Hands to Hearts

by robspace54

The characters, places and situations of Doc Martin, are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.

Chapter 1 – In Flight

Louisa held my hand and I wiggled my fingers feeling sweat pool between our flesh where we touched.

"Problem, Martin?" she asked into my ear, slightly yelling over the drone of the jet engines.

"No." I reached up and increased the airflow from the comfort vent. Louisa was dressed far more sensibly than I for the flight. She was wearing cropped trousers, a light blouse, and sandals, while I wore my usual gray suit, white shirt, military stripe tie and brilliantly polished black shoes.

"You're sure?" She pushed to her right, shoving her elbow into my side over the armrest between us. "Sorry about the cramped seats."

"Well, what do you expect booking the tickets so late? There was no way we could have got First Class tickets a week before."

"Well, you don't have to be cross with me. I did keep asking you if we should make this trip." She whipped her head towards the aircraft window. "I see the coast. Won't be long now." She turned to me and smiled, dropping my hand and running her fingers up my trouser leg.

I squirmed involuntarily and checked my watch. "Hmm. In spite of leaving the gate late, they seem to have made up time."

"British Air is doing a great job on this flight. And it's only a three hour flight."

"Heathrow's always a mess though."

"Oh! So it's my fault that the bus from the hotel was running slow?"

I looked at her shiny lips, pressed together, under the flashing eyes and I sensed her irritation. "No. I generally…" my voice petered out, "try to be early when flying."

"Martin." She sighed. "You can't expect that things will always go your way, will they?"

I properly read the look in her eyes and her tone of voice and kept my mouth shut. Going my way. That is an interesting phrase. Going my way. If things had gone my way, I'd have remained as a surgeon in London, would never had to take up retraining as a GP and ended up in the village; the village were I met Louisa Glasson. That thought started an entire cascade of memories of frustration, fear, sadness and gladness. "No, I don't expect that and I know they won't always do so." And if things had gone my way, I'd not have become a father or had the lovely Louisa sitting next to me.

She snuggled up to my arm and yawned. "I'm tired."

"Yes." I tried to stretch out my legs but the airline seat in front of me cut off circulation as the seat frame compressed my lower legs and knees. I reclined the seat back slightly to ease the pressure when a gruff Brit voice behind me hissed in my ear.

"Hey, mate! Give it a rest, will you?"

I cranked my head around and saw a red-faced and bull-necked man in a rugby shirt staring at me, as the veins in his neck bulged out but I refrained from answering.

"The wife," the man went on forcefully, "she's not having a good time, being preggers and all."

The couple seated behind us were expecting a child and from the looks of her expanded abdomen the woman's due date was three weeks ago.

The man nattered on. "I told her this trip last minute might not be that easy, with the baby being so close."

"Oh, Alf! Give it a rest! This thing won't be ready to pop out for another two months," said the woman who'd been making a career out of traipsing back and forth to the loo, hauling her rotund figure up the narrow aisle time and again. And each time, coming or going, she'd butted me with her breast, stomach, or bum.

Louisa gripped my hand and tugged on it. "Don't," she whispered.

I stifled my natural instinct to lash out and slowly eased the seat back to a more upright position, feeling pain lance up my leg again.

Louisa patted my arm. "Good." She turned and peered through the gap between the seat backs. "Your first?"

"Oh, yeah," said the woman, who grunted as she sat. "Mum kept telling me to avoid the big months in the summer and not to travel too late."

"Oh, Deirdre, don't go on about that!" said her red-aced hubby. "This is when I get holiday from the plant!"

"Humph. Well the next time Alf you can be the one that gets pregnant!" She crossed her arms across her chest angrily.

"I'm a mum too," said Louisa, trying to keep the conversation no so touchy.

"Boy or girl?" the woman asked.

"A boy. He's staying with his aunt while we travel."

"Oh good for you! That's sweet. I suppose his aunty is all huggy-kissy? And she had oodles of kiddies of her own to raise so she's well versed in caring for baby?"

I turned my head and faced her. "No, my aunt is a Criminal Psychiatrist and has never been married or pregnant."

"Oh," said the woman.

I turned my head back to the front.

"Martin, that was a bit harsh," mumbled Louisa.

"But factual."

She shook her head at me and rolled her eyes. "Yes it was that."

The plane droned on as northern Spain expanded out the window with the Pyrenees Mountains on our left. "Won't be long," as I shifted in my seat, my six foot three inch frame less than fitting the confines of the aircraft.

"The guide book says it will take about a half hour from the airport to the resort." She fumbled in the seat pocket and pulled out a book and turned to a well thumbed page. "Doesn't that look nice?"

I glanced at the page, the glossy spread showing the resort and I wrinkled my nose. "Yes."

"I'm so glad that they forgot to return your refund and you were able to get this week."

"After I yelled and screamed at them."

"Well, I think it's very nice, though, the two of us getting away like this." She closed the book with a snap and rested her head on my shoulder. "Don't you?"

My mind flashed on the chaos we had left in our wake, hoping that Chris Parsons would speak to me when I returned, having given him precious little time to find a locum. "Yes."

"Martin?"

"Yes, Louisa?"

"Do you think James Henry will miss us?"

I pushed my cheek against her soft hair, where it rested on my shoulder. "Yes. I do."

She sighed and took my hand in hers once more. "I will miss him."

I squeezed her hand. "Aunt Ruth will take good care of him."

"I know. It's just that he is so young."

"It's more than likely that Aunt Ruth will miss us, far more than James will miss his mum."

She looked up at me and caught my eye. "And he won't miss his father?"

I gulped at the memory of our son crying as we handed him off to my aunt yesterday as we left Port Wenn to catch the train at Bodmin Station. "He may."

Louisa hugged my arm to her warm body. "I'm certain he will, aren't you?"

I ignored her question and looked down at the sparkle of the large diamond ring on her finger. "The sun makes your ring sparkle."

She held out her left hand in the sunlight. "Yes it does!" Louisa stretched her neck and kissed my cheek. "Thank you Martin. It is lovely." She turned her hand and the facets flashed. "As much as I liked your grandmother's ring… well, this one is special." She kissed me again so I turned my head and planted my lips on hers.

"Hey! No smooching on the plane, mate!" admonished the boorish man behind us. "If I'm not getting any, you lot aren't either!" The man pulled himself upright and peered over the seat back. "Nice ring."

Our lips parted reluctantly.

"Right," said Louisa but she kept holding my hand.