Disclaimer: I do not own Cabin Pressure and am not making any profit by writing about it.

Warning: Spoilers for the whole series.

Thanks to Feste the Fool and Sarah Kent-Duke for the reviews, and to the rest of you for reading!

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Cabin Pressure:

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God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen, Part 3

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Arthur, who had so far been standing as still as a deer caught in the headlights, sprang into action, grabbed a bin from under the table and thrust it right under Martin´s heaving, shaking form.

It was all Douglas could do to keep the ill man from keeling over; gently yet with a firm grip he held Martin´s upper body and kept him in a remotely upright position. He could feel Martin´s ribcage through his damp t-shirt, the tremor in his body, and felt very bad for his friend.

When the bout was over, Martin sagged. He had expelled the meagre contents of his stomach and bile, and Arthur quickly went to rinse the bin, which luckily had only held a bit of paper.

Douglas eased Martin back onto his pillow and helped him drink some water; there had been an half-empty glass on the nightstand.

"Thank you," Martin´s voice was hoarse.

"You´re welcome," Douglas replied. "I´m so sorry, Martin."

"What´re you doing here?" Martin coughed again, as though the words were catching in his throat.

"We couldn´t get you on the phone, and when we saw that the van was here, we broke in to check on you."

If Martin hadn´t been so dazed by his fever, he would have been touched by his friends´ care; as it was, he was mainly embarrassed that they had witnessed such an unsavoury moment.

"I´ll be fine, just need to rest," he murmured.

Douglas shook his head: "You can´t stay here, Martin. It´s too cold and you obviously are very ill. You shouldn´t be on your own."

Martin´s head hurt and he was still feeling nauseous. He didn´t feel up to making any decisions, and besides, he didn´t know where to go.

"You´re coming with us," Douglas said firmly before Martin could answer, taking the choice off his friend, "you can stay in my guestroom."

Martin weakly shook his head: "Can´t, Douglas... it´s Christmas."

"Exactly. Consider it my Christmas gift to you."

"But Jessie-"

"-isn´t coming over because she´s fallen ill as well. Which is quite the coincidence, don´t you think?"

Arthur came back in, putting the clean bin next to the bed. "Are you feeling any better, Skip?" he asked quietly.

Martin tried to reassure him but ended up coughing again.

Douglas caught Arthur´s gaze and nearly imperceptibly shook his head no. "We´re going to take Martin with us," he said in an undertone. "I´m not leaving him here."

He really was rather appalled by the shoddiness of Martin´s lodgings; he hadn´t expected it to be this bad.

Loudly, he said: "Let´s get you dressed, Martin, and we´ll pack a few of your things if you don´t mind."

Martin didn´t want to leave his warm bed, and he was aware that he had sweated so much he was smelling badly. "I´d rather stay here," he murmured. "It´s too cold outside."

"But Skip, in here it´s also cold," Arthur piped up, "and you´ll be all alone if you stay, on Christmas!"

Martin didn´t respond, he just huddled deeper into his blanket.

"Martin, please," Douglas spoke more insistently now. "We can as well call an ambulance, seeing the state you´re in."

Douglas, Martin realized even with his fever-addled mind, was capable of doing exactly that. Shakily, he pushed himself into a sitting position: "Fine. But I need to wash first," he croaked stubbornly.

Arthur looked as though he was about to say something, but Douglas silenced him with a look; it was definitely advisable to have Martin put on something fresh and, more importantly, dry, before he went outside. The last thing he needed was to catch an additional chill, and apart from that, he´d simply feel better.

"Okay. Arthur- can you help Martin? I´ll pack some of his clothes in the meantime. I assume everything´s in the wardrobe?"

Martin nodded: "Thanks," he said feebly, realizing that there was no point in protesting. Arthur helped him to get up, seemingly oblivious to the smell of sickness. But that was Arthur for you: he might not be the smartest mind under the sun, but he was loyal, and his will to help whomever needed him was genuine. And he was patient.

Martin barely managed to get his legs under him and wouldn´t have been able to walk unsupported for the world was spinning around him, but Arthur rather casually slung one of the captain´s arms around his shoulder to be able to hold him up, and gripped Martin firmly around the midriff.

"That´s it, Skip, one foot after the other. You´re doing great," he said encouragingly, but Douglas perceived that Arthur was actually forcing himself to appear his cheerful self in order to set his charge at ease. He clearly was very worried.

In the bathroom, Arthur made Martin sit down on the edge of the tub where he could lean against the shower cubicle, then he wetted a flannel, put soap on it and gave it to Martin, who was slowly getting out of his shirt. After putting a towel next to where Martin was sitting, together with a change of clothes Douglas had quickly dug out, Arthur left the room to give his friend some privacy.

If Martin had been up to it, he´d have strongly objected to being treated like someone from a nursery home; he was feeling so dizzy and was trembling so hard however that he was glad to have made it to the bathroom at all. He was sure Douglas would make fun of him because of this later, but presently he didn´t care. Undressing, washing and redressing took up all of his remaining energy, and when he was finished, he couldn´t get up on his own.

Arthur, who had been waiting right outside the bathroom door, hurried in when Martin called him; it took three attempts to get Martin to and keep him up on his feet, and the moment he was upright, the nausea became so intense that he began retching again.

After a few minutes of dry heaving, the bout was over and left the captain trembling on the floor; Arthur, who couldn´t hold him any longer, partly because he was afraid Martin might black out, partly because he was shaking himself, gently propped his friend up against the wall: "Skip. Skip, look at me?" He was slightly panicked, though just as before, he tried not to show it.

Martin, whose eyes were streaming from the bodily effort, breathed out shudderingly: "´s okay," he mumbled.

"I´ll be right back, Skip." Arthur slowly got up from the crouched position he had taken, "I´ll go and get Douglas to help."

Martin leaned his forehead against the tub, grateful for the coldness; he didn´t want Arthur and Douglas to see him like this. He knew there was no need to feel as ashamed as he did, yet he didn´t think he could get anywhere on his own with the way he was feeling, let alone manage the stairs. All he wanted was to be back in bed, but at least the vomiting had stopped. He closed his eyes, wishing he would wake up and find out it all had only been a dream.

At one point, Douglas was talking to him, but Martin couldn´t be bothered to fully wake up. He was too tired altogether, and the heat around his temples was too oppressive.

Then there was additional warmth, a blanket which was being wrapped around him, and he was being pulled to his feet again. It was easier this time, four strong hands were holding him. There was nausea again, but not as bad as before. Somehow, he walked, and it was a relief to know that he couldn´t fall.

He was vaguely aware of sitting in a car, of motion, of having to walk again. And then he was finally allowed to lie down. People were talking to him and once he felt a prick in his arm, but it didn´t really hurt and he was only glad to be allowed to drift off to sleep again.

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To Be Continued

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