Title: We Belong, Chapter 1 (Despair)
Author: DianeB
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Martin/Louisa
Summary: Just having another look at the S3 episode, "Breaking Up is Hard to Do," adding narrative and missing scenes to what was undeniably a heart-wrenching episode. Louisa's point of view.
A/N: Many thanks to Littleguinea from fanficdotnet for her fair eye to editing and to checking the "Americanisms." Story title comes from a song of the same name. Written April, 2011.
Disclaimer: This story is for entertainment purposes only. I claim no right to anything affiliated with Doc Martin.
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy. When you are sorrowful, look again into your heart and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
- Kahlil Gibran
oOo oOo oOo
"It's us, Martin. We're not going anywhere and we never will. And I'm sorry, Martin, I'm really, really sorry, but I don't want to see you anymore. Goodbye."
The effort it took Louisa to say these words was far more than the words themselves. The words could have been anything, could have made sense or not, but ever since Martin's tactless dithering about the fragrance she'd been wearing, Louisa had come to what she saw as a painful truth about the man: He could not possibly love her, not if her impromptu kisses did nothing but inspire a clinical discourse on pheromones, mood swings, and the start of a woman's period.
Louisa's sorrow was complete; she felt hollow from her head to her toes and could barely summon the wherewithal to get out of Martin's car. She dared not look at him, for to do so would have shattered her. As it was, merely thinking of the wilted little flower still in his lapel was knotting her stomach.
With gargantuan effort, she opened the car door and stepped out, swallowing against tears, knowing if she cried now, it would only prompt another medical dissertation about her "mood disorder." As she entered her cottage and turned, preparing to close the door, she made the mistake of looking up – and there saw her own anguish reflected in the eyes of the man she desperately loved.
Heart thumping wildly, tears burning in her eyes, she nearly went back to the car, but since Martin never so much as twitched an eyebrow to call her back, it confirmed what her pounding heart already knew: There would never be any going back. She pushed the door closed.
Leaning against the door, taking slow, measured breaths, Louisa heard Martin's car pull away and strained to hear the sound of it for as long as she could. After that, it was entirely too quiet. Oh, she could hear her wall clock ticking and the general hum of kitchen appliances, but otherwise there was no sound but the blood rushing in her ears. She gazed around blankly, absently wondering why she bothered buying that pillow, or what she was doing with those salt and pepper shakers. They were insignificant thoughts, trifling things that made no difference; just her mind's valiant effort to keep her pain at bay.
Her tears had retreated, but they had not gone far, as Louisa knew by the lump in her throat. She was perversely thankful Martin had never been the kind of man who gave gifts, because if her eyes had fallen on some little knickknack of his, she could not have honestly said whether she'd have thrown it through a window or used it to open a vein.
She went to the refrigerator, opened the door and stood staring for a full minute before sighing and letting the door close without removing so much as an apple.
Slowly, she began pulling pins from her hair, dropping them carelessly onto the floor, letting the style fall away until her hair was hanging loose around her shoulders. She ran her fingers over her itchy scalp and then went to her bedroom, intent on changing out of her dress.
In the bedroom, evidence of her decision to buy new shoes lay scattered on the floor at the foot of the bed, and it was this sight that triggered her tears. Falling onto the bed, she clutched a pillow to her chest, curled around it, and wept.
oOo oOo oOo
Waking with a start, her eyes sticky and sore, sinuses clogged, Louisa was confused at first as to where she was. Scrubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands, she sat up, saw she was still fully dressed, and remembered what had happened. The hurt wasn't gone, but she was relieved to find it didn't feel quite as raw as it had earlier and that gave her some measure of solace. Gaining the edge of the bed, she slipped off her shoes and padded barefoot to the shoebox, where she took great care in placing the shoes in the box. She then peeled off the dress, shook it out, and hung it carefully on the padded hanger made especially for it. It would need to be dry cleaned, but that was for another day.
A few moments in the toilet relieved her eyes, her stuffy nose, and her bladder, and gave her a chance to take stock. A glance at the clock told her it was just past three in the morning, but there was no sleep left in her. Slipping on comfortable clothing and tying back her hair, she went downstairs to the kitchen and peered out of a window. Nothing moved in the darkness, but it was relatively warm and there was a slight breeze. Grabbing a jacket, Louisa went out into Portwenn's night.
The occasional lamp post lit her path, but it wouldn't have mattered if it had been completely dark. This village was her home; she knew the streets well, every dip and bend. She could never lose her way here, no matter the hour. It didn't take her long to reach the harbour, where she sat on an empty lobster trap and listened to the waves breaking against the cliffs, picking at a loose thread at the hem of her jacket.
Daring to turn, she looked up the hillside at Martin's surgery. It was completely dark, and she wondered if he were sleeping, wondered if he had thrown away the little flower, wondered if he cared at all.
Twisting back around to gaze out over the black water, Louisa was tempted to think she might never smile again, but shook her head against this thought, knowing that what she was feeling now, this horrible aching, was temporary, and that eventually she would feel better. But it would take time, and it would probably never be accomplished if she stayed in Portwenn. The thought of leaving made her eyes fill, but she knew if Martin remained the village's GP, she couldn't stay.
Sighing and brushing tears from her eyes and sand from her trousers, she stood, left the waterfront, and began walking the narrow streets of the village she loved, inhaling deeply the salt air, studying every familiar storefront, every cobblestone and street sign, and taking great comfort in it.
The sun was nearly up by the time she got back to White Rose Cottage and tucked herself fully-clothed into bed, asleep before her head hit the pillow.
End Chapter 1