Hello, chaps. This was going to be the last chapter, but it turned out longer than I expected, so there will be an epilogue after this, where all will be explained.

Not an owner of anythin'.

Three

Carolyn stood in the doorway of the guest room, watching Douglas as he dug into his reserves of medical training to try to bring down Martin's raging fever. Arthur was hovering in the corner, torn between wanting to help and the urge to run away, fall to his knees beside his bed, and pray that Skip would be alright.

He needs something to do, something to distract him. 'Arthur, dear,' she whispered, afraid of breaking the dead silence. Her son's head whipped around and Carolyn caught sight of the tears threatening to spill. She beckoned to him, and he shuffled over to the door, hopelessness radiating from every inch of him. Replying to Douglas' nod with a near invisible one of her own, Carolyn wrapped an arm around her distraught son and led him gently out of the room.

The First Officer watched them go, before turning back to his patient. Martin's pale face was flushed with fever, and he slept fitfully, the nightmares that always came hand-in-hand with his illnesses keeping up their relentless attack. Apart from the occasional coughing fits, he was completely limp and unresponsive.

Nobody slept much that night. Douglas and Carolyn took turns sitting with Martin, while Arthur mostly lay in bed staring at the blue-painted ceiling.

Please let Skip be okay. We only just got him back.

'Isn't there anything else we can do, Douglas?'

'We can't take a dead man to a hospital, Carolyn, and even if we could I have no idea how to hide his wings. If Martin were conscious enough to tell me how he does it, I'd ask him – but he's not, so I can't. I'm sorry – we're just going to have to keep up the damp cloths and ice packs until he's lucid enough to be given medication or until his fever breaks.'

There was a silence.

'I'm still getting used to the fact that he's here.'

'I know.'

'He died, Carolyn. I held him as the life left his body, I saw the light go out behind his eyes!' Douglas let his head fall into his hands, exhausted. 'My friend has just returned from the dead and I don't know how, why, or what to think.'

'Douglas, you're not thinking straight, you need to sleep.'

'I can't.'

Douglas reached out and curled his fingers around Martin's – how can his forehead be burning when his hands are like ice – as if trying to reassure himself that the younger man wouldn't suddenly vanish, that it wasn't just some overlong, overcomplicated dream. 'As much as I maintain that I am not a sentimental old fool, Martin is like my brother, almost a son in a way, and when he died in my arms it tore me apart. I've been given a chance to heal – and perhaps to redeem myself – by saving his life now. I have to do this. He's not dying on me again.'

Carolyn sighed reflectively, and to her own surprise found herself smiling a little. 'Well, if there's anything I've learned running MJN, it's that if anyone can get Martin out of a jam, it's you.' She stood, knees protesting, and left the room, pausing at the door to say one last thing. 'You've never let him down before, Douglas – and I highly doubt you ever will.'

The door closed, and Douglas settled back in his chair, one hand still linked with Martin's. Unsurprisingly, his worn out mind decided that yes, he did need sleep, and he dozed off quickly.

Through the haze of unconsciousness, Martin's fingers curled tighter around his friend's.

Carolyn stood up from the sofa, where she had unknowingly fallen asleep, and went to check on Martin (and by extension Douglas). Softening her step so as not to wake the snoozing First Officer, she crossed to the bed and laid a gentle hand on the sick man's forehead. Her heart leapt as she felt the slight dampness of sweat along with a noticeable drop in temperature.

Fever's broken. Thank heavens.

Douglas gave vent to an undignified snorting sound as he woke with a start, before yawning widely and rubbing a hand over his eyes. "Carolyn?' He noticed her smiling, looked between her and Martin, and let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. 'Oh, thank god. Better fetch Arthur – he'll want to know everything's okay.'

While Carolyn went to wake her son, Douglas opened the curtains to let in the early morning sunlight.

Martin's eyelids fluttered before blinking open.

'Douglas?'

'Good morning, Sir. Feeling better?'

The ginger-haired captain coughed several times before answering, his voice still a hoarse whisper. 'A bit… You look dead on your feet,' Martin's freckled forehead wrinkled as he squinted up at Douglas. 'Have you been up all night?'

'Never been able to hide anything from you, have I, Captain?'

'Why on earth were you up all night?'

'Someone had to doctor you, Martin, and I'm the one with medical training.'

There was a silence while the older man bustled about, tidying up. Things unspoken hung in the air, sentiments Douglas wasn't sure how to put into words.

I couldn't let you die again.

You're my friend, my best friend.

I couldn't sleep without knowing you were okay. None of us could.

Carolyn returned, followed by Arthur, both visibly relieved that Martin was awake. Arthur – as was his way – effusively so, while Carolyn was more reserved, but smiling nonetheless.

'Skipper! You're okay! I'm really glad you woke up 'cause your fever was really bad and Douglas was really worried and that always means something awful's gonna happen and –'

'Arthur, Arthur, don't talk the poor man's ears off, he's only just regained consciousness.'

'Sorry, Mum. Sorry, Skip – but you're back for good now! Right?'

'Well… I guess I am.'