Relief

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.

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I looked at Martin that night in bed, as he sat there staring at a medical journal. "This hearing that's coming up - what do you think will happen?" I'd been plumping both pillows behind me while I fidgeted with the duvet, and my too tight and too warm nightgown, while I tried to reach some semblance of comfort.

"You're not doing well, are you?" he asked.

I was honest. "No. My back is hurting again, and I just can't find any position that doesn't, well, hurt, somehow."

He threw down the journal and whipped his head around. "Hurt? Pain? Where does it hurt? Any belly cramping?" His hands sprang to my belly and he prodded me. "Low back pain? Sort of a rolling throb?"

"Martin! Stop it."

But he didn't stop feeling me. "No," he poked my belly and back. "No. Not labor."

"I think I'd be able to tell that, wouldn't I? Really, Martin! Trust me to know my own body!"

"Oh? Most primagravidas are blissfully unaware of the mechanisms of labor and delivery and of course are totally ignorant about prelabor!"

I felt my mouth fall open. "So I'm an ignorant dolt? Worse, a PREGNANT ignorant dolt? That it?"

He tried to take my hand as I batted him away. "Louisa… that's not what I'm saying."

I pushed myself out of bed. "You can… stuff it, Martin!"

"Oh, Louisa, don't be that way!"

I turned on him and felt more heat rush to my face. "Martin! You can be the most… OOOOH! Pain in the arse! You know that?"

He sprang from the bed with hands held out and a shocked look on his face. "Look, I'm only…"

And then the green-eyed monster struck and words came out of my mouth from the worry I had tried to suppress. "And maybe if you were with that red-haired doctor witch you'd be happier? That it? Because if that's the way you really feel, you can just sod off!"

He rocked back as if I'd physically punched him. "Louisa!"

"And I bet you wish this was her baby and you were having it with her!"

Martin stood like a statue and the horrified look he gave me told me that I was wrong as his mouth gaped like a fish out of water. In the vacuum between us, my heart skipped a beat as the shame of what I'd just said hit me. "God, Martin, I didn't mean to say that!"

He sagged onto the bed. "You must have meant some of it."

I waddled around the bed and plopped down next to him. "No, Martin. God, I didn't mean it. I am sorry." I grabbed his hand though he tried to shake me off. "Sorry - so sorry."

He wouldn't look at me, now staring off into a corner.

I tried to get thru to him again. "I mean it, Martin! I am so sorry! I didn't mean it. Not any of it. Please forgive me?"

He sighed. "Louisa, I do not want or need Edith Montgomery. Got it?"

I rubbed his hand and he interlaced his fingers with mine after a minute. "Sorry, Martin," I sniffed. "I've been… worried is all."

He looked at me silently.

"I am sorry Martin! Can you forgive me?" Tears were running down my face and I was that close to openly sobbing.

He rose and walked to the door, going down the hall and my heart did skip a beat as I thought I really had torn it.

Now I really was crying, shaking and whining. "Mar…tin?" I called after him as I beat a fist on the bed as I'd really done it - torn it to pieces once and for all. I didn't want to be a single mum and now… well - damn! All my fault! Stupid, stupid woman!

Martin walked back in holding a tissue box in his hand. "Dry your eyes."

I wiped, honked and dabbed at my nose while he handed me tissue after tissue. He held a bin nearby which I half filled with mangled and soggy tissues, until I calmed down.

"Better?" he asked.

I nodded dumbly and watched while he set the bin aside then squatted down and peered into my face.

He closed his eyes for a moment then spoke. "Louisa, I have told you time and time again that you are the woman I want, need rather, in my life. Not Edith. Why don't you believe me?"

I had to say another name. "Or Carrie Wilson?"

He shook his head. "Louisa, Mrs. Wilson came to see me about a pimple on her forehead! The woman is just as much of a hypochondriac as she ever was!"

"And I've seen Mrs. Tishell mooning over you as well!" I gulped. "You'll think I'm being jealous or worse, but I worry about these things, Martin. And don't you go saying I'm emotional because I'm pregnant!"

"Louisa…" he whispered, "you are…" he cleared his throat, "the only woman I want in my life. Believe me. Not some slightly bonkers village chemist either!"

"How can I believe that? Really know, Martin?"

He sighed and shook his head. "Why did I come up to London to that dirty little bedsit of yours? Hmm? Not to have tea and a chat. NO! It was to bring you back to Portwenn, for God help me for saying it, but I could not stand being in the biscuit-in town without you! Haven't we been through all this?"

I looked deep into his eyes. "You mean it," I sighed. "You do."

"Louisa… I do mean it, absolutely. I would have gone to the ends of the Earth to find you."

The last few nights I'd lain awake tormenting myself with jealous thoughts; Edith Montgomery, Sally Tishell, the greengrocer who was so pleasant to Martin, gruff though he was to her, even that cow Carrie Wilson, had all danced through my head. The baby kicked me but I did not react outwardly. "Sorry, Martin. I suppose when I start to doubt myself, I start to doubt you as well."

"You shouldn't Louisa. These thoughts might be the normal fears of a change in your life, in our lives, of becoming a parent." He gulped and shook his head. "If they continue, there may be some other underlying cause."

"I have officially become a nervous mum-to-be then." I sighed. "That's a relief then because it's just me, and being silly. But look at me!" I protested. "Can't even see my feet, I'm so huge and bulgy! And the other day I had on mis-matched shoes!"

His voice softened. "Louisa, you are the most beautiful woman that I know."

I shook my head at him. "No. And I worry about what happens later - you and me. What if you don't want me?"

"You are; you are being silly. And you'll make a fine mother." He stroked my cheek. "Okay?" Martin shook his head. "Such thoughts may be manifestations of late pregnancy on top of your own feelings about our… situation." He stared at the floor for a moment. "Louisa, I will always want you - love you - and our baby."

I sighed, for that thought had been bothering me too. Martin was the father of my baby, and I did want him to be involved, and… and what? He looked at me with those penetrating eyes of his but with a hint of fear. "I'm afraid."

He nodded. "Me too."

"You?" How could he be afraid? He was the strongest and bravest man that I knew! "Doc Martin feels fear?"

He cleared his throat. "Fear may be the wrong word. Concerned might be a better one."

"Yeah, maybe that would a slightly better way to put it; the baby and all."

"Right."

"Help me up Martin." He tugged me to my feet and I hugged him tightly. His cheek was bristly with short whiskers but I kissed it gently anyway.

"It will be fine," he said.

I'd moved back into his house but there was one more thing I could do - rather, should do. "Martin, where is your grandmother's ring?" I looked at his craggy face and knew what I just had to do for both of us.

"The one I gave you? The one I dropped into your potatoes?"

"Yeah, that one." He knew very well which ring!

"The one you gave back to me, before you went to London." He looked nervous as he said it.

"Yeah… can you lay your hands on it please?"

Martin let me go, reached in his dresser and pulled out a small box, one I recognized. "You are sure?" he asked shyly.

"Uh, huh." I held out my right hand. "Give it here."

He slowly put it into my hand and I opened the tiny velvet box. The diamond and ruby ring nestled there just as I knew it would, for Martin was sentimental to some degree. "What you think?" I asked

He looked shocked. "Uhmm, your choice."

I pulled the ring out and examined it closely. It clearly would not fit on my swollen ring finger, but with a little urging I managed to slide it onto the little finger of my left hand. "There. I think it fits just fine."

Martin did not move, only smiled with what I hoped was a shared sense of relief.