One moment Martin was waving victoriously at him from the middle of the creek, and the next he had vanished into thin air, leaving Arthur bewildered, wondering where his Skip could've disappeared to. Arthur decided Martin's instructions to him to "wait here" probably didn't apply in cases of alien abduction, so Arthur pocketed his Toblerone and scrambled down the creek bank to where Martin had been last. Arthur picked his way carefully across the creek until he came to a roughly Martin-sized hole in the ice.

"Oh no, Skip!" Arthur cried, and crouched down by the hole. He could see nothing but inky black water. Arthur worried his lip for a moment, then decided there was nothing else for it but to reach into the hole and see if he couldn't grab hold of Skip. Arthur rolled his sleeve up as far as it would go, lied down on his side and submerged his arm in the frigid water.

"Oh brrrrr!" Arthur cried, but gritted his teeth and grasped wildly around until he felt fabric against his hand. He clutched a fistful of the material tightly and began to pull. Soon, a head of curly ginger hair emerged from the water, followed by the rest of Martin. Arthur dragged him by his sweatshirt hood away from the hole onto more solid ice. Martin was deathly pale, and his chest was still, and for one terrifying moment Arthur was thought he wasn't going to wake up. Then Martin started coughing violently, and didn't stop for a long while, and Arthur didn't know what to do other than pat him encouragingly. After a while, Martin stopped coughing and just lay on the ice trying to breath deeply.

"You alright, Skip?"

"I… don't know," Martin gasped.

"Hold on then, Douglas will know what to do!" Arthur said optimistically, standing and offering Martin his hand. Martin took it but his knees immediately buckled and he had to lean heavily on Arthur to remain upright. They shuffled across the ice until they reached solid ground, and Arthur ended up practically carrying Martin up the slope to the road. Martin was soaked through, and began to shiver violently as they made their way back to the hotel; their progress significantly hampered by the fact that Arthur was supporting most of Martin's weight.

Douglas and Carolyn had spent the last hour and a half in blissful silence, Douglas chipping away at the inn owner's Chaucer collection, and Carolyn busily typing away on her laptop. About halfway through Troilus and Criseyde, Douglas paused.

"Do you think they've been gone a little long?" Douglas asked Carolyn.

"They're grown men. Well, one of them is, I'm sure they'll be fine," Carolyn dismissed.

"Yes, well, that man happens to be the most unlucky person I've ever met."

Carolyn was saved from responding by the front door flying open and Arthur shuffling in, dragging a dripping, nearly catatonic Martin.

Douglas jumped up from his chair, dropping his book on the floor, "Martin?"

He rushed over to Arthur and helped him lower Martin to the ground.

"What happened?" Douglas snapped.

"He had a bit of an accident, fell into a creek," Arthur replied nervously.

"Of course he did," Douglas groaned in exasperation, "How long was he underwater?"

"Um, I'm not sure… maybe a couple minutes."

"Shit," Douglas cursed, "Ok, Arthur I need you to go upstairs and get all the blankets you can find. Carolyn, help me get Martin undressed."

"Those are six words I never thought I'd hear," Carolyn remarked.

Douglas studiously ignored her. Together they pulled off Martin's jacket, shirt, and pants until he was in just his trousers.

"Hey, Martin can you hear me?" Douglas slapped the captain's face lightly but Martin remained unconscious. He was worryingly pale, and his skin was icy cold. Douglas felt a spark of frustration that the man managed to land himself in bad situations no matter how benign their surroundings were. Arthur stumbled down the staircase with an armful of blankets and dropped them in a pile front of the fireplace, which Douglas then fashioned into a makeshift bed. Douglas gently lifted Martin and carried him over to lay him on the blankets, then covered him with a few others. Douglas sat down on the floor next to Martin. He was confident they had done everything they could to get him warm, now there was nothing to do but wait for Martin to wake up and hope it had been enough.

Douglas remained by Martin, sitting in a chair Arthur had dragged over after noticing the First Officer's discomfort at being on the ground. He periodically checked Martin's pulse and temperature with a thermometer from a first aid kit he'd found in one of the bathrooms. Douglas was pleased to find Martin's temperature was steadily rising from the frightening 34 degrees it had been shortly after Arthur had brought him inside. Douglas was not so pleased, however, when an hour later, Martin's body reached the healthy temperature of 37 degrees and kept going.

"Damnit, Martin," Douglas cursed as he read the numbers displayed on the small digital thermometer. He was also slightly concerned that Martin had remained asleep for the past hour with no signs of waking. It wasn't until nearly lunchtime that Martin began to stir. Douglas was staring at the fireplace, lost in thought, when Martin groaned.

"Martin?" Douglas was immediately kneeling next to his captain.

Martin coughed and his eyes fluttered open. He struggled to focus on Douglas but was interrupted by a coughing fit. Douglas placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him and waited out the fit. When the coughs subsided, Martin collapsed onto his back, exhausted.

Douglas leaned over him, "How do you feel?"

Martin groaned in response.

"I'll take that as a 'not very good.' In the future, I suggest you avoid swimming in the dead of winter" Douglas remarked. "Martin I suspect you might have some sort of lung infection, likely picked up during your little dip. I need to take your temperature again."

"Ok," Martin croaked in acquiescence.

Douglas handed Martin the thermometer and Martin stuck it under his tongue. After a few minutes of silence, it beeped and Martin removed it and checked it.

"What does it say?"

"38.7"

"Damn…" Douglas cursed. He'd been doing a lot of that today. "Here, drink this," he thrust a glass of water at Martin. Martin took a few greedy gulps then stopped suddenly.

"Douglas, I think I'm gonna-" Martin lurched forward and vomited onto the hardwood floor. It was just bile and water, as he hadn't eaten anything since the flight in. Martin sat back, shaking slightly and scrubbed at his mouth with the back of his hand. His cheeks were crimson.

"Oh God, I'm s-sorry."

"Don't apologise to me, it's not my floor. Besides, it'll give Arthur something to do. He's been hovering about all day trying to be helpful. Carolyn finally took him back out to find the groceries you two so thoughtlessly abandoned," Douglas said, prompting a glare from Martin.

"Yes, well, sorry my almost-dying inconvenienced you."

"Now Martin, you know I didn't mean it like that," Douglas protested.

Martin's frown was quickly replaced by a look of exhaustion, "I know Douglas, I'm sorry."

"No apology necessary. On an unrelated note, how exactly did you manage to fall into a frozen creek during a trip to the grocer?"

Martin blushed again, "Um. Well, Arthur had gotten this cap at the store. One of those daft hats they only sell to tourists. It blew off his head and I was trying to get it back, " Martin paused to cough violently.

"Alright, as your doctor I am ordering you to get some rest now," Douglas said, gently pushing Martin back down to the bed of blankets.

"Doctor my arse…" Martin muttered, but he'd already fallen asleep by the time Douglas could come up with a clever retort.

Douglas insisted on Martin moving upstairs to a real bed, since he was no longer near-hypothermic. Douglas dialed info to find the non-emergency number for the local hospital and found out Tobermory didn't have a real hospital, just a community nurse office, and since they had no mode of transportation during the storm real medical help was out of the question.

"Do you think he'll be okay?" Carolyn whispered worriedly to Douglas. Martin was sound asleep upstairs and not likely to be roused. She was whispering for the sake of Arthur who was across the room playing Connect 4 against himself.

"He should be fine without a hospital stay as long as he doesn't get any worse. Of course, this is Martin we're talking about…" A hint of worry crept into Douglas' usually impeccably smooth voice.

Martin slept fitfully for the next few hours. Douglas woke him up twice to make him take some penicillin and aspirin from the first aid kit. Despite Douglas' best medical efforts, Martin's fever continued to rise incrementally. Douglas sat in the chair next to Martin's bed, while Carolyn was downstairs distracting Arthur with a game of Go Fish. He was a few pages into the Parliament of Fowls when Douglas noticed Martin had begun to wheeze almost imperceptibly with each breath. Douglas set the book down and watched Martin for a few moments, prepared to intervene (how, he wasn't sure) should Martin's condition deteriorate. Douglas blew out a relieved breath as Martin's breathing seemed to be returning to normal, but only a moment later he broke into a coughing fit more severe than any so far. Martin sat up quickly, blanket wrapped around his bare shoulders, his eyes locking onto Douglas.

"Alright Martin, it's alright. Just breathe," Douglas comforted, rubbing circles on Martin's back. The fit went on for a few minutes, but it felt like hours to Douglas who could only watch helplessly as Martin attempted to stifle the coughs in his hands. When it ended, Martin was shaky and sweaty. He hunched over and gulped in great breaths.

"What's wrong with me, Douglas?" Martin gasped when he was finally able to speak again.

"I don't know," Douglas sighed, "It has all the indicators of pneumonia, but pneumonia takes at least 24 hours to develop… Martin, is there anything that happened to you in the last week that could've caused this?"

Martin shrugged, and then frowned, "I don't… Oh, uh, well the heating's been out in my van for about a couple weeks now…"

"Martin!" Douglas exclaimed, "You mean to tell me you've been driving that piece of junk every day from home to the airport, not to mention on jobs, in subzero temperatures with no heating?"

Martin nodded sheepishly.

"Dear God, it's a wonder you've survived this long. No doubt that's the reason for this recent pulmonological development, it was just triggered by your creek accident. As soon as we get back to Fitton we are going to do something about that death-trap you call a van."

"Douglas, I can't afford-"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Douglas interrupted him, "For now, you focus on not asphyxiating. I don't think poor Arthur would ever recover."

Martin smiled.

"You're probably dehydrated. I'll be right back," Douglas descended the stairs, went into the tiny kitchen behind the reception area of the motel, and filled a glass with water. He sighed as he heard Martin break out into another coughing fit. This one was shorter, and Martin was finished when Douglas got back with the water. Douglas noticed Martin was staring at something.

"Martin, what is it?" Douglas approached him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

Martin turned, white-faced, and held up his hand so Douglas could see the crimson splatters on the palm.

"Shit," Douglas said for the second time that day, and he meant it exponentially more than the first.

"Douglas, w-what's happening to me? T-this isn't normal is it?" Martin stuttered.

"It's not unheard of. Martin, listen, I need you to calm down."

"I can't b-be sick! I have j-jobs this w-w-week. What am I g-going to do?"

"Martin!" Douglas raised his voice, "Listen to me. You are going to be fine."

Martin's breathing slowed, he sniffed and nodded, wiping at tears he hadn't realized he was shedding, "W-what about the blood?"

"Unfortunately there's nothing we can do about that without going to a hospital. But don't worry, hemoptysis isn't an uncommon symptom of pneumonia."

Martin didn't look convinced.

"Hey, Martin, trust me. I'm a doctor," Douglas smirked.

"Hardly. You dropped out of medical school," Martin pointed out.

"Well unless you'd like to hand your fate over to Arthur, I'm the best you've got."

Martin smiled. Douglas was pleased he'd managed to distract him. If he was being honest with himself, Douglas was more than a little concerned about Martin's condition. While he hadn't been lying when he said coughing up blood wasn't uncommon, he had understated the seriousness of the symptom. In standard cases of pneumonia, blood didn't end up in the lungs. Meaning that there was something more serious going on in Martin's case. And Douglas was virtually helpless.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Douglas managed to force some tea down Martin, and Martin managed not to throw it up. Around dinner time, Martin was asleep so Douglas took a break from Martin-watch and went down stairs. Arthur was sprawled on the floor, fast asleep, and Carolyn was in the kitchen.

"The poor boy fell asleep in the middle of an especially enthralling game of solitaire. It's been a stressful day for him." Carolyn was dicing potatoes.

"Cooking, Carolyn? How very domestic of you."

Carolyn was unperturbed. "Well someone's got to do it. You were otherwise occupied, and we all know what happens when Arthur is allowed in a kitchen."

"I'm not complaining. I'm fairly famished."

"As are we all. Now make yourself useful." Carolyn thrust a cheese grater into Douglas' hands. Her tone became serious, "How is he doing?"

"Not any worse than the last time you asked me. But not any better." Douglas halfheartedly scraped the block of cheese against the grater.

"Hopefully this snow lets up by tomorrow and we can get out of this godforsaken town."

Douglas glanced to the window where snow was battering against the glass as ferociously as ever. "Yes. Well, chance would be a fine thing."

Carolyn's soup was surprisingly delicious, despite it having been made by a person who Douglas couldn't imagine often cooked much more than toast. Douglas tried to coax some soup into Martin, but the sick man fairly turned green at the mere mention of food, so Douglas let him be. Douglas stayed with Martin late into the night. Martin drifted in and out of consciousness, and was delirious from the fever when he was awake.

"Douglas?" Martin asked. His voice was muffled from his face being half-buried in the pillow.

"Yes, Martin?"

"Will you read to me?"

"Read to you?" Douglas asked incredulously.

"Yeah."

"Alright Martin," Douglas sighed, "What would you like me to read?"

"Anything y'want."

Douglas picked up the book on the bedside table, flipped to a page, and began to read.

"A widow who was rather old and poor. In a small cottage dwelt in days of yore, beside a grove that stood within a dale…"

Martin listened attentively to the fable until Douglas reached the end.

"Does Chaunticleer find happiness again?" Martin asked.

"I'd like to think so, Martin."

"Douglas," Martin began. He was rapidly losing lucidity.

"Yes?"

"You're the rooster."
"Excuse me?"

"Like Chaunticleer… You lost the woman you love but you're gonna be happy again…" The last words were barely audible. Martin was asleep by the end of the sentence.

Douglas was taken aback by Martin's brief moment of feverish insight. He considered his captain's words for a long while before drifting off to sleep in the chair. He wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep when Carolyn gently shook him awake.

"Ugh, what time is it?" He asked.

"Nearly 2 am. Why don't you go get some sleep in a real bed. I'll watch Martin for a few hours."

"Carolyn…" Douglas began, but Carolyn cut him off.

"If this storm abates even a little bit and we have the chance to get off this bloody island, I want to make sure at least one of my pilots is fit to fly. Now please, would you forget your bloody ego for one minute. I promise I'll wake you if Martin so much as sneezes."

"Alright, alright. Fine," Douglas conceded. As reluctant as he was to let Martin out of his sight, he had to admit he was exhausted. He crawled into the bed in the next room and immediately passed out.

"Douglas!"

Douglas was jerked out of a deep slumber by Arthur's frantic voice in his ear.

"Douglas!" Arthur repeated, "It's Martin!"

Douglas was immediately wide awake. He flung the covers off, but the icy chill that came over him wasn't related to the room's temperature.

"What's happened?" He demanded. He clambered out of bed as quickly as his sore body allowed him to.

"I d-don't know, something's wrong with Martin. Mum sent me to get you," Arthur babbled.

Douglas strode past him and down the hall to Martin's room. Carolyn was bent over Martin's bed, looking frazzled and as close to panicked as Douglas had ever seen her. Martin was awake and gasping, clutching at his chest.

"Douglas!" Carolyn exclaimed when he joined her by the bed, "He woke up like this, he said he can't breath."

"Martin," Douglas met Martin's terrified eyes, "I need you to breath. Your panic is exacerbating the respiratory problems."

Martin didn't seem to be processing what Douglas was saying. His breaths were getting shallower and more desperate.

"Damnit, Martin," Douglas said emphatically. "I'm going to have to breath for him," he said to Carolyn. She stepped back and placed a consoling arm around her distraught son.

Martin's struggles had grown feeble so he didn't put up any resistance as Douglas placed a hand on his forehead and another on his chin and began breathing air into his mouth. After a couple minutes of Douglas breathing for Martin, Martin stopped moving completely. For one heart-stopping moment, Douglas feared the worst, but Martin's pulse was still present, although thready. After a few minutes, Douglas stopped and was relieved to see that Martin's chest continued to rise on its own. Douglas dropped into his chair and scrubbed a hand over his face. This incident had been way too close for comfort. The next time they might not be so lucky. He didn't care what he had to do, he was getting his people off this damned island one way or another.