretend to be pleasant if he needed to. And in his head a plan was instantly forged, and he decided that he would set it in motion the following day.
"Well, are you going to serve our supper, or do I have to do that for you as well," said Joan, trying to shake some life back into her love-struck nephew.
"Yes, sorry," said Martin, as he banished the idea to the back of his mind for the time being.
He looked around for his oven glove but couldn't find it, so he picked up a tea towel from the work surface and opened the oven door. The heat from the oven stung his eyes as he reached inside for the casserole dish. He took hold of it and started to remove it from the oven, but the heat was too much for the cloth and as soon as he lifted it up, the dish burned his hand and he dropped it to the floor.
"Bugger it! " he yelled, as he shook his hand in order to try and ease the pain that was now coursing up his arm.
The dish fell and shattered into little pieces. Shards of glass flew everywhere and Chicken Chasseur spilled all over the kitchen floor.
"Marty! What on earth are you doing?" exclaimed Joan.
"Well, I would have thought that was obvious," spat Martin, as he knelt down to start picking up the glass.
Joan walked over to offer Martin some help but he just shooed her away. He was frustrated by his own carelessness and the fact that he was letting the situation with Louisa cloud his judgement and make him lose control.
"You've got to pull yourself together, Martin. Accept the fact that it is over with Louisa… not that it ever really got started in the first place, did it?"
Martin could feel the anger building up inside him. She knew nothing about his relationship with Louisa, and he just wanted her to shut up and go away if that was all she was going to say to him. She was his flesh and blood, she was supposed to see things his way, so why couldn't she see that he cared for Louisa and that he could try and make it work?
"What were you thinking of anyway, hmm? If you haven't been able to win Louisa over by now, you must realise that it's a lost cause, Marty."
He could take it no longer; his face had gone a deep shade of red and his hands shook as he tried to concentrate on picking up the glass splinters. All at once he exploded, unable to maintain his composure any longer.
"Shut up, just shut up!" he raged, as he grabbed at a large piece of glass without taking enough care. The shard sliced through his thumb and immediately the blood started to pulse from the wound. It flowed steadily down his thumb and around his wrist. The warmth and smell of it instantly started to make Martin feel nauseous.
"Oh, God," he managed to say, before throwing up all over the kitchen floor.
"Come on, Martin, I think we better get this mess cleaned up, don't you?" said Joan as she reached down to take his arm and pull him up from his crouching position on the floor.
"I think you better just go, Aunty Joan; I'll deal with this myself," sighed Martin, who was both embarrassed with the state that he had allowed himself to get into and still furious with his aunt for not seeing things his way.
"I'll see myself out then," said Joan, as she gathered her things and headed towards the door.
She took a final look back at her nephew, who was still kneeling, attempting to pick up the fragments of glass amongst the vomit and Chicken Chasseur. He looked a shadow of the man she was used to seeing towering above her. She'd seen him like this once before when his heart had been broken, but he was younger then and had been able to move on relatively painlessly; however, this was different. Louisa had got under his skin, and she wasn't sure that he could blank this relationship out quite as easily.
He looked towards the door as it slammed behind his aunt and he cursed himself silently that he had been so rude. He sighed heavily and looked once again at the ghastly mess all over his kitchen floor.
His thumb started to throb and as he took a quick glance at it, he saw that it was still bleeding heavily, so he took some paper towels and wrapped them around the cut to stem the flow. That way he could clear up the mess and then he would clean it up later.
It took him a lot longer than he had expected to make sure there were no glass pieces left on the floor. After he had mopped it all up, he felt very tired and all he wanted to do was make his way up to his bedroom.
Once he got upstairs and undressed, he realised that he hadn't dealt with his thumb and the burn to his hand was also stinging like hell. He was so tired that he really couldn't bring himself to go back downstairs in order to clean up his wounds, and as the cut seemed to have stopped bleeding, he decided to just run it under the tap and then he'd deal with it properly in the morning. It wasn't something that he'd normally do, but he just wasn't in the right frame of mind to do anything other than collapse on his bed and hope that slumber would take him quickly.
~x~
Morning came and Pauline had already arrived at work and had to let herself in, as there was no sign of the Doc anywhere. She put her keys and bag down on her desk and went to hang up her coat. No sign of him in the kitchen either, but there was a rather strange smell in there and she wasn't quite sure if it was a pleasant one or not.
She checked outside the back door and then made her way to the foot of the stairs. There was no way she was going to go up there - goodness only knows what she might find - but she did holler up to Martin's bedroom to see if he was about.
Pauline wasn't a quiet person at the best of times, so as soon as Martin heard her shouting, he sat bolt upright in bed. Immediatelythe room started to spin. He put his hands down behind him to steady himself, and it was then that he noticed that the sheets on the bed were soaking wet. His T-shirt was also clinging to his back and chest. He got up and walked very tentatively towards the bathroom.
After he got out of the shower and started to dry himself, he felt very warm and clammy and found that even though he had showered thoroughly, he was still sweating profusely.
The only thing he could think about was finally putting his plan into action that day. So he banished any concerns he had about his welfare to the back of his mind and started to get ready for his home visit to Louisa's friend.
After he had put a clean dressing on his thumb and the burn to his hand, he told Pauline that he'd be back for morning surgery as usual and then set off to Louisa's cottage.
As he passed Mrs Lamb's house, she asked him if he was on his way to give Holly an epidural. He stopped in his tracks and was about to tell to mind her own stupid business. But then he realised that this was a perfect opportunity to test out his cunning plan.
So, instead of being rude, he enquired as to the success of her lactose-free diet. Pauline's mum seemed more than a little taken aback that he was actually being civil, but the test had gone rather well as far as Martin was concerned, and he was now convinced that this would positively influence Louisa's feelings towards him.
He carried on to the cottage and when he got there he was feeling very hot and breathless, but he just put it down to nerves and the anticipation of seeing Louisa again.
Louisa opened the door and straight away she started grumbling about Holly. Uncharacteristically, Martin showed some concern about her friend's welfare and Louisa stared at him, puzzled by his suddenly improved bedside manner.
The "new" Martin continued to be pleasant and polite after he'd made his way upstairs and had started dealing with his rather grizzly patient.
"Martin, are you alright?" asked Louisa.
"Yes, yes, I'm fine, just feeling a little under the weather today, probably just a cold," he replied, pleased that she seemed to be concerned about him.
"No, I mean, what are you doing, being weird?"
"I'm not."
"Yes, you are, you're being odd and - well, smarmy."
"I'm not being smarmy; I'm just trying to help your stupid friend," Martin hissed. He just couldn't seem to do anything right in Louisa's eyes and he started to develop a splitting headache, which he put down to stress and frustration.
He got the cortisone injection ready and prepared to give it to Holly, who was very indignant that he hadn't given it to her already. But he explained in his usual brusque manner that if he'd given it to her any sooner, she would just have done something stupid because she couldn't feel the pain.
Once finished, he quickly made his way to the front door. His plan had backfired and he was starting to feel a little nauseous as well as dizzy, so he wanted to make his way back to the surgery as soon as he could. But Louisa followed him down the stairs, still curious as to why he'd had the sudden change of character.
"Was that all for my benefit, Martin?" she shouted after him.
All Martin wanted to do was walk away, back to his house, but he turned to face her and then the world began to spin. He vaguely heard her say something about having to want to be nice not just doing it because she wanted him to.
"Why?" he barked back at her and made a quick escape, as he felt sure he was about to pass out and he wanted to get back to the surgery to calm himself down.
~x~
He somehow managed to stagger back to the surgery but didn't stop to talk to Pauline, who was busy filing when he walked in. Instead, he walked through his now crowded waiting room and went straight through to the consulting room and grabbed a glass from the cupboard.
He fumbled with the tap and eventually managed to fill his glass with water. After drinking the cold fluid, he then sat down at his desk and put his head in his hands. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so lousy, and the thing that worried him the most was that he couldn't work out if he was really ill or just wound up because of Louisa.
After taking a few deep breaths, he managed to compose himself enough to start his morning surgery. His arms and legs were beginning to ache and he walked stiffly over to the door and threw it open, shouting, "Next!"
The morning was filled with the usual mundane complaints from the usual irritating patients, and today he was even less tolerant than normal, as he became more and more nauseous as the morning progressed.
During one consultation he had to dash to the toilet. It was a false alarm, but his sense of reasoning seemed to be leaving him because instead of sending his remaining patients home, he attempted to continue with his surgery. He loosened his tie and undid his top button as he went back to his room. Pauline stared at him as he passed and she could sense that something wasn't right. She had never seen him without his shirt buttoned up tightly during surgery hours; come to think of it, she'd never seen him with his tie loosened. Peter Cronk was also waiting patiently beside his mother and he too could see that Martin was struggling.
As Pauline pondered on what could be going on with the Doc, she got a call from Louisa, and she immediately transferred it through to his consulting room.
"Ellingham."
"Martin - it's Holly, she's done something stupid," said Louisa in a panic.
"Why doesn't that surprise me?" sighed Martin.
"I went out to get some sun-dried tomatoes and when I came back, she'd gone. She left me a letter saying she couldn't hang around any longer and she had to get back for her rehearsals. What are we going to do, Martin?"
"I have no intention of doing anything," said Martin, bluntly.
"But she's your patient."
"No, she isn't."
"Yes, she is."
"She ceased to be my patient the moment she decided to ignore my advice and do exactly the stupid thing I told you she would."
"That's not very helpful, Martin," hissed Louisa, as she was beginning to lose her temper.
"Don't worry, she won't get very far. She can't feel any pain now, but as soon as she tries to get out of her car, she will. Hopefully, she'll be far enough away from Portwenn that it won't concern us anymore."
"Martin! You might be happy to wash your hands of her, but I happen to care about my friends," said an exasperated Louisa.
"You should be happy; you've got rid of your stupid friend and there's no need for you to see me again either."
"This is not about you, Martin, it's about Holly. Why does everything have to …"
"Louisa, I'm really not in the mood for any of this," said Martin, as he interrupted her rudely. He was starting to sweat profusely, to such an extent that he was finding it difficult to keep a grasp of the phone. He wiped his brow with his free hand and placed his elbow down on the desk in order to keep his head propped up. He could hear Louisa talking but none of the words registered any meaning, and with that Martin put down the phone.
~x~
Louisa couldn't believe that he had just hung up on her in the middle of their conversation. She grabbed her bag and decided that it was time to tell Martin exactly what she thought of him. As far as she was concerned, she'd been kind to him the night of the concert. She'd tried to let him down gently, even though she was furious with his assumptions about her menstrual state.
Seeing him again the following day when Holly had her accident in the harbour had made her doubt her actions of the previous night. She really did care for him, but she just couldn't put up with his insensitive comments any longer.
She swung her bag around aggressively as she walked up the hill towards the surgery.
"Afternoon, Louisa," yelled Joan from the steps of Bert's restaurant.
"Joan," came Louisa's reply, as she strode purposefully onwards.
Joan looked on as Louisa continued up the hill, and she could tell by Louisa's body language that Martin was about to have a tough time of it. Having seen how vulnerable Martin had appeared the night before, she decided that it would be wise to follow Louisa, just in case things got out of hand.
Louisa walked into the surgery just before Joan and she went up to Pauline to ask if Martin was available.
"I don't know, he's been in there for the last ten minutes without any patients… he's acting a bit weird today, actually," she said.
"Yes, you can say that again," huffed Louisa.
And as the two women were about to continue with their dissection of Martin's current behaviour, Joan entered the waiting room. They both looked around at Joan, who in turn walked up to Pauline to ask of Martin's whereabouts. As she was doing so, the consulting room door opened. Martin held onto the door frame as he made his way through.
On seeing him, Louisa started to walk over.
Peter Cronk stared at Martin, concerned by the unsteady look of the GP. He watched as Louisa reached the Doc and started to unleash a tongue-lashing that was enough to fell a man.
"How dare you treat me like that," spat Louisa.
"Like what?" slurred Martin, who was desperately trying to focus on Louisa and remain upright at the same time.
"Like, like… well, like I'm just one of the other villagers," she said, and then suddenly became aware of several pairs of eyes burning holes in her.
"That's what you are, aren't you? You don't want anything to do with me anymore, so all you are to me is a patient."
Joan looked at her nephew and was shocked by his uncaring statement. She knew that those weren't his true feelings, but she didn't know why he was acting in such a way. She tried to make eye contact with him to gauge his mental state, but he looked straight through her.
Peter was still watching him closely too and noticed how disoriented he seemed, and then suddenly Martin lurched forward and staggered past Louisa, knocking into her in the process. Louisa lost her balance momentarily but turned just in time to see Martin collapse as he reached the corner of Pauline's desk.
All three women and Peter Cronk rushed over to where he was lying unconscious on the floor.
"Marty!, For God's sake what's the matter," said Joan, as she immediately knelt down beside him and placed her hand on his arm.
"Tosser's drunk," muttered one of the patients in the waiting room.
Louisa stared down in disbelief at Martin, whose breathing was by now extremely shallow. She quietly knelt down beside Joan and took his hand in hers. It was then that she noticed his dressed thumb and fingers. Peter Cronk noticed them too.
"His hand is very red; has he injured it recently?" Peter asked.
"Yes, he burned himself and then cut his thumb last night. Why? Do you think it has something to do with this?" asked Joan.
Peter felt Martin's forehead and lifted his eyelids to check his pupils, which were unresponsive. Then he walked off towards Martin's room to find a thermometer. After taking Martin's temperature, he said,
"I think you better phone for an ambulance. I'm pretty sure he's suffering from Toxic Shock Syndrome," stated Peter, matter-of-factly, much in the same way as Martin would diagnose a patient.
"Oh my God," cried Louisa. "That can be really serious, can't it?" she asked, as she looked nervously towards Peter Cronk, hoping that he would tell her that she was over-reacting.
"Yes, if he isn't treated quickly, then it could be fatal."
"Shit!" said Louisa as she took Martin's face in her hands and tried to gently shake him back to consciousness.
"That won't do any good; he's probably in a coma by now," said Peter bluntly. "Best thing we can do is to put him in the recovery position." His mother, who had by now also joined the audience that stood above Martin, nudged Peter in the back to try and shut him up.
"Ambulance is on its way," shouted Pauline over the commotion in the waiting room and seeing how full it had got, she decided to go and wait outside for the ambulance to arrive.
Louisa looked anxiously over at Joan and said, "He is going to be alright isn't he?"
"I don't know, dear," said Joan honestly, for she had never seen Martin in such a state and feared greatly for her nephew's well being.
Pauline rushed back in when she saw the ambulance making its way slowly up towards the surgery.
"It's here, the ambulance is here," she shouted.
"Right, give them some room," ordered Joan, as she cleared everyone away from the surgery door. Quite a number of people had come to see what was happening, after news of Martin's illness had made its way along the village grapevine.
The paramedics quickly came in and started to assess Martin's state of health.
"He's got a temperature of 103, he appeared dizzy and confused, and he's recently had a cut to his hand – see, there where his skin is red. I think he has Toxic Shock Syndrome," Peter Cronk told the paramedics.
The two men looked at each other. They were used to being told how to do their job by the man now lying desperately ill in front of them; they really didn't know what was worse.
"It's okay, son, I think we know how to deal with the situation," said the first paramedic as he rolled his eyes.
After a quick examination, they said that they needed to get Martin into the ambulance as soon as they could. They brought the stretcher through and strapped him in and immediately placed an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose. Louisa noticed how grey his skin had become and his breathing still seemed dangerously laboured.
"We'll be taking him to Truro if you want to follow along", one of them said to Joan, knowing that she and Martin were related.
Louisa looked anxiously towards Joan.
"You go with him, Louisa; that's what he would want. I'll follow along in the pick-up; we'll need some transport to get us home anyway," Joan said calmly. Underneath she was a wreck. Martin was the nearest thing she had to a son and she knew that the situation was grave even before Peter Cronk's diagnosis.
Louisa didn't wait to be told twice and she dashed out to the ambulance.
"Let me know what's happening," yelled Pauline after her, as she started to shoo everyone out of the surgery. For once she wasn't in the mood for idle tittle-tattle.
The doors to the ambulance were just closing as Louisa got there, so she slammed the palm of her hand against the back door to let them know she was outside.
"I'm coming with him," she gasped, when they looked at her rather oddly.
"I'm his… his, friend," she said awkwardly.
She got into the ambulance and sat down at the opposite side to where Martin was lying. She watched in shocked silence as the paramedic attached wires to his chest and finger. Then, having got the monitor running and after taking some stats, he set about inserting a cannula into Martin's wrist so that fluids could be administered.
"Is that all you're going to do?" asked Louisa.
"Nothing more we can do apart from keep him stable and comfortable. They'll do a full assessment when we get him to Truro," answered the paramedic.
This really couldn't be happening, she thought. She sat there in a confused state. Here was the man that she'd thought she loved, the man that she'd told she didn't want to have anything more to do with, and he was just lying there in front of her… lifeless.
Her head told her that she needed to calm down, for Martin's sake as much as for hers, but her heart told her that she was going to lose him and right then her heart was doing a far more persuasive job.
She reached over and took his hand in hers. "Hang on, Martin, you can't leave me now, I haven't finished with you yet. I still haven't told you what a pig you are," she cried, as she began to break down in floods of tears. She rested her head against his chest and stayed there for the remainder of the journey, listening to his faltering heartbeat.
~x~
To be continued…
