Authors' Notes:

First, although I'm posting this story, it's a true collaboration between Robspace54 and myself. (This site doesn't seem to allow two people post or take credit for a story, sad to say.) There was joint idea-exchange, writing, and editing - a 50/50 effort and outcome, proving that two minds are usually better than one. The story, as loyal Doc Martin fans will know very well, takes place between Seasons 3 and 4.

Second, as always, the story and characters of Doc Martin belong to Buffalo Pictures and not to us. This story is for amusement only and no infringement of legal rights is intended.

Third, the story deals with adult themes and medical issues and should be considered a very strong PG-13. If we've erred on the medicine side, it's because there's a huge difference between reading on the Internet and actually being a doctor - as Doc Martin would assuredly inform us.

Finally, please know that we're both unspoiled for S5 and really want to keep it that way.

Enjoy!

There were days, Martin thought to himself, when he truly despised house calls.

And today was no exception. He had a full schedule in the surgery meaning that, if he took the time for a home visit, he'd have to reschedule most of his afternoon patients.

It would be more palatable if there were a true emergency. However, he'd discovered during in his years in Portwenn, that most of the time the patient was simply too lazy to make his or her way to the surgery. Much better, the imbeciles had decided, to waste the doctor's time walking or driving to and fro to treat some non-urgent condition. The only reasons he went were that, first, it was arguably his job and, second, the one time he didn't go, it probably would be a real emergency and the patient would end up doing something stupid – like dying.

This call had come just after lunch.

"Mrs. Higgins," Pauline had explained. "Said they sent Katie home from school with a sore throat and fever."

Martin rolled his eyes. "Tell her to bring the child into the surgery."

"Can't."

"Why not?'

"Hubby's got the car and she doesn't want to walk all that way with a sick kid—"

"Where does she live?

"Right up the street from – uh – White Rose Cottage. " Pauline said, giving him an odd look.

Just what he needed, he thought ruefully. At least Louisa would be at school during the day so he wouldn't have to worry about whether or not to stop in. "Give me her notes."

"Whose notes?"

"The girl who's sick," he said in frustration. "And reschedule my appointments for the next hour."

Martin decided to walk rather than drive as there were few parking spots nearby and a brisk stroll in the crisp fall air was just what he needed to clear his mind and, perhaps, improve his mood.

He climbed the hill, seeing Louisa's cottage in the distance. He hadn't been inside, or even passed by, in the two weeks since . . . since they'd called off their wedding. Louisa deserved more of an explanation than he'd given her that afternoon. And, in those weeks, he'd started to reconsider. Not seeing her had left him lonely and depressed. He did need her. Maybe he'd been wrong, maybe they could make a go of it. Maybe he could make her happy, and she him. Maybe they could start over, with a dinner, or something like that.

Because, in the two weeks they'd been apart, he'd realized that Portwenn without Louisa was purgatory. Everything was more annoying than usual – the patients, villagers, illnesses – even Auntie Joan had become annoying. He did his job as efficiently as ever but his free time . . . he didn't even want free time. The only person he truly enjoyed spending time with was Louisa and, for the past fortnight, he'd been deprived of that small joy in what was now his miserable life.

It was stupid, he decided. One of them had to make the first move – to apologize or whatever, as Louisa so often said. Since it clearly wasn't going to be her, it might as well be him. Stubbornness wasn't going to get them anywhere. So, several times he'd considered stopping in to apologize or to explain, and yet each time he'd given up on the idea before he'd even left his own home.

He now climbed the hill toward the Higgins' house, gazing straight ahead as he approached Louisa's familiar cottage. Damn, he'd missed her. She'd be at the school now but tonight he'd call or maybe just stop in unexpectedly. As he came abreast of her home, he couldn't help but move closer to glance into the window, hoping no one would notice and wonder what he was doing.

What he saw, caused him to stop short, frown, then suck in a breath.

The front room was empty. He turned away, blinking, trying to clear his head, then stared back inside. The view hadn't changed. Louisa's sofa was gone, the dining table and chairs, the pictures, the curtains . . . it was all gone. The wooden floors were bare, the kitchen counters vacant, windows naked. It wasn't just the front room – the entire house was empty.

For a moment, Martin stood there gazing into the window like a peeping Tom, trying to digest what he'd seen, or hadn't seen. It was as if Louisa had moved out. Where were her belongings and, more importantly, where was Louisa?

"Doctor! Dr. Ellingham!"

At the sound of his name, Martin reluctantly tore himself away from the sad spectacle. Two doors away, Mrs. Higgins waved at him. "Up here."

After a final look into the window just to make sure his eyes hadn't deceived him, he trudged up the few remaining meters to the Higgins' cottage.

"Thanks for coming, Doc. Hated to call you but Katie's been feeling poorly and her throat's sore and her tummy too."

"You should have brought her to the surgery."

"I didn't want to be taking her out in the cold—"

"It's not cold," he replied and followed her up the stairs. "I couldn't help but notice that . . . Miss Glasson's cottage seems . . ." Martin struggled to find the words.

"Empty? Yes. She moved out day before yesterday."

"What!" Moved out? So it was true, Louisa was gone. Her belongings were gone and so was she. "Where did she go?" he managed to ask.

"London. Taking a job in her friend's school, I think she said." Mrs. Higgins seemed somewhat surprised at his questions. "Didn't you know?"

"Uh, no." Of course he didn't know. If he'd known, he would have talked to her, tried to stop her – something. And London? So she was no longer in Portwenn, and not even in Cornwall. She'd gone all the way to London . . . and maybe even back to Danny Steele.

Mrs. Higgins shrugged. "Thought you'd be the first to know. Well, in any event, she's gone. Such a shame. Don't know how the school's going to get along without her."

So Louisa had left without telling him or even saying goodbye. He deserved it, he supposed, for the way he'd treated her – willing to leave her standing at the altar while he sat at home with cold feet. Still, she could have said something. He couldn't help but wonder if he was the only damn person in all of Portwenn who didn't know she'd gone – and why none of his sodding patients had said anything.

They entered the child's room. He remembered the girl now – about seven, thin, with a narrow face and blond curls that encircled her chin.

"Katie," Mrs. Higgins said. "Doc's here."

The girl eyed him warily. As he sat down next to her on the bed, Martin tried to force himself to focus on her medical condition.

"Symptoms?" he demanded.

"She's been running a fever – 39.5 when last I checked an hour ago. That's why I called you," she added. "First thought it was just a cold and didn't want to bother. But she seems worse."

Martin touched the back of his hand to the girl's forehead and his fingers to her carotid. She was indeed feverish and her pulse was probably close to 100. He opened his case and removed several items.

"Open," he ordered, brandishing a tongue depressor and penlight.

The child defiantly kept her mouth shut.

He did not have the patience for this, not today. "Open. Your. Mouth."

"Come on, Katie," Mrs. Higgins said from behind him. "Do as the doctor says."

She did – and stuck her tongue out at him. Obnoxious child. Looked like an angel but with the temperament of an imp. He sometimes wondered how Louisa ever managed to deal with her pupils all day without going mad— Damn!

Focus on your patient, he reminded himself wearily. Inflamed throat, enlarged white tonsils, lungs and chest were fine – no respiratory issues. This wasn't likely to be a difficult diagnosis.

"Lie back," he said pulling up her shirt to check her abdomen, just to be sure he hadn't missed anything.

She squirmed under his probing.

"Stop it," he said sharply. "I can't examine you when you're moving around like that."

"It tickles."

Good god, he hated these types of visits. He stowed away his supplies and pulled out his prescription pad, checking the girl's notes for drug allergies.

"It's tonsillitis," he said to the mother. And how many cases of tonsillitis did he see each month in this godforsaken place? "Prescription for an antibiotic; be sure to give her the full course." He handed it to her. "Rest, paracetamol, throat lozenges from the pharmacy, stay home from school until she feels better. If she gets worse, call me." And how many times had he recited those blasted instructions?

"Shouldn't she have her tonsils out, Doctor?"

"No." Of all the stupid questions.

"But she keeps getting sick."

He consulted the notes again. "She's had a few upper respiratory infections in the past several years and one other bout of tonsillitis eighteen months ago. That's perfectly normal for a child her age."

"I had my tonsils out when I was 'bout Katie's age."

"Good for you."

"But if she has them out then she won't keep getting sick."

He stood up and took a deep breath. "Mrs. Higgins, your daughter has a mild case of tonsillitis which will easily be cured if you simply follow my instructions and give her the antibiotics. Instead, you want to subject your child to an unnecessary surgical procedure, which not only has risks of severe complications but also will compromise her immune system making her more susceptible to infections for the rest of her life. I really don't understand you. Now, if there's nothing else, I need to get back to my surgery. Good day."

Without waiting for a reply, he picked up his case and trudged back down the stairs and out the front door. It was raining and he cursed himself for not bringing a raincoat or umbrella. By the time he reached the surgery, his suit would be a sodden mess. Louisa would have laughed at the sight of him looking less than fully put together.

But she wouldn't be mocking him. Not today, not ever again. She'd gone . . . to London of all places to be with that horrible Holly. And he was headed back to his surgery and his house and more days of this damned village and its tedious patients who didn't like him and, more often than not, didn't listen to him either. And now, there wasn't even the thought of running into Louisa to make any of it bearable.

The weather had greyed the midday sky, and lights were now on in all of the cottages along the lane. Except Louisa's. As he made his way past, it alone stood dark and empty, just like his heart.