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

Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.

WARNING! This is a post-Series 6 story. If you have not seen Doc Martin Series 6, this story may ruin any number of surprises for you as it begins just at the end of series 6 - Episode 8. Therefore, proceed at your own peril…

"So Ruth and Al are going into business?" Louisa said at breakfast. It was just the three of us as her mother was still snoring away upstairs. "Not sure what to think of that."

"I hope that Ruth can keep a handle on things."

"Well, if Al learned anything from Bert, Ruth had better keep a sharp eye out. A fishing lodge?"

I nodded as I drank my espresso. "It's a shame that Joan never thought of it."

"Yeah," Louisa sighed. "I miss her. Of course you do as well. She'd have loved James." She reached over and brushed James' hair in his chair, where he was smearing mashed peaches over his face.

I snagged the spoon and got in a tug of war. "James, don't do that. Food goes into your mouth."

"No, Martin. Let him. He needs to learn how to do it. Can't have us feeding him when he's two."

I wrinkled my nose and looked down at the mess. "The floor's getting a lot of it." I let him take the spoon back and he giggled as he spooned a huge yellow-orange glob into his mouth but then swallowed it. That was quite the opposite of past attempts based on his smeared face and bib.

"Good boy, James. Good food, right?" Louisa chuckled. "See?" she said, then smiled at me. "It's okay. Messes. As long as they're not too bad."

I resisted the urge to leap up and wipe down our son, the chair, the table, and the floor in a few seconds. "Michael would have gone totally mad at the sight."

"Yeah, but you know there was never a thing out of place down here when I'd get home from school. All the clothes washed each day…"

"Using a tremendous amount of water and detergent."

"Everything in its place."

"And different from day to day…"

"I imagine he'll have his barracks put to rights pretty quickly, now he's gone back to the Army."

I drained my coffee. "He's probably in the gaol."

"They'd do that – with his OCD?"

"Likely. He went AWOL. I don't believe they'll be very understanding."

"I think we ought to write a letter, and tell them what he was doing here – for us – the fine job."

I groaned.

"You don't think he needs help?" Louisa said. "He does, Martin. What harm could a little note do?"

"It's their duty to care for him and treat him fairly. But he did leave without prior permission. I expect they'll ship him to Colchester," I said naming the military prison.

"Doesn't sound nice."

"The man is ill; they'll have to counsel him and provide treatment."

"Poor Mike." She sighed. "We'll need a child-minder, for when I go back to work. Got a few weeks on holiday yet."

I stood, cleared the dishes and scraped them clean while Louisa took James in her arms and gave him the rest of his milk. Then I attacked the floor finding peaches in out of the way spots, including a sticky blob which I knelt in.

"Problem?" Louisa said to me when she heard my grunt.

"No." I dabbed at the wet spot on my suit pants then went into my office. I opened the laptop and began to write.

In a while Louisa carried James to the door, him perched on her hip. "Can we come in?"

I nodded but kept typing.

She sat down in my visitor chair. "Don't want to intrude on your inner sanctum."

Her words made me stop typing. "Louisa… this is your house as well as mine."

She nodded at me but her face didn't look very confident. "Well, Martin there are times that I feel like an intruder. You have your spots, and I, well I have the kitchen and the bedroom, part of the lounge…"

"No!" I said sharply. "The entire house is yours, erh, ours."

She cocked her head. "Is it?"

"Do you wish to move house? Should we search for a larger house? Would that make you feel more… secure… with our accommodations?"

"Oh," she looked startled. "I'm not saying that."

"Louisa, these two rooms, the waiting room and surgery are part of my practice. When I have patients here…"

"You don't have patients here now."

I closed my open mouth on a rejoinder.

"So I asked if I can come in, is all." I saw her face twitch.

"You're here then." I looked at the screen, typed the rest of a sentence, added a closing and hit the print key.

"What are you working on?" she asked.

I got up and walked into the other room and to Morwenna's desk.

"Well, that's rude," I heard her mutter.

I returned with the paper I'd just printed. "Here," I said as I put the still warm paper on my desk, turned so she could read it.

"What's this?" she asked.

"Read it."

She put her head. "This is a letter – to the military."

"Yes."

"You say here that Michael Pruddy was a model citizen and was of inestimable help to us a nanny and house minder?"

"He was."

"And that in your medical opinion he has a moderate form of obsessive compulsive disorder and that consideration ought to be given of this fact during the investigation of his leaving service without leave." She looked up in amazement. "I thought you were… uhm, opposed… to a letter."

"Louisa, the man is sick and needs treatment."

"Look, James," she said, "daddy wrote a letter to help Uncle Mike! Isn't that nice!"

"I'm not being nice, Louisa and he's no relative of ours," I said gravely.

She handed me the paper. "If you say so. What's that? Somebody at the back door?"

I stood up and found Morwenna coming down the hall. "Morning Louisa. Morning Doc."

"Surgery is closed until Monday, Morwenna," I told her.

"Yeah, I know," she answered. "But I was thinking that if you and me could tackle the stuff you mentioned, we could get your schedule in order today. I could see what slots are empty for next week and after and I could call the patients that got their appointments cancelled, when the…" her eyes flicked nervously at me and Louisa.

I looked over to Louisa. "Would that be alright?"

Louisa nodded. "I'm doing fine, Martin and mum is here. I expect we'll go over to Mr. Routledge's and see how dank it might be. It's been closed up for months. I really ought to get a renter or break that lease." She smiled at me. "So you two go on."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah. I'm good."

I stepped to the side and spoke softly to her. "Just don't move any furniture; nothing like that, hear?"

"Don't worry."

"Uhm," I escorted her to the fireplace, and continued, saying, "I do. Worry – about you."

Her shining face gave me some hope as she responded softly, "Okay."

"And Louisa, if I can do anything or if you need Al to muck out the place, he'd likely be useful," Morwenna said as Louisa walked to the door.

"Thank you for volunteering Al Large, Morwenna.," Lousia chortled.

"Oh, is that what I'm doing?" the girl laughed. "I guess I am."

The two women must have given each other some silent communication as Louisa nodded at her. "Bye then. Come on James Henry," Louisa said next, "let's go see if your grandma is awake!"

"So," Morwenna swung her arms and clapped hands together, "where you want me to start?"

Just then the phone rang and I snatched the handset up. "Portwenn Surgery. Dr. Ellingham speaking."

"Mart? This is Chris, we need to talk."

I sighed as I heard the voice of Chis Parsons, a schoolmate and now my boss at the PCT. "Yes?"

"I understand you had a little trouble with an injection the other day?" I heard papers rustle on the other end. "A Mrs. Ethel McHale. Wrong medication."

"Yes," I muttered. "That did happen to Ethel... McHale."

"And how is Louisa? I heard she had an accident? My God Mart why didn't you call me? And also I've been told that you performed surgery at Truro Hospital? On her? Is all that true? We have a lot to talk about if it is."

Morwenna stood in the door wide-eyed then disappeared, returning quickly with my medical notes for the unhappy patient. She whispered to me, "I'll leave you to it." Then she closed my consulting room door and it sounded like a gaol door closing.