9

"... 's not good, Martin. The shower probably didn't..."

Martin blinked his eyes open, ignoring the little spasms of pain that came with the motion. He didn't think that opening his eyes should cause so much pain, and wondered vaguely what had happened.

"Dou'las..." he murmured, tiredly, trying to form a question as to what was happening.

"Martin? Ah, you're with me." There was suddenly the pressure of Douglas' hand against his back, and Martin found himself being coaxed into a sitting position. He tried to complain- he wanted to go back to sleep- but he was too tired. "I need you to take these pills, and drink this water. Okay?" Douglas' voice was quiet but firm, a worried demand.

Martin tried to complain again, mutter something about not wanting to drink anything because his stomach felt terrible, but he felt the mug against his lips and he was forced to take a drink that ended with much coughing and spluttering.

"Good, now, open your mouth. Pills, Martin."

Martin forced his eyes open again, blinking a few times. Focus. He had to focus. Medicine. Yes...

He clumsily accepted the pills from Douglas and placed them on his tongue. He struggled to take another drink of the water, nearly choking on it again.

"Be careful," was Douglas' retort, his hand still resting on Martin's back.

"What's happening..." he slurred, blinking his eyes open once again. They kept fluttering closed on their own accord, and it was driving Martin crazy.

"Your fever's gone up. It's at forty-one. I'm debating just getting you on the plane and flying you to somewhere with a good hospital."

"Oh..." Martin murmured, his eyelids flickering closed again.

"Stay awake, Martin."

Martin didn't re-open his eyes. He didn't want to listen to Douglas... he didn't have to listen to Douglas... he was the captain; Douglas was his co-pilot...

"Martin," Douglas repeated.

Martin felt pressure on his forehead, that he realized was Douglas' hand. Probably checking his temperature...

... and then it seemed like Douglas was tapping his face, shaking his shoulder, and Martin finally re-opened his eyes.

"Stoppit..." he mumbled.

"Martin, you need to stay awake." Douglas' voice was a demand, an order, like he was the captain ordering his co-pilot. "I want you to stay awake until your fever goes down."

Martin wanted to complain, to tell him that he wasn't going to stay awake that long; his fever might not drop for awhile and he was too tired to stay awake, but he couldn't find the strength.

"Martin," Douglas repeated. "Martin." There was a pause, followed by an "Okay, fine".

Martin felt arms around him and he was quite suddenly subjected to being wrenched away from his bed. It took him a minute to realize that Douglas was carrying him again. He wanted to tell the barmy co-pilot to let him sleep, but instead, he was too worried about the swaying motion of the world. He closed his eyes tightly and turned his face into Douglas' shirt.


When consciousness surged up again, Martin found himself in the bathroom. He didn't know how he got here, but he had clearly been asleep. As with most things, he didn't question it.

He shivered slightly and curled up a bit more. With a jolt, he realized that his pyjama shirt was missing.

Martin shivered again and closed his eyes, curling closer to the warmth nearby.

"Are you awake...?"

Martin opened his eyes again. That voice had been too close.

He realized that his head was pillowed against Douglas' shoulder.

He immediately sat up.

"Ah, no," Douglas said, snaking an arm around him. Martin wanted to squirm away, but he felt too tired and weak and Douglas' grip was anything but weak. "Use me as a pillow all you like. I am exceedingly comfortable, it's true."

Martin opened his mouth to say something, but his voice was hoarse and his throat was scratchy and all he ended up with was a sort of weak huff.

Douglas uncapped a bottle of water and handed it to Martin. Martin took it with unsteady hands and sipped at it.

"Your fever's gone down," Douglas murmured. Martin looked at him; he sounded tired. "But only slightly," Douglas continued. "It's back into the forty range, but it's still not good."

Martin took another sip of water before sitting the bottle down.

"How are you feeling?"

"Sick," Martin replied after a moment, one where he started shivering again.

"Yeah, you're still not totally with me yet..." Douglas muttered. "You're not yet embarrassed over me taking care of you..."

Martin didn't respond, only blinked tiredly. He hardly wanted to use Douglas as a pillow again, but he was exhausted and starting to drift off already.

"You're going to need keep drinking that water. You're dehydrated, if I'm not wrong, which I'm not. Plus, the water will help diminish your temperature and we can get out of this situation quicker, and finally get back home..."

"Sorry..." Martin murmured.

There was a pause, followed by a confused-sounding "What?".

"I'm trouble..." Martin muttered, closing his eyes and not finding the strength to open them again. He didn't care to meet Douglas' gaze, anyway.

"Naturally. You've just figured this out? Gosh. You must be sicker than I thought."

Martin only shivered in respond, slumping slightly against Douglas again. He felt horrible. He had felt sick when Douglas had given him medicine, really sick, and now he felt marginally better, but he still didn't feel like his mind was working correctly.

And all he could say was that he was sorry.

Because he was. He was so much trouble... Trouble for MJN, trouble for Carolyn, trouble for Douglas, (he wasn't really trouble for Arthur because Arthur didn't get troubled), trouble for his parents, for his father, for their passengers and everything and everyone...

And it wasn't like he didn't try to take care of himself, because he did, even though he often failed. And that's what he did, he failed... over and over and over...

"But you're not too much trouble..." Douglas said quietly.

Martin didn't respond, figuring that he must have simply imagined those words.


So, I haven't trashed this story. I got to listen to mostly all of Cabin Pressure (finally) and I was inspired to work on this again.

Martin's inner turmoil, made worse by this illness, finally breaks the silence; all the while, Douglas is just trying to be a good doctor. Martin needs a hug... although Douglas says that it's not that simple to break a fever. :p

Your thoughts are always appreciated. Thank you!