Doc Martin 1. Towards

'Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. Reviews are always appreciated, thank you and happy reading. -DC

**Time Travel**

**Chapter One – 'Towards'**

Two months since the incident that prompted my flight.

Two weeks since autumn term started up.

Two short days until the weekend.

Two hours until we lunch.

Two people I love.

One family.

One life.

Us.

It all had come to a head that fateful day – a wake-up call, an enormous and frightening blow to our egos. _Both_ our egos. Yet it was also an end of sorts, an end to drifting aimlessly in separate vessels on an ever stormier sea. Somehow, in spite of it all, we could still see the beacon lit in the distance, a flame that has never been snuffed out. And that was a good direction for us to keep focussing, to move towards – a shared flicker of hope.

Martin having taken us out to the farm that long weekend, the week after it all happened, turned out to have been just what the doctor ordered, so to speak. Breathing room; a chance to clear our heads and just listen to our thoughts without the noise of our shattered home life intruding.

Of course we didn't and haven't completely fixed everything, not at all. What we have got done is to acknowledge that we have fears and weaknesses – and to come to understand that the only way forwards is going backwards.

After we'd returned home, Martin had deemed it necessary for me to resume my warfarin therapy. He felt confident the filling he had placed in my brain was holding nicely for that _problem_, and shouldn't cause a bleed, but was becoming increasingly concerned about the clot – or _clots_, as he had emphasised, that could possibly cause an even bigger _problem_.

Luckily I trust Martin completely as a doctor, or I might just have fretted at that explanation. He'd also had me fitted for a new very fancy and comfortable shoulder brace contraption, with all the latest bells and whistles, and it had made for a world of difference. The brace also had the added 'benefit', if you will, of being practically impossible for me to put on or take off by myself, so that had become my husband's job.

I had teased him then, that I was nothing but 'problems' all'round, to which his response had been to sternly tell me I was never to speak such a thing ever again. That's my Martin...

Of course, divesting me of the brace at night for my bath, and then carefully putting it back on afterwards, had at times put our minds right back to our wonderfully intimate last night spent at the farm. There, under the subtle blue light of a full moon, after carefully wrapping my shoulder, Martin had ever so slowly and gently made love to me in what is the closest to a bonding experience we have ever shared – fulfilling a sense of need and belonging we had both desperately been craving for a long time.

And where the brace had lead us down the path of intimacy on a fairly regular basis since then, it had also forced us to rethink how we behave around one another in the wake of a row. Oh yes – Martin still makes me angry a lot of the time and I still get on his last nerve more often than he will dare to admit. However, we literally had been made to face each other and rely on the other for our little family to go on. He couldn't withdraw and hide in his office till all hours, lest he fancy me in bed unkempt and in my day clothes – something he would never allow of himself. Nor could I very well throw my arms up in the air and run away in anger, I needed his help. We've needed and had to rely on each other more than ever before and I think that dependency has helped us live again.

Our biggest test to that notion had come just shy of three weeks ago, a week before I was due back at the school, a tried-and-tested recipe for a row – finding a minder for James Henry. Michael having returned, or _been_ returned I reckon, to the Army, we were yet again up against trying to find a reliable care option for James. Martin had insisted on a child minder who would come to the surgery and care for James at home. Though I was in no way opposed to this, I was aware of the fact that as much as my fellow villagers love James Henry, none of the lot embraces the idea of working in close quarters with the great doctor.

When I had popped into the shop for some baby things earlier that day I had bumped into Hana Newton who also had done, and of course we got to chatting about kids and babies, our own especially, and all those helpful little secrets of being a mum.

Hana, one of my Teachers Aides for the past year, had tearfully given me her final notice during Spring Term, after her husband, Ian, had been offered a much higher paying job working on the oil rigs. This also meant that she would be looking after their two young kids by herself with Ian off for weeks at a time on an unpredictable rota. As much as she would miss 'my' kids, she just couldn't bear leaving her own to be handed off left and right last minute. So when she had kindly offered to mind James Henry along with her two while I was at school, I thought it brilliant. James would be in a safe place with a mum I know and trust and he'd have little friends to play with while learning to socialise. I could bring him 'round on my way to the school in the mornings and pick him back up on my way home. And the Newtons' cottage is right near the bottom of Rose Hill, so close to the school – I'd be nearby should there be a problem.

It was just perfect and I'd been so excited to tell Martin all 'bout it, as I'd figured we'd found a great solution; one that would also cut down on our bickering during hectic mornings as well as eliminate Martin's inevitable friction with whomever would have been underfoot in the surgery with James. I'd even bought his favourite fish and veg to prepare for us that evening, my spirits had been that high.

Instead, we'd clashed horribly over our meal, regarding 'standards' and 'level of care' and other unfounded rubbish. I'd called him rude and controlling and stormed off, throwing my napkin on the floor and grabbing James Henry from his high chair to get him ready for bed.

For that past week I hadn't been wearing my brace whilst at home, so that I could do my PT exercises more often. Most nights, though, I'd still opted for it, thinking it may keep me from rolling on my shoulder awkwardly while asleep. Nevertheless, James' night-time routine was no longer a problem for me, it just took us a little while longer. And so as soon as he'd settled down for the night and had gone off, I'd stepped in the bath and cried my eyes out – disappointed and deflated, but most of all I'd been angry with myself.

After washing and stewing long enough to resemble a prune, I'd finally got out, wrapped myself up in Martin's towel and unlatched the door to the bedroom half-heartedly to look for my pyjamas; which I'd guessed were likely somewhere on the floor alongside my towel. Instead of the anticipated self-pity party of one, I'd found Martin stepping towards me with his outstretched hand clutching my towel. Upon noticing me already towel-clad, his hand had dropped to his side and I'd noticed how defeated he looked – his features solemn and his eyes red-rimmed. Carefully laid out on our bed beside him were my neatly folded flower-patterned pyjamas and the complicated shoulder contraption.

My tears had taken hold anew then, and I'd closed the gap between us, buried my face in his neck and clung to him under his jacket. I'd been emotional, no doubt, but he'd embraced it . . . me, rested his chin on the top of my wet hair and simply held me – for a long while.

Somewhere along this latest sojourn, we'd crossed over from the familiar refuge of self-validated retreat to a fragile, but powerful, want for mutual consolation.

That was the night my brace had got put away. I really hadn't a use for it anymore, and _we_ no longer felt the need for relying on it neither. In many ways it had provided us with the support we'd been in need of to start bridging the gap between two broken souls, much like it had allowed for the fractured ends of my collar bone to come together and heal – layers of new growth strengthening over time.

'Course my arm is still weak, and painfully sore if I'm not careful or if I forget, but by continuing with the therapy I should regain full use of it again and eventually the discomfort is expected to subside as well. It could have been so much worse – yet it became our turning point. There is a greater lesson to be learned from all of this. . . .

So we are doing okay, Martin and I, we think. It is still early days and we are only two weeks into our normal hectic day-to-day routines, but we have made and are making some changes; improvements – visible and not, and we've found and accepted help. Ruth had cast her net wider for us and suggested a different psychiatrist than she initially had in mind for Martin's blood phobia. Once she'd realised we were both in this together her criteria changed, I imagine, and her choice has been spot on.

Dr. Beryan "Ann" Arscott, "Dr. A.", puts me in the mind of a slightly younger, taller and more refined version of Joan. Approachable and friendly, yet possessing the same no-nonsense demeanour and sheer presence – she's a force to be reckoned with.

Our first meeting with her had been the week after we'd got home from the farm, at her office in Truro. Quite a ways away and making for a late evening, but even Martin had seemed as if he could eventually be able to accept her as a necessary part of our future. Very introductory in nature, she had simply asked of us the basic facts she would need to start navigating; our history, current living arrangements, our professions and so on – though I suspect Ruth had filled her in a bit as well.

Thankfully Martin hadn't completely shut down, nor audibly voiced his disapproval, and he had seemed pleased by her suggestion to accommodate us by seeing us in her private home office right outside Little Petherick, which would shorten our travels by half and make the experience a little less formal. As we had got up and Martin had walked over to fetch our coats off the rack, Dr. A. had called us back with a few parting words for the road.

'I will help you, Louisa and Martin Ellingham, and we shall get you to your safe harbour together. However, the most important part of this journey lies solely with the two of you. _You_ need to keep that beacon bright, as bright as you can – love one another. Do not drown in the misery, do not get pulled under by your current spiral of challenges, tread water if you must. You both possess an awareness now; it's in the open that all is not well and there is a new level of transparency. So take advantage of that and start living _because_ of it. Move towards life again. Then – and only then, can we push on forwards and look at ways to knock down some walls. For a start, decide on a project to focus on together, other than your son, something new that isn't related to either of your careers. Talk about how you think that project can make a difference for you. Then let me know next time I see you how you handled that challenge. Safe travels you two.'

Little had I known then just how literally Martin would take her words.


	2. Rerouting

'Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. Reviews are always appreciated, thank you and happy reading. -DC

Time Travel

Chapter Two – 'Rerouting'

In less than an hour Louisa and James will be home for lunch, which gives me just enough time to disconnect and remove the computer, printer and phone from the reception desk and stow them away safely in my consulting room. Al had been here earlier to help Morwenna perform a backup of all the necessary programmes, while she had recorded a new message on the answerphone on my desk. Keeping my door locked, to prevent medications from accidentally wandering off while I am away, seems like a reasonable precaution. One can never be too careful.

Briefly I had considered temporarily depositing the schedule 2-controlled drugs at the chemist's with Mrs. Tishell, but had quickly dismissed the idea as absurd. Under different circumstances that would have been my choice of action, but the woman is unpredictable. I had told Louisa that Mrs. Tishell would not have been released had the professionals in charge of her care found her mentally unfit, but I am not completely convinced this is currently the case. I will be keeping a close watch.

Having finished draping the reception furniture I head into the sitting room with the last few sheets, but decide against covering the table and sofa for the time being. James has been pulling himself up by the cushions as of late, standing up unassisted for extended periods of time, and he will surely pull a cover right off the sofa if his persistence is any indication. I make a mental note to finish with the sitting room in the morning when James will not be here. Al has already relocated the furniture to the far end of the room, so the majority of the work has been handled.

I start dicing vegetables for our meal, after thoroughly washing my hands, and add them to the broth I have simmering in the pot. When filleting the haddock to add to it, I take great care to ensure the pieces are all uniform and small enough in size for James to safely consume, as he is showing great interest in the white fishes at the moment. Louisa had seemed rather flummoxed at this observation, but as I had explained to her; fish low in mercury is perfectly suitable for infants. As a matter of fact it should be highly encouraged in the diet of infants and toddlers alike, as a diet rich in omega-3's, lean protein and vitamin D is essential for brain development and strong bones. My wife had then declared this as further proof that James Henry was taking after his Daddy and would be brilliant because of it. Secretly I was pleased that my son would have a seemingly good quality of mine, few that they are.

Perhaps I am capable of making a few positive changes, when necessary. It does appear that my suggestion, following our breakdown, to close the surgery doors daily, at exactly one o'clock for one hour, has had some merit. Louisa and I have missed very few lunch dates since then. There has been the occasional medical emergency or school meeting, of course, but generally we have made a go of it. She picks out our lunch on Tuesdays and Thursdays, usually something she prefers and picks up from the market on her way here, and I prepare the food for us on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. It seems to be a reasonable compromise.

Today, being Thursday, is an exception; both as the food and James Henry are concerned. Usually it is just Louisa and I, which has allowed us to actually communicate more and finish conversations without interruptions. Louisa respects my preference for sparse conversation during the actual meal, but conversing after has been . . nice – useful, and generally amiable.

Seeing as we will be away from our home this weekend and that today's scheduled preparations need to be met, I had suggested Louisa pick James up from the minder on her way here and take the afternoon off from school as I had already closed the surgery at noon today. This will give us ample time to assure all will be ready for a timely and favourable outcome. Tomorrow Louisa will take James to the minder in the morning and spend a half-day herself at the school, while I will stay behind here to assure everything gets started, and answer any questions that may arise, before picking Louisa and James up at noon to head out to the farm. If all goes according to plan, we will stay there until late Sunday afternoon.

Ladling out a broth-less half portion of soup for James, allowing it to cool sufficiently prior to his pillaging through it, I can hear my son approaching from around the corner before I can see him. Thankfully he sounds to be in an elevated mood, which usually means his mother will also be mostly agreeable.

These first two weeks he has spent at the child minder's, away from home and all that is familiar, have surpassed my expectations. I had been convinced that he would be stressed in a new environment, and as such easily come down with every conceivable bacterial or viral illness known to man. However, he seems generally healthy and has also slept more consistently at night, possibly related to the additional stimulation to which he is being exposed. Initially our discussion regarding the child care matter had been quite volatile, but as cooler heads prevailed we had come to the mutual decision of trying the arrangement until half term, at which point we will re-evaluate the situation.

"Hi Martin, sorry we're a bit late – _somebody _was showing off his legs of steel and did not want to let go of the net on his playpen. You did good in getting that for him, you know, as Hana assures me he loves to nap and play both in it. Getting him his own little space was quite intuitive of you Martin, maybe you can fold it and take it with you tomorrow, when you pick him up? He'd like that – for his home away from home to come with. We'll need to get Daddy a special 'Number ONE Dad' vest, won't we James?"

She hadn't looked entirely serious as she said it, but just the thought left me aghast.

"God, no! Now let's eat before the soup gets over-cooked and the fish completely falls apart, and I just warmed the bread. There's tea if you want some, but there is water on the table. And the sooner we finish lunch and get cleared away, the sooner we can start on the tasks ahead."

"Martin Ellingham, are you excited? You're actually excited, aren't you? You are!"

"I...am simply ready to get on with the conclusion of our project. Now that it is actually here, I would like us to do everything we can to prepare for a successful execution of the final stages."

"And I am very proud of you for that. This is a brilliant idea, you know, and I think we have worked together remarkably well to get to this point, don't you? To be completely honest with you, Martin, I hadn't a lot of faith in us even being able to agree to take on a project, let alone come up with one of this magnitude. But you've proven me wrong, very wrong, which has _me_ incredibly excited I will have you know. We'll have to find ways to celebrate this weekend, won't we husband?" The look in her eyes holds great promise of just that.

Louisa is right, of course. I_ had_ been apprehensive at the suggestion made by Dr. Arscott that we 'come up with and discuss a new project' or some such nonsense. It had reeked of the claptrap I had been prepared to dismiss, yet seeing Louisa sitting next to me wearing her brace, and remembering the reason I found myself in Truro that very evening, had effectively ended that line of thinking and left me temporarily paralysed with fear, preventing the words from escaping – which had been very fortunate.

And we _have_ worked surprisingly well together on this project. Despite the fact that very little of what Dr. Arscott had said after my near slip-up had made it through my mental fog, I had picked up on what directly preceded it – that our moving forwards would require us knocking down some walls. So on our drive home that evening a picture had formed in my head, clear as day, and I remember thinking we should have thought of it sooner.

Louisa and I have decided to make our home just that – _ours._

In my opinion the obvious starting point towards this goal is to eliminate as much interference from disease-laden time-wasters as possible. I have never been happy with James Henry and Louisa being constantly exposed to the myriad of communicable diseases present in this village, specifically in my reception, nor do I like the villagers observing our every move with their overly keen ears piecing together the latest gossip as they see fit.

Our 'project' is hopefully going to provide a solution to several of these _minor_ annoyances, which have caused us undue distress throughout our union, and it should also make letting the cottage in the future more feasible, as the living area will be available to let separately from the surgery. And in order to accomplish this we are, in overly simplified terms – knocking down some walls.

Currently our stairs lead directly down into the reception area, which is just not ideal for my patients nor myself in the surgery setting and highly impractical for us as a family. As there is no need for relocating the stairs entirely, we will instead be redirecting the flow of traffic by adding some walls and opening another.

The existing banister will be removed in favour of a solid wall infill, which will continue as a new full-height wall a good metre past the bottom step column location. From there a perpendicular full-height wall will be run towards the entry hall to align with the existing hall back wall, effectively boxing in our stairs and separating them from the surgery. Our new entry will lead into our sitting room.

To accomplish this, the large walk-in cupboard behind the sofa will be demolished to allow for the new open entry, which will also provide us with valuable new floor space, directly opposite the wall from the surgery lavatory. A new opening will be cut through the existing wall at the bottom of the stairs and our current entry hall closet will be removed and the opening filled in to make a solid wall – this will complete the main transformation.

The two distinct entry choices from the main hall will thusly remain per its current layout, with the doorway on the right leading to the surgery, which will remain door-less. However, on the left will be the private entrance to our home, which will stay _closed_ from now on – as it should be. This alone should provide us with some normality and in the future, if or when we decide to let, the surgery door can be re-hung and both doors can be fitted with proper lock sets. For the time being we both agree this is not necessary.

As to the finishing touches, Louisa had some very insightful and and surprisingly practical ideas. On the surgery side she suggested we blunt two feet of the corner where the two new walls come together past the stairs. This will improve flow in the reception area and make it a little less boxy. I value clean lines in architecture, but I can see the logic behind this modification and it will not interfere with our use of the stairs on the opposite side, as we will now be making a right turn at the bottom. She also pointed out how it would aesthetically tie in with the look of the already angular deep window frames. This makes no difference as far as I am concerned, but as the general idea was sound I had decided to let that argument pass.

Our living area is where _Mrs_. Ellingham is really leaving her mark on our project. With the existing wall along the stairs being load-bearing, and partially housing the lavatory as well, we cannot simply knock it down. Rather, Louisa suggested widening the new entry opening beyond the regular-sized doorway I had initially envisioned, by placing another column at the bottom of the stairs for support, like the one we currently have. By doing so we can then safely remove the bottom third of the stair wall and reuse a short run of the old banister, which will also keep with the original architecture of the cottage. In the limited area that will open up under the stairs she wants to add some built-in storage for James' toys. And, finally, in the newly acquired deep corner towards the kitchen Louisa had envisioned a desk – a proper workspace for herself consisting of the desk, drawers and wall-mounted bookcases and shelving.

This, of course, will have the additional benefit of freeing up our kitchen table for its intended use _and_ keeping Louisa's time-tabling out of my surgery. So yes, I am ready for our project to get underway. And, I may possibly even be experiencing something akin to excitement at the thought of seeing my wife's smiling face seated in front of her very own desk.

Leave out the filthy animals, and I may go as far as to say we are building our proverbial ark.


	3. Right Turn

'Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. Reviews are always appreciated, thank you and happy reading. -DC

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Three – 'Right Turn'**

Bringing James down the stairs Friday morning and looking into the surgery from above for the very last time felt, well . . . odd really. It was different, 'course, without Morwenna and the villagers milling about, but it was also . . . it was also – nostalgic.

The very _first_ time I'd come down these stairs had been an October morning, a Saturday, and I'd been thoroughly loved up by my fiancé of less than a week. I'd looked the part, I'm sure, as I walked into the kitchen where a suit-clad Martin had been preparing an egg and soldiers for me. His face had instantly mellowed, then a blush had crept onto his cheeks as he apologetically whisked me back up the stairs, following closely with the breakfast tray. 'Patients' was all he'd said, but I'd understood. Engaged or not, I still had no desire to greet the village folk in Martin's dressing gown. Coming down fully dressed a while later had still caused quite the stir, the first of many. . . .

On this day, however, Al and the workmen would be here shortly and our 'project' towards more privacy would soon be underway. Martin had originally planned on staying behind the entire weekend to supervise, but I'd made him see that it would likely be too stressful for all involved and to let Al take that on – we were borrowing 'his' workers after all. The work at the farm was temporarily on hold pending some permitting type things, and as we were both impressed by the work they'd done for Ruth so far, we'd offered up our little job to keep them busy. Martin had eventually agreed to step down, after a somewhat heated discussion, but would stay on in the morning to see our project off.

Supervising Master craftsmen in their element may not be Martin's strong suit, but in the planning of it all I'd have to say he'd outdone himself. All the materials had been delivered yesterday afternoon and were for the most part stacked outside on the patio. Inside, rolls of heavy plastic for covering the carpets lay on the floor along the sitting room window and in front of them a giant air-cleaning machine would make sure to keep our home as dust-free as possible, Martin seemed to have thought of everything. He'd brought in a couple of cans of paint from the storage building in the back garden, after my suggestion of repainting the entire cottage had been nixed. These had been left over from when Pauline had supposedly ordered the surgery repainted a year or two ago.

Despite our differences, Martin does balance me out where I tend to impatiently get ahead of myself. Now would not have been the time to piggy-back on another big project, and repainting the entire cottage would not have been a small job. I think and hope that we are slowly learning to balance each other out and this project has taught us a lot about give and take and communicating.

When we'd touched on the subject of flooring, which will be needed from where the big cupboard sits now and on over towards the stairs, we'd both wrongly assumed what the other had wanted when in the end it turned out we'd both hoped for the same thing. I didn't want a continuation of the carpet, as it will be impractical in my new desk area with the chair sticking. Martin didn't want to tear out the perfectly good carpet already here to put down a brand new one. What we had both wanted from the very beginning, but hadn't said, was to match the kitchen linoleum as closely as possible, which would be practical both for my little corner and for the high traffic area towards the stairs.

So now the rolled up linoleum lay over by the heavy plastic supplies – an exact match to our kitchen.

XxXxX

"How did it go today, are we off to a good start you reckon?"

Martin was unfolding the playpen in Joan's old kitchen while James was kicking excitedly from his entrapment on my lap.

"They were eight minutes late. The floors have been sufficiently covered and when I left both cupboards were down and the banister was on the floor in the reception, so they appear to have made up for it. They seem adequately efficient."

Coming from Martin this is high praise.

"Good, then, and I'm sure Al's got it all under control".

I lowered James into his playpen and started retrieving the bits and pieces needed to make us some sandwiches for lunch.

"Well, they will be putting in long hours so I certainly hope Bert will refrain from wearing Al out in the evenings at the restaurant while he's back. Al needs to be fully rested and focussed on the job."

I laughed at that, sometimes Martin can be so clueless regarding non-medical happenings. Well . . . most the time really.

"Oh, I don't know, Martin, I don't think Bert's the one you ought to be worried 'bout, do you?"

I put the kettle on and looked around for some tablewares.

"What do you mean?"

"All I'm saying is that Al's probably staying with Morwenna, so if anybody is going to wear him out – well, you know . . ."

"He . . . WHAT?"

"You honestly didn't know?"

One look at him answered that question and I decided I'd better diffuse the situation before it got out of hand.

"Relax, Martin. They've been going steady for over a month now and you obviously didn't even notice, so I think it's safe to assume they are both quite capable of doing their jobs _and_ being a couple, yeah?"

"Hmm."

"Cheese and pickles or chicken and mustard, or I can make some egg salad?"

"Explains the cleaning."

I'm used to Martin's thoughts catching me off guard, as he spends quite a bit of time within his own head; whole conversations at times I think, but this time he'd lost me completely.

"The cleaning, what does? You've lost me Martin.

"Morwenna, offering to clean after the the workmen have finished up."

"Well yes, she probably is eager to help Al put everything back in order for_ us – _she _is_ excited for us, you know. And it was very kind of her to offer, actually, can't say my arm's up to it still and your suit would've taken a beating. Don't forget, Martin, that she is quite _good_ at cleaning, as you well know, _and_ she is urgently in need of the added funds. Nothing wrong with working hard, now is there?"

"No, of course not."

"Good, that's settled then. So let's eat, shall we?"

After a mishmash of foodstuffs between the three of us, we'd decided to have a look 'round at all the changes since our last visit. Some three weeks ago, Ruth and Al had offered up chicken for Sunday roast dinner in return for some advice and ideas regarding their new venture and it had been a rather productive afternoon.

Since then the upstairs layout had been completed and the six small bedrooms had been turned into four; three of which share a hall bathroom and one larger bedroom at the end of the hall with an en-suite bathroom, a fireplace and a small separate sitting area with a pullout. Everything still needs repainted and so on, but the transformation was quite impressive.

Downstairs the renovation hadn't got underway yet and Al had set up temporary quarters in the family room. Eventually the barn would become a nicely set-up dwelling for him, with a small separate guest suite for Ruth or other private guests. For now, though, all it had received was a new roof and it was still being used for storage. Al had said for us to have a look at a couple of old trunks he'd uncovered under some broken furniture, so we'd headed on out there to see what might pop up amongst Joan's belongings – I was hoping for more pictures of Martin, as James was looking more like him every day. At the moment, though, James was sound asleep in the buggy, so we let him nap in the open and propped the door wide to keep an eye on him.

"Why she kept all this rubbish is hard to fathom, stacks and stacks of dated magazines?"

"She probably intended to get to them someday, Martin, but she ran out . . ."

" – of time, yes. If she had eaten better, and I had just . . ."

I'd stepped in it now; one solid step back. This is not the direction I'd wanted this afternoon to go and I mentally kicked myself.

"No, Martin, we've been through this. Joan was too stubborn even for you to get a handle on, but it is who she was and why she was still here at the farm doing what she loved – she was true to herself until the very end, and that is why we love her and miss her. She wouldn't have had it any other way, alright? Now let's see what's in this brown trunk."

We _had_ been through his guilt issues with Dr. A. and, in short, they had little to do with his medical decisions regarding Joan's care and everything to do with the unrealistic responsibilities having been placed on his shoulders throughout his childhood by most every authority figure in his young life, save Ruth, Joan and Phil. At some point during his early years, his developing brain had likely found the link between knowledge and control, which over time had matured into an extreme and flawed coping mechanism.

If the option were there, Martin would subconsciously _always_ blame his _own _actions, good or bad, as they were ultimately still under his control. Blaming _himself_ for all the bad things in his life was still a far more acceptable choice to him than the alternative. Per Martin's, and my, conversations with Ruth, this had likely happened sometime between the ages of four and six and Dr. A. had confirmed that from a child cognitive development perspective, this was likely a correct assumption. There may, or may not, have been one distinct trigger event that made that final connection for Martin, but only time will tell. . . .

It makes me so incredibly sad and angry, the injustice that has been carried out towards Martin, and it has been, and still is, extremely challenging for me to learn not to escalate my emotional response when the things that I hear stir me up to a boil. For me, the separation between empathy and sympathy becomes fuzzy when I get worked up, but Dr. A. has made it very clear that pity is Martin's nemesis and I can hurt him more than I help him if I'm not careful. I am to empathise, downplay and then matter-of-factly move us along, which goes against all my natural and professional instincts guiding me to talk about and analyse absolutely everything. It's a minefield, I can't deny that, and one helluva responsibility, but I'm trying to change – to fight for us; for Martin. My driving force is the knowledge that I do love him deeply, that our son loves us dearly, and that failure is not an option. That, however, makes me far from perfect at it.

"Oh, now this is a good find. This wooden toy train set was given to me when I was two and a half, Aunt Ruth had it sent here by post from the Abbatt Toyshoppe in London, to coincide with my first summer at the farm."

"Martin, that's wonderful – and it looks in great shape still!"

"Abbatt Toys were known for their innovative good designs, producing sturdy and age appropriate toys. Do you think James would like these if we have them cleaned?"

"Yes, he will and he'd love for you to play with him. I'll give them a good wipe-down and we'll let him have at it later."

This was indeed a great find. Good memories for Martin were usually like the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow – just out of reach. Yet here was this toy train that he actually seemed pleased to have come across again.

"What's that black shape down there, Martin, at the bottom right corner, under the blanket?"

"My old wellies. Uncle Phil got them for me that following summer. They looked just like his pair, only smaller of course. We won't need to keep those, they'll have extensive dry-rot by now and I'd prefer James to have a new pair when he'll need boots."

"Yes, but I want to keep these anyways. Can you hand them to me, please – I'd like to have them, unless you don't me want to?"

"No, it's fine. I caught my first butterfly wearing those."

The thought of little Martin in his big boots, chasing after a butterfly with his uncle Phil, left me hopeful. A subtle feeling of happiness replaced the dimness from before, as we made our way out of the barn with our new-found possessions.

Sometimes I've found that the simplest of things can bridge the most insurmountable of voids, and whether you make it across on your own two feet in a pair of wellies, or choose to hop on a sturdy train in the end – if it takes you where you're headed then you'll get to where you're going.

And just like that, with two steps forwards, our day had taken a right turn.


	4. Baby Steps

'Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. Reviews are always appreciated, thank you and happy reading.

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Four – ''Baby Steps"**

Coming to, I realise I'm at the farm with Louisa still snoring gently by my side. Now that her clavicle has fused we are back to our usual sleeping arrangements, which suits me better. Looking to my left, there is an alarm clock on the bedside table which reads 7:27 am. Over at the surgery Al and the craftsmen should have been working for almost half an hour at this point.

I look around the large room we are in and try to recall what was here before. Part of it had been hallway with a small spare room off of it, which if memory serves me right was always cluttered. The fireplace in here had never been functional back then and had been boarded up, with various old furniture stored throughout the room with clothing and bedding draped across every available surface. This farmhouse was always too big for Auntie Joan. With Uncle Phil here I know they had planned on filling it with children, but it never happened for them and I had become a fortunate part-time substitute.

James 'happened' to us having _not_ planned it, and I struggle often with the seeming injustice of this world. As a matter of fact Louisa and I had taken precautions for it not to happen, but initially our efforts had been rushed and our reasoning secondary – a seemingly adequate measure during our heightened emotional state. Somehow that night hadn't seemed like a deliberate choice I had made, rather my desperation had taken over, it was my last chance – I'd felt powerless, powerful and wanted. I hadn't regretted it then, and I never have since.

Six months later I was asked to give an 'unbiased opinion' on Edith's dissertation regarding 'spermicidal activity and vaginal permeability', with 'something not quite right in the concluding argument'. I had noticed a clever title, but the conclusion? My _biased_ 'conclusion' had stared me in the face every time I saw Louisa around the village pregnant with our child, and _it_ felt more than 'quite right'.

Edith had been just that – 'a clever title', yet nothing but empty words on pieces of paper. Whereas Louisa? Louisa has always been very real; flesh and blood, feisty and irresistible cover to cover. I had almost made the wrong decision on multiple occasions, and it haunts me still that I had been prepared to walk away from my son and Louisa so haphazardly, knowing now what I would have missed – knowing what _we_ have.

Last night we had placed the farm's travel cot in the little sitting area and I stride over to stand by James, needing to see him. He must have just awoken, as he greets me with his mother's wide grin and reaches out for me. Sitting us down on the sofa, he immediately starts his attempts at standing up in my lap, successfully balancing himself by holding on to my ears.

Now nose-to-nose, we simply study each other for what must be quite some time, and neither of us notice Louisa until she sits down silently next to us, at which point we both turn to look at her in surprise.

"See something familiar?"

"Oh. Uhm, yes – good morning."

"I was thinking more the two of you, it must be like going back in time and looking in the mirror, yeah?"

"Well, I will have to agree there are certain features that do resemble mine, but he's got your smile. But yes, Penhale can no longer question James' paternity I would certainly think."

"He was joking, Martin."

"Yes."

"Very good. And nobody has every doubted who the proud Daddy is, now have they James? So . . . would you maybe like your ears back now, then?"

"My ears? Ah, yes. Good."

Louisa detaches both of James' small hands from my large sensory receptors and slowly walks him across into her lap where only her intuition and quick reflexes prevent his hands from latching onto her long hair.

"Did you sleep well, Martin? I slept like a log, this new line of bedding Ruth got is very comfy."

"Uhm, yes I did. Did you know that other than the obvious immobility of trees, some have suggested the expression 'sleeping like a log' comes from the sawing of a log resembling the sound of snoring?"

"Oh really. No, I did not know that – thank you for that."

"Mm."

Standing up and walking to the window, she appears to be deep in thought before sighing and turning towards me.

"Speaking of trees, Martin. It looks like it may rain later so I thought that after breakfast maybe you could show James and I your lake and take us for 'a walk on the wild side', like you used to when you were a boy. Does that sound alright with you?"

"Yes, fine. That would be fine."

She hands James back to me and declares that she will go feed the chickens and loot for some eggs for breakfast.

Afterwards, as we are walking down the path to the lake, a clear memory of my previous trip back _up_ this very path comes to mind. A sombre mood descends over me, but I push it aside. Having slowly circled the small body of water, we arrive at the small wooden pier and I test it for safety prior to James and I stepping out on it. Somehow the vista has remained remarkably unaltered, with the large elm tree that had survived the elm disease outbreak back then still standing and the cycle of life in full force with various phases of flora throughout. Scanning clockwise along the water my eyes are drawn to Louisa, who has seated herself on the large white rock over by the tree-line. She is smiling at us and I am unable take my eyes off her.

"What?"

"Hm, nothing." I know I am staring at her, but if feel like I have unearthed a time capsule of sorts.

"No, what?"

Striding back over to Louisa I hand her James and turn to look at the rippling surface.

"My last day of summer, when I was eleven and three quarters, I stood in this very spot – contemplating. Later I found it had also been my last day on the farm as a boy. I had spotted a delicate Small White butterfly, the _Pieris rapae,_ hiding in plain sight on your rock. Seeing that it was a perfect female specimen, which had eluded me all summer, I knew it would be my one and only chance to get close. It was just sitting there, opening and closing its wings and making no attempts at flying away, and I had wanted to pick it up and study it in detail."

"But she got away?"

"No. I walked away."

I turned back to face my family, my son now playing in the grass.

"I . . . _you_, on this rock – I don't think I ever imagined you would be here. The concept of you, perhaps, but never with _me_.

"Why not?"

"I think . . . that day, I made a decision. One that has followed me ever since."

"Why did you? Walk away, I mean."

The sombreness resurfaces and there is no use in hiding it.

"When I was six, at our home in London, I had captured a beautiful butterfly, the _Colias hyale_, that I had pursued for some time. I had taken every precaution to safely keep it in a glass container until I could show it to my father, I was excited."

"But it_ did_ get away?"

"No. My father yelled at me for disturbing him, which frightened me, and the jar slipped out of my hands, shattering against the floor and harming the butterfly."

"Oh Martin . . . I am so sorry."

I look down at James.

"The night James Henry was conceived, I didn't walk away. Why?"

I note a tear trailing down Louisa's cheek as she moves to wipe it away.

"Maybe you were just . . . just thinking with your heart?"

"But I knew I would hurt you as well, inadvertently, and I did – I have. Why did that not matter, why did I do it? Doesn't that in effect make me heartless?"

Louisa gets up, takes my hand and squeezes it gently.

"No, Martin, it doesn't make you heartless, and I don't have the answer to the 'why'. Maybe, if you share it with Dr. A., she can shed some light on it, as an outsider?"

James pulls himself up by my trouser leg, clinging to my calf and tilting his head back so far to look up at me that I almost worry for his neck.

"What I _do_ know, Martin, is that I am very glad that you finally went for it, that you didn't walk away from us. It is, has and will be worth it, hard times and all. And if you hadn't followed your heart that day, this special little man wouldn't have been here, you know."

She looks lovingly at our son, kisses me full on the mouth, then darts off towards the elm tree.

"Give me just one minute, 'right?"

I finally pick James up and together we look at Louisa's scurrying back, equally puzzled. Before long she returns with a handful of items.

"We're making a sail boat, James!"

Observing with genuine interest it seems a dry piece of elm bark becomes the hull, a short twig bored into the bark doubles as the mast and a large leaf is threaded down the mast as the sail.

"Let's see if it will float, what do you think?"

We walk on over to the water's edge and she carefully lowers the raft into the water where the gentle winds carry it forwards out towards the murky centre. James is besides himself with joy and I hold him tighter to keep him from kicking me in his exuberance.

"That is quite clever, Louisa, James certainly approves. So far it appears quite seaworthy."

"You've never seen a bark boat? My Daddy taught me how to make them, and before you say anything; it is a good memory and I would like to keep it that way."

"Mm, yes."

The wind is picking up and the little vessel is swirling around in the dark waters, now being pushed in the direction of the pier.

"We'd better be heading back, Martin, it'll be raining cats and dogs before we know it."

"Well I certainly hope not."

"Are you making a joke?"

Taking my arm she leads us out on the wooden structure.

"See that, Martin? That is us, you and me, unsinkable and sailing towards home – like our wedding dance. Now let's hurry back, I don't know about you, but James and I could use a short sleep, and we're getting hungry again to boot.

After preparing and partaking in a substantial lunch unnecessarily high in carbohydrates, Louisa and James are, not surprisingly, sound asleep on the sofa in the sitting room. I phone Al at the surgery, who is assuring me that all is well with the job and even a bit ahead of schedule. Before breaking for lunch he had finished putting together Louisa's desk, which had been ordered as a flat-pack. I had wanted a bespoke piece for her, but she would have none of it due to the extra cost that would incur. After discussing a few items, I ring off feeling reassured with our decisions and progress.

Finishing the washing-up I notice the cleaned train set Louisa had sat on the shelf yesterday. I take it down and inspect it closely, deciding it looks sufficiently hygienic. For a moment I wonder if Ruth remembers purchasing this set and mentally tick the box to ask her about it later. A small basket by the door will double as train storage for now, and I carry the container into the sitting room and quietly set it down at one end of the sofa.

"Hmm . . . Martin?"

James is in deep sleep within the safety of his mother's legs and looks peaceful with his face pressed up against a warm thigh.

"Martin . . . I love you, you know, our little family – I just wanted to tell you that. And to remind you again that I'm not going anywhere, 'right?"

"Mm, yes. Good."

She touches James' hair gently and smiles at the innocence he portrays.

"Time to wake him, I reckon, or he'll never sleep later. You want the honour?"

"Hm, dubious honour I say, but necessary."

Picking him up I stroke his back as his alertness level slowly returns to normal, while his mother yawns and stretches, attempting the same.

"Why don't you get your train set out and put the rails down whilst I'll go get him changed and cleaned up?"

When they return James' grass-stained clothes are off and have been replaced by new tartan rompers and navy soft-soled suede shoes. After one of our sessions with Dr. Arscott, we had stopped in a shop in Wadebridge where Louisa had picked out some new clothing for him and I had carefully selected shoes, based on exact measurements I had taken of his feet that same morning.

As James spots the wooden train, a squeal that rivals a steam whistle leaves his little lungs and Louisa and I are both caught a bit off guard. I had laid the rails down in a simple oval, but it appears moving the locomotive and its attached coaches on the rails themselves is proving a bit too advanced initially and he is getting frustrated by the derailed train's friction against the rug.

"Louisa, why don't you distract him for a minute and I will lay the rails out in a straight line. Maybe we can pass the locomotive back and forth between us and see if he will mimic our actions. Or . . . if that is silly, maybe you can arrange it. I'm not very good at this sort of thing and I was older when I received the set."

"No, I think that's a great idea, Martin, brilliant actually. James and I will go put the kettle on, won't we? Want a cuppa or should I make you some coffee?"

"Tea is fine. Thank you."

I find myself sitting on the wood floor, my cup of tea behind me, with my legs on the edge of the same well-worn wool rug on which I had played as a boy. It is an odd sensation being here now and looking across at my wife and son on the other end of a toy railway, and I unexpectedly realise that this is exactly where I am supposed to be.

Placing the train on the rails I give it a gentle push and it hesitantly rolls along, almost coming up short and making Louisa having to reach for it. She helps James turn it around and push it back to me, with similar results. We repeat the process, this time with greater confidence, and the train makes it fully across and back. The third time James turns it around himself and sends it off with such enthusiasm and unrestrained force that the wooden missile jumps the rails and flies past me shattering my cup of tea to pieces with an unmistakable crunch.

Wide-eyed, and in sudden silence, we all look at each other. Louisa is chewing on her bottom lip, eyes pleading with me. Standing within his mother's arms, James' bottom lip begins to tremble as he looks first at me, then past me at the upturned and sodden locomotive.

I cannot help but sense that somehow all of my trials and tribulations; old and new, have culminated in this very moment in time and that what I choose to take from it; how I choose to move forwards, can make or break a whole other cycle of life.

_This moment is my second chance._

I settle my stripe jacket softly on the floor, covering the scattered puddle of shards, followed by my tie, which had suddenly seemed perfectly suited for wiping milky tea from a toy train.

As I hold up the salvaged train to show my son that it has indeed fared quite well, he bravely puts one foot in front of the other, repeatedly, until his little legs carry him across the rug and into my arms where his excited face is looking to me for affirmation.

I scoot us away from the mess on the floor and towards Louisa who, unlike her son, has reverted to crawling and is meeting us half way while talking encouragingly to him the entire time.

"That was brilliant Martin, absolutely bloody brilliant!"

"Yes, yes it was. Seeing James Henry take those first steps was, ah, quite . . . that was quite, something – impressive. Mm."

Louisa places a soft kiss on my cheek, moving her hand through my hair and whispering lightly in my ear.

"He wasn't the only one, you know."

And perhaps she is right. Have I been asking the wrong questions all along? Is it not the 'why', but rather the 'who' that matters? Have I been looking at this the wrong way around, trying to understand exclusively why I do, or do not, step away, when what really is important is _who _I travel with – and_ where_?

If how I feel in this instant, sitting here with Louisa and James Henry; if my pride and sense of belonging are valid indicators – well then I, as well, have taken giant strides forwards today. Whether we run, stride or take baby steps, we are now moving forwards in the same direction.


	5. Highs and Lows

'Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. Reviews are always appreciated, thank you and happy reading. -DC

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Five – ''Highs and Lows"**

My two Ellinghams were seated on the sofa in the sitting area of our weekend quarters, reading James' bedtime story; 'James The Red Engine', a clear favourite of late. After one of Martin's sessions with Dr. A. in Truro, a combined trip with his patient visits, he'd come home with the entire original Awdry Railway Series of books, twenty six in all, from an antiques shop across the way from the hospital. That's my Martin – no 'silly cartoons' for his son when the 'perfectly fine' earliest versions are obtainable, and apparently the sentient trains are acceptable when accurately illustrated and historically relevant. Though I disagree with deeming the newer Thomas &amp; Friends books silly, I'll be the first to admit that I do love hearing him voice these original stories in chronological order and with great interest, something I never thought I would see from Martin.

We'd all had a big day today for different, if similar, reasons. However, emotionally I was completely swept over. Firstly, Martin had said and done all the right things today and I'd felt a sense of urgency to reward him for it, to reassure him. Then I'd found my son to be growing up entirely too fast and with the excitement I'd felt as he took his first solo steps had also surfaced the all-out neurotic mum in me when he'd walked away from my arms without a second thought. To top it all off I'd desperately wanted to phone Mum to tell her all about the new developments in my life, but then became equally disheartened when I'd realised that just thinking of mum got me riled. Still, I'd felt a need to phone _somebody_ to brag on James and Martin, and to express how happy and confused I was all at once, but I hadn't been able to come up with a single person who'd really understand and whom I'd truly wanted to share the moment with, which had left me feeling bereft and a bit lost.

Deep down I know I wish for that person to be Martin, but I also realise that's honestly neither realistic nor fair to him. But yet now here I am – needy, moody, restless and vulnerable at once, and Martin will be the one having to put up with me, fair or not.

As predicted, the skies had opened up a while ago and sheets of rain coming down could be heard drumming against the roof and windows, making me feel grateful to be inside. There had been a solid pile of wood stacked next to the hearth so I had made good use of it, lighting a fire to cut through the chill of the damp night.

James had finally gone off in the cot after his exhausting day, yet Martin remained on the sofa looking out into the dusk and the rain, still wearing his stripe trousers, blue shirt and burgundy braces – a fine male whom I'm very fortunate to call my husband. I rarely, if ever, get to see him in casual or 'different' clothing, but when sitting like this even his suit trousers leave little to the imagination and his solid build and stature got my attention from the very beginning and still leaves me feeling like a teenager at times. Martin, though, seems completely unaware of this fact, but I'm hopeful tonight will change a few things as I'm planning on showing him in no uncertain terms just how much I fancy him. Well, if he'll let me that is. . . . he can be so incredibly shy and sensitive, but then he can also be surprisingly confident and loving – bold even. I think we are both starting to discover what we bring out in the other, but as for tonight . . . it'll be a leap in the dark.

"Martin?"

"Hmm?"

"James Henry is, he's . . . our baby James is growing up much too fast, you know."

"No. As a matter of fact he is right on schedule with the projected developments anticipated for his age."

"Well, still . . ."

I hadn't really expected an explanation, though I should have done. Nor did I have a response that would make logical sense to Martin. A bit defeated I eased myself down in front of him, hugged his solid thighs and buried my face in his lap, feeling the need to hide and feel safe.

"Louisa . . . ?"

I knew I had to be confusing him, but it couldn't be helped right that minute, as I was confused and out of sorts myself.

"Louisa, are you . . . alright?"

His large warm hands hesitantly found my shoulders and I relished the touch, desperate for the comfort. I gave his thighs one last squeeze before looking up at him with a sad smile.

"I lit a fire for us, Martin."

Pushing myself back up off his knees I walked over towards the fireplace which was across from an old Afghan rug at the foot end of the bed. By the wooden frame was sat a large restored trunk and pilfering through it I pulled out a duvet and pillows that were likely meant for the pullout sofa, before finally finding a worn quilted bedspread at the bottom. Wrapping myself in it, I sat back against the trunk and stared into the dancing flames.

"Did you open the damper?"

That made me laugh, actually really laugh, as Martin sat down next to me.

"Yes, husband, that I did."

He looked at me intently.

"I also opened the champagne. Well, the sparkling apple anyways . . . you know, with the warfarin and all. Care to join me in a toast?"

"Drinking alcohol while on blood thinners is highly discouraged."

"Yes, I know that Martin which is why, like I said, I picked us out a fine organic sparkling apple. How much longer exactly do I have with this therapy, anyways? I haven't forgotten, you know, about our little dinner and wine challenge."

I gave him a quick peck on the cheek as an excuse to get even closer.

"And . . . the warfarin is also . . . also messing with other – things, and I'm not very happy about it."

"Well, it's been about two months, so ideally I'd say two additional months would be advisable. We can re-evaluate you in a few weeks, but your INR has been stable. What other things?"

_Great, always observant when I don't want him to be._

Just a couple of days ago I had been planning a romantic weekend; a reward for us having worked so well together on our project – I'd even practically told him as much, and normally I'd have been all over him at this point, but . . . what the good doctor _hadn't_ thought to mention about the warfarin was how my periods would be different and seemingly go on forever. And now _I'd_ be the one having to spell it out. A jolly good way to set the mood when just the thought of it all will likely make him lose his dinner, poor man.

"Uhm, side-effect . . . things, of the warfarin. I'd had tonight all planned out for us, but now it's spoilt and I'm a bit upset so there'll have to be a slight change of plans, okay?"

"What do you mean?"

"Oh Martin, do I really have to spell it out for you? You're a doctor. . . ."

I buried my face in his neck this time, feeling just . . . awkward.

"Louisa, it is common while on warfarin to experience heavy and extended menstrual periods due to the clotting factors being affected, if that is what you are referring to. Unless you are feeling unusually weak or are experiencing undue pain, I wouldn't worry. You are still taking your supplemental iron tablets, are you not?"

"Mm, and I feel okay, just . . . fed up. And I'm still not very happy talking to you about this kind of thing."

"Why not? It is actually a rather fascinating phenomenon, biologically speaking – how else could James Henry have joined us?"

"Yeah, well there is that. Now enough about . . . this – me, let's move on, shall we? Our evening may not be a complete washout and I need _you_ . . . to go with the flow, 'right?"

"Meaning?"

"Meaning . . . that I am unbelievably proud of you – of what you learnt, or discovered, today and even more so how you acted with James. I meant it when I said you were brilliant, Martin, and I don't think I've ever loved you more."

"Oh, right."

"And I propose a toast in honour of my handsome men, who both moved me to tears today – I feel very special being part of your lives, privileged really. And . . . I wasn't going to bring this up again, but . . . I promise you, Martin, that the only running I will be doing going forwards is chasing you two 'round. I _do_ mean that, and I hope you can forgive my transgressions and toast to us all having grown up a bit."

"Uhm yes, I'd . . . like that."

"Good . . ." To Martin's credit he kept it together and steadily poured our flutes. ". . . whatever you say."

Untangling myself from the quilt, and carefully balancing my flute, I moved to sit astride him effectively pinning him against the old trunk.

"I didn't say anything."

"I know."

Raising my glass, I looked him in the eye and ground myself even closer to him, making him squirm just a little.

"To us, Martin, may we continue to grow – together."

"Mm. I like it, this is quite good."

"Oh – so you like this do you, hmm?"

It's so easy to catch him unawares at times and I try not to take advantage . . . most days.

"The _juice_ . . . sparkling apple, the _apple juice,_ is very good – refreshing, hmm."

"– 'That all?"

"Uhm, well, it is very . . . flavourful."

I kiss him deeply, practically tasting him along with the fruit.

"Mm hmm – I'll have to agree with you, Martin."

Then I polish off my drink and kiss him again, thoroughly.

"Louisa . . . what are you, er, doing?"

"I'm loving you, Martin, and I want to love _all_ of you tonight. I meant what I said earlier – I have never been more in love with you than I am right now. I need you and I really want to show you that I mean it, so please don't shut me out . . . please."

"I . . . I'm not, wasn't going to that is, I just . . . er, I need to make sure that you are good, I mean – fine, that you are fine. You are being very . . . emotional, Louisa."

"Shhh, tell you what. Why don't you go freshen up a bit and I will stoke the fire which . . . requires stoking up, I think. We're not in a rush, so take your time if you need to, 'right?"

This is somewhat new territory for us and although I sense some nerves in the mix I genuinely get the feeling he is equally, if not more so . . . intrigued. It's the ultimate in letting go, really – relinquishing control. That's a huge step for Martin and I'm really excited at the prospect of developing a new level of trust between us.

I decided to change into my long red satiny nightdress, which even though not overtly sexy, with just a bit of lace at the bust, is still quite nice and I even have matching knickers for it. Not that any of that really matters on this particular evening, but at least it'll make me feel classy and beautiful. Rearranging the duvet, bedspread and pillows I'd already scattered across the rug, I finish up by pulling up the quilt and lighting a couple of candles from the mantelpiece, placing them near the hearth.

Martin returned with all his clothes on, including the braces, for which I was glad – I wanted to take my time with him and for us to savour every minute of this.

"You look . . . good, Louisa, very nice. And this . . . is, er . . . nice."

He gestured to the various articles of bedding scattered all over. I was so sure he would object to the new bedding being on the floor, and to _us_ being on the floor, really, but he hadn't – he didn't.

"Good, I'm glad you like it – I want you to like it, to enjoy yourself."

"Louisa, you – I need you to know that I am not expecting anything – _this_, from you. I . . . I, just don't want you to feel like you have to . . . to think that you need to, you know . . . just because of your, er, circumstances."

I lightly touched my index finger to his lips to quiet and calm him.

"Good to know and duly noted. But, as I'm fairly certain you've picked up on by this point, I can be rather stubborn all way 'round, also quite vocal about things of which I disapprove and _highly_ opinionated in matters that I've put my mind to, yeah? So, isn't then fair to assume that – with your permission 'course, I intend to have my way with my rather hunky husband tonight?"

I softened my tone with my biggest smile, as he looked endearingly speechless.

"Uhm – yes, that sounds like a reasonable assumption. I just, I simply cannot fathom how someone as beautiful as you can possibly find someone like me even remotely . . . interesting like that."

"Why thank you, but why not? Though I don't suppose you would. Actually, I find you to be _quite_ fascinating really, Martin, biologically speaking . . . why else would you say James Henry came about, hmm?"

With that no more words were needed, as our needs became far more primal.

XxXxX

The morning after, so to speak, looked like a bomb had gone off . . . which, truly wasn't that far off mark. We'd both slept like logs after, and only James' insistence on starting the day bright and early this morning had summoned us to do as well. Last night had been quite lovely and – empowering; which seems an odd choice of words for the occasion, but it nonetheless fit and I'd added venturesome to my expanding list of things to be proud of Martin for.

After he'd reluctantly got up this morning, Martin had brought James over to me in the bed hoping I could convince him to cuddle up with his mum for a few more minutes while daddy had his shower, but I was failing miserably. James was all about his legs now and the fact that they had worked to carry him back and forth between his mum and dad several times yesterday. Those little feet were constantly moving, traction or not, so of course I found them an irresistible target for tickling until he was shrieking and laughing at the top of his lungs. Through no real fault of his own he got me good in the ribs and literally took my breath away for a few seconds, until I got my wits about me and aimed for his sides instead, which I'd learnt came with a near guarantee of turning him to putty.

"You, my little man, have not packed a punch like that since you were _actually_ under my ribs, and that – well, that seems like forever ago now. . . ."

And no . . . I hadn't had _that_ conversation with Martin yet, and wasn't sure if I ever would, or should – we have James. However, the fact that those thoughts were frequently surfacing these days, is probably an indication that we should have _the Talk_ – eventually. But that'll have to be for another day entirely, right now I was anxious to get home to our 'new' house and see and enjoy all the improvements we had been planning for, as a team, improvements we'd actually implemented together.

After a weekend of milestones I'd say we were _all_ excited and ready to go home. 'Course now there were two additional designs we realised we _hadn't_ implemented yet – high and low safety gates. So much for us enjoying the relative freedom of our 'new' stairs, but what a wonderful new compromise this was and how very fortunate we are to be making it.

Yes, things are definitely looking up for the Ellinghams now and for the first time in a very long while I think I am actually feeling – happy.


	6. Returns

'Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. Reviews are always appreciated, thank you and happy reading. -DC

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Six – ''Returns" **

Pulling the Lexus into my spot at the surgery I can feel myself starting to anticipate Louisa's reactions to the changes. I had phoned Al earlier and he and Morwenna had thoroughly cleaned away the dust and debris in preparation for our return, assuring me that we would be pleased with the results and our last minute upgrades. The only thing missing would be the safety gates for James, but seeing as Louisa and I are meeting with Dr. Arscott tomorrow we will stop by the shop in Wadebridge on our way over and collect them. We have already decided on the make, but wanted to wait until our renovations were completed to assure an accurate fit – and it appears not a minute too soon. We will just have to keep an extra watchful eye on him tonight, which shouldn't be that difficult – we always do.

"Martin, why are you doing that now? Come in the house with us!"

"Mm, yes."

I am trying to get James playpen out so that we can get our luggage, but Louisa is obviously eager to see what lies beyond our closed front door.

"This is exciting, isn't it James? Isn't it Martin?"

"Well, it is not an everyday occurrence."

Unlocking the door, Louisa hands me James and steps over the threshold, heading right for the surgery. I'd hoped she would have gone for our living areas first.

"Oh Martin, this is great! Look – look at the angled part of the wall, we worried for nothing and it goes so well with the window across the way. And the lamp, they added your little lamp up above, it makes it so nice and cosy. And the leaflet table is over there now and the old clothes stand is perfect right there, you'd needed one you know."

The clothes stand had been in the old cupboard and of course Louisa had insisted that we reuse it.

"Yes, it looks functional."

"Functional – is that all you can say?"

She's starting to sound a bit upset and I want her to move on into the sitting room, where the important changes have been made as far as I'm concerned.

"Uhm . . . why don't we see what else they have done, in _our_ area?"

"Right, yes. I just really don't understand you, Martin, how you can seem so disinterested in a project that you spent so much time planning for. I mean – it's as if you haven't given it a second thought and that none of it matters anymore. Just another day!"

"Louisa, that is not –"

I'm cut short when James grabs onto a top peg of the clothes stand as we're walking by, toppling it over and causing it to crash to the floor, barely missing the window. Suddenly I realise that he'll no longer need to be in here on a regular basis and with that realisation the comes the dawning that change may not be such a bad thing after all.

"Oh my God! Martin? Did you . . . did you do this?"

As she spots her new work area her demeanour changes immediately and she seems genuinely astounded.

"Well, the craftsmen did the work, obviously, but I thought that maybe you would like it."

"It's beautiful, it's absolutely beautiful, Martin. I . . . I don't know what to say."

"Well, you wouldn't let me get you a bespoke piece like I had wanted to, so it seemed the next best solution."

"It's the perfect solution – is the wood from the old cupboard?"

"Mm, yes it is. It seemed fitting somehow."

Louisa had been quite outspoken, initially, about demolishing the large cupboard in the sitting room. Not because she opposed my idea of moving the stair entry, but because she thought it a solid build that was still part of the cottage and she felt 'upset' at the thought of doing away with it – binning it. So when the craftsmen had assured me that we could reclaim most of the boards and combine them with the flat-pack, as well as build some shelves and bookcases from scratch, the choice had seemed a logical one. They'd also been able to utilise parts for creating James' toy storage cubes as well as a small step stool for him.

"Now I'll be thinking of you every time I sit here, so I'll be dreaming of my husband and not getting any work done – what a shame. No really, I absolutely love it, Martin, this was a very sweet and kind thing to do for me and it means more than you can possibly understand."

She sits down in front of her new desk, flicking her ponytail as she runs her hand along its surface and looks back at me with her widest smile.

"Here you've done surprised me again and . . . I'm sorry for what I said earlier."

"Understandable."

"– But not acceptable; I made an assumption and it was wrong and for that I'm truly sorry. Care to walk a lady upstairs?"

Walking up our 'new' stairs is odd indeed. They are exactly the same, of course, yet they feel different. The sense of our space has been completely altered, with a view into our larger living area and also partially the kitchen. We stop and admire the perspective and as much as I realise they are just stairs, I get the distinct feeling that they may take us somewhere new.

"So, Martin, you weren't the only one who'd had a chat with Al, you know. He had another job on his list that I'd asked him to do for us, if there was time. When I spoke with Morwenna earlier she said he'd finished it up this morning and that it could handle even James hanging off of it if need be."

"What . . . has James Henry got to do with it?"

I don't like the sound of that as Louisa pulls us along through our bedroom and into the bathroom.

"Oh Martin, that does look good, I'm thrilled with it. A proper shower – finally. Can't wait to hop in, what do you think?"

By the looks of it, Al has installed a full tub shower kit, which includes both the curtain enclosure ring and the shower rod riser. It has been mounted both to the wall and the ceiling and appears of high quality and does indeed look sturdy enough to support James, should he pull on the curtain.

"Good choice, Louisa, it looks rather sturdy and properly installed. I'm glad you thought of it – it's a great improvement and a useful upgrade."

"Well, I made sure to shop for a good brass construction one, with an extra tall riser for you, and I picked out clear shower curtains so to not block the light from the window. Also, now you won't have to put up with me whingeing on about my hair and not being able to rinse properly – no more dandruff. 'Course this means that if you can't find me I'll likely be in the bath enjoying a proper hands-free shower, maybe for hours on end – so get used to your wife looking like a prune!"

"Rhytides. Which, when appearing after prolonged exposure to water, are most commonly seen on fingers and toes. Likely due to vasoconstriction, caused by an electrolyte imbalance further influencing the nervous system, which then decreases the fluid level in the skin – outwardly taking on the appearance of being wrinkled."

"Martin?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you very much."

XxXxX

My morning had proved to be a parade of villagers wanting to share their combined knowledge of Portwenn architectural standards and insights, and I was about to go hide in the kitchen for a minute, to start preparing lunch, when Morwenna came barging through my door.

"Doc, that was Ms. Woodley from the school on the phone just now and she said Mrs. Ellingham isn't looking so well and that maybe you best come get her in your car before she tries something stupid – like poppin' on over for lunch or what not."

"Right. Cancel the rest of my appointments this afternoon if you would Morwenna, then you can go home. You'll get your regular hours, of course."

"Alright, you got it, Doc. Well then, get goin' why don't you, Ms. Woodley sounded none too pleased with your missus, called her stubborn even."

I barely miss Mrs. Tishell outside the chemist's, rearranging a display and entering right into my path, waving maniacally as I drive by. Pulling into the school seems like a temporary safe port, despite my reason for being here . . . I worry Louisa is overdoing it again, and stubbornness seems a common symptom.

"– No, I said I'm fine Martin, I'll be fine! Just . . . give me a minute."

"Louisa, you are clearly not 'fine', your face is ashen for God's sake. We are going home, where I will check you over. You were planning to come home for lunch, where you not?"

"Well, yes, but . . ."

"That's settled then."

I want Louisa to get some food into her system right away, and as she is light-headed and pale. I help her to a kitchen chair before bringing her a chocolate digestive – this being one of the few occasions where I can vouch for its existence. Steeping a ginger root, I'm pulling out the honey jar, when Louisa comes flying past me promptly spewing vomitus into the kitchen sink.

"Oh God, you're bleeding!"

"I'm sorry Martin, I . . ."

"How long have you been feeling like this, how long?"

"What?"

"Your vomitus has the appearance of coffee grounds, which means there is blood in your abdomen. It's a mixture of dark and bright, which suggests it has been there a while yet is still actively bleeding. How long have you been feeling faint?"

"Uhm, not that long really. I felt fine last night I think."

"Last night? And this morning?"

"Well, maybe a bit out of sorts, but I figured with my, you know . . . weird period and all."

"Why didn't you tell me? What _haven't_ you told me? Did something happen yesterday, anything at all you can think of that could have caused a bleed into the stomach?"

"No, not really. Well . . . possibly."

"What? When? This is important, Louisa. The warfarin makes you susceptible to bleeding from injuries that may otherwise seem trivial."

"Oh . . ."

"What happened, Louisa?"

"I . . . we were playing, and I kind of got kicked."

"Kicked? Who kicked you, where?"

"Well, James of course. Yesterday morning – we were playing on the bed and I was tickling his feet when he got me good in the ribs. He didn't mean to Martin, honestly."

"Of course not. Where? Show me."

Per Louisa's indications, this could very well be a splenic or hepatic contusion resulting in a slow bleed, and the implications of that makes my stomach turn to ice.

"Louisa, I need you to get on the couch in the surgery for me so that I can properly palpate your abdomen. Then I will give you an injection of vitamin K and we will head straight for Truro, okay?"

"What, now? Why? What's going on, Martin?"

"I believe the impact from James' foot may have caused you to suffer a bruised liver, possibly a small tear, causing blood-tainted fluids to seep into your abdomen. And with your warfarin therapy the injury is likely to be disproportionally severe and not able to heal properly, as it normally would have."

"Martin?"

"The vitamin K will counteract the warfarin and start promoting clotting and once in Truro a CT scan should be able to tell us exactly what we are dealing with and whether you will need a laparotomy or if observation and self-healing is likely."

"Laparotomy?"

"Surgical intervention. Hopefully that will not be necessary, but the quicker we can get you to Truro, the better, okay? Are you okay?"

"Yes . . . yes, I'm okay."

"Good."

I am trying to stay calm and in control for Louisa's sake, but I am anything but. Not only can this turn into a potentially life-threatening situation, but again it is as if my actions caused this – directly and indirectly. If I had not been an idiot two months ago and beyond, Sports Day would never have turned out the way it had and Louisa would not have been taking warfarin to begin with . . . I might as well have kicked her to the tarmac myself. Then yesterday morning I had handed her James while she was still sleepy and not truly alert and had then left them alone to go start my day, thinking that all was well in my world. And this time my own son had kicked her good and proper in the stomach while I was in the shower none the wiser. I should have known better; he had been kicky with me as well the day before.

Looking at my wife stretched out in front of me on my surgery couch, I realise that this is _not_ my fault, and that it isn't her fault, or James Henry's fault for that matter. I also know very well that Louisa would be the first to attempt to knock those facts through my thick skull. Unfortunately that doesn't make these thoughts any less agonising, or valid, in my mind.

The injustice of this world has returned with a vengeance, and this time all I feel is . . . powerless.


	7. Backwards

_'Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. Reviews are always appreciated, thank you and happy reading. -DC_

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Seven – ''Backwards" **

Martin was trying so hard to be calm and to explain to me what was going on, but I could see concern written all over his face – in his set features and by the look in his eyes . . . his eyes always give him away.

He'd placed a cannula on the inside of my left arm and hooked me up to a bag of fluids, then jabbed the cannula with the vitamin K that's supposed to clot my blood. And I'd about passed out when he pushed on my stomach where James had kicked me yesterday. Something's clearly not right in there. . . . I felt so incredibly tired, both physically and mentally – things were finally looking up, and now this.

We were practically flying across the moor, and if the day had gone as it should've, we'd have been at home now enjoying a warm lunch, then coming this way in a few hours time on our way to see Dr. A. Instead, the cool fluid entering my arm from the bag hanging next to my head in the Lexus was making me shivery and nauseated and I wanted to stop the movement for a minute. I just needed the car to stop. . . .

"You reckon we'll we have time to pick up James' safety gates? The shop will be right on the way in a few and he needs to have them – you could pop in and I'll wait in the car."

"What? No of course not."

"Oh . . ."

I could hear him sighing deeply before peering over at me.

"Louisa are you alright, how are you feeling?"

"Mm, cold and tired Martin, just very tired."

After touching the back of his hand to my forehead he turned up the cabin heat and fished something out of his pocket.

"Your're clammy. Do you think you could keep this down, even just a little bit of it?"

He handed me one of James' organic fruit juice pouches, 'Apple and Pear'.

"Mm, maybe. I'll give it a try."

On his mobile off and on since we'd left the village, barking orders at whomever was on the other end, he'd been interrupted only by the black spots that were abundant out here. I'd determined he had to be talking with staff and other doctors at the hospital in Truro, by all the medical jargon flying over my head, and for once I didn't mind his authority as there seemed to be an awful lot of tests and things that needed to be lined up for me and I certainly was in no shape to tend to any of it.

I thought back to that fateful Sports Day and how hurt and scared Martin had looked as the ambulance doors shut him off from my care and left him behind, per _my_ orders – left him standing there all alone. Now I couldn't imagine him not being here with me and looking after me, and I don't know who has changed more to make that the case, or if we have simply evolved together. With Dr A.'s help we've made a fair bit of progress and last week we'd cleared some hurdles – today should have been our first day looking 'backwards' so to speak, but it wasn't to be. In either case I am grateful he's here, as I'm really starting to feel like I'm slipping a bit. . . .

_'Louisa, Martin – good to see you again. As you know I was extremely encouraged last week to learn that you had experienced a bit of a breakthrough as to your ability to confide in each other. Finding consolation in one another rather than opting for isolation and retreat is a big step forwards and you are going to be needing that ability to support and rely on the other even more as we move along. Which brings me to this week and beyond'._

_We've been meeting with Dr. A. for over a month now and I really feel like we've settled into a routine with her that feels familiar. Mondays Martin and I go together for a session at five o'clock, which the last couple of weeks has meant he either picks me up at the school or we leave shortly after I get back. Surgery now closes at four o'clock on Mondays and Wednesdays, but opens at eight. Wednesdays Martin has his session and I've been going myself most Thursdays, when the surgery now has late hours until seven and my having the Lexus then really isn't a problem. I also grab James on the way home after, as do we on Mondays, which has kept him with his normal bedtime routine. So far the new surgery hours have also been quite popular with the villagers and we may opt to keep it this way, even after . . . _

_'Louisa?' _

_Martin was looking right at me, as was Dr. A., and it was obvious that I was expected to comment on something or other._

_'Uhm, yes? Sorry, I . . . wool-gathering. What'd I miss?'_

_'What did _we_ miss, Louisa, if you feel comfortable sharing with us that is?'_

_Dr. A. looked at me with a somewhat bemused expression, making it clear that my offence had not been perceived as rude behaviour, though I did feel a bit ashamed._

_'Oh. Well, truth be told I was reflecting on our visits with you so far and how I – we, feel safe coming here, and . . . . And just now I also realised to what extent Martin has gone to make this happen; to improve upon our relationship. What with the changes he's made to his surgery hours, including closing up shop for us to lunch together everyday and I . . . I'm very grateful for that.'_

_'And I am very glad to hear that, although Martin is the one you should be thanking, wouldn't you agree?'_

_'Well – yes.'_

_I put my hand on his left knee and turned to look at him._

_'I am, you know, Martin. Grateful, that is and . . . sometimes I wonder what exactly it is that _ I'm_ doing, what it is that _I'm_ contributing, to make things better for us – to better myself.'_

_'Louisa, no. I, you . . . _I'm_ the one who should be improving, you're not to – '_

_' – May I interrupt you there, Martin?'_

_Martin looked back at Dr. A. in acknowledgement, but also appeared flustered with losing his train of thought._

_'Can you see that Louisa may have a valid point?'_

_'No.'_

_'You don't think that you may _both_ benefit from bettering yourselves, as individuals and as spouses? As parents? How could your son benefit, you think?'_

_' – What does James Henry have to do with this, Louisa is a wonderful mother!'_

_This current tactic was not going well, Martin is fiercely protective of his son – and me, and I got concerned as to where this may lead._

_'Martin, calm down – please.'_

_I tried to reach for his knee again but he abruptly got up and strode across to the window seat. It felt as if Dr. A.'s otherwise cosy home office was closing in on us and I feared he would storm off at any moment. Just then she spoke in her reassuring voice, grounding me as she looked right at me and focussed my thoughts to the matter in hand._

_'Louisa, what I had asked you and Martin earlier, when your mind was wandering, was whether you feel that you are ready now to start revisiting your pasts, primarily your childhoods, in more depth – both of you. Like I have expressed to you on previous occasions, I strongly believe that the only way forwards for you both is going backwards. And I feel very confident at this point in time that you are ready for this next step; that you are ready to lean on each other when things get difficult. And they will get difficult . . . as I think is becoming quite evident.'_

_She looked over at Martin whose clenched fists behind his beck betrayed him._

_'However, and this is of great importance – I cannot, and will not, attempt to make you do anything that you yourselves do not feel ready for. Know that you have my full support and that I will be with you every step of the way, but that it is totally up to you what direction we go from here.'_

_Taking in Martin's rigid stance, clad in his immaculate dark suit while standing there stoically facing the soft light filtering through the panes, the contrast was severe. Glancing back at Dr. A. apologetically, an unspoken agreement was reached._

_'Well, I must go fetch the literature I brought for you from my Truro office, as promised last week. It got put down on the kitchen table when arriving home this evening, but unfortunately made it no further. Give me a few minutes for the kettle as well, if you would . . . my apologies, no receptionist here at home I'm afraid.'_

_As soon as she'd stepped out I walked over to Martin and hugged myself against his back as close as I could. The feel of his knotted hands digging into my stomach just made me squeeze him harder – if only I could transfer one tenth of the pain he seemed to be burdened with, then maybe he could catch his breath long enough to let me in? _

_'She wasn't criticising us, Martin, nor our parenting skills, you understand that, right?'_

_'James should not be part of this, none of this is his fault.'_

_'And nobody is saying that it is anybody's fault, Martin. But James is very much a part of us, though, isn't he? And well, I for one want to better myself to be a great mum to him and to learn to be there for you in a way which . . . currently I seem to be failing at.'_

_He turned around abruptly, grabbed my upper arms and sat us down on the window seat more forcefully than I think he had intended to._

_'Louisa, you . . .'_

_Suddenly, with a look of sheer panic, he let go of my arms and instead reached for my hand._

_'Louisa, you must understand – I _need_ you to understand, that this is not about you, this is about me and . . . I don't want you to change, you don't need to change. Please don't.'_

_'You are right, Martin, this isn't about me, it is about us, our family. And I don't want us to change neither; you nor me, really I don't. What I want us to work towards, what we both agreed that we needed to work on, were the everyday things in our life, remember? Things, circumstances if you will and how we deal with them, can be changed and improved upon, can they not? They already have done and I'm unbelievably proud of us for that.'_

_I brought his hand to my check and hugged him._

_'For what it's worth, I think our progress is the reason Dr. A. suggested we are ready to uncover some of the things that have made us who we are, good and bad. By learning more about ourselves, and what makes us behave the way we do in life and around one another, which you've got to admit isn't always pretty . . . we can and will grow, as a family.'_

_'Mm.'_

_'Knowledge is power, Martin, and I feel it will make us stronger and healthier in the end, I really do. Can you see my point now – do you understand how we are both working towards the exact same goal, but that we need to get there together?'_

_'You make that sound so simple.'_

_'No, it won't be easy, but then it never has been for us, has it?'_

_'Knowledge _is_ power, Louisa, but what if you don't like what we find, have you ever considered that, hm? I can tell you that have – and do, constantly. What if I end up losing you both again when the truth is uncovered, then what? I can't be without the two of you. I don't _know_ what I'm going to find, Louisa, but from what I _do_ remember it certainly isn't going to _better_ me.'_

_'Oh Martin, no. Is that was this is all about, is that what you really fear – that I will be judging you?'_

_'Well, seems to be what most people do.'_

_'No, Martin . . . no, and I'm not 'most people', now am I? But I _am_ very sorry for having run off before, that is something that I'm still having a struggle coming to terms with and if I could undo the consequences of that decision I would do in a heartbeat. Our family is the most important thing that I have in my life and I don't believe any of us can do without.'_

_I take the opportunity to sneak a chaste kiss on his lips while Dr. A. is still out._

_'Martin, do you see me as inferior and deficient because my mum up and left me and I practically had to raise myself?'_

_'What, no of course not – you are probably the strongest person I know.'_

_I smile at that; my husband can say the sweetest things without the slightest inkling of having done so, which I've come to appreciate as the most honest compliments 'round. _

_'But can you see that with her actions, mum probably taught _me_ to run as well and that my finally having made that connection has allowed _me_ to feel less inferior about myself? I've come to realise _why_ I may have done what I did, which was to act on instinct really. I have gained some understanding of my behaviour, rather than just beating myself up about it and accepting that I'm a straight up bad person.'_

_'You are _not_ a bad person, Louisa.'_

_'Oh I don't know, Martin . . . I felt every bit the bad person when I was alone and pregnant in London – I'd run from you, but didn't at the time really understand why, which made it all even worse. Not understanding it didn't excuse my behaviour, but it does give us some meaningful insight after the fact and shows that we can maybe learn a thing or two from our pasts. Makes us perhaps a little less likely to blame ourselves and each other for everything we're struggling with, yeah?'_

_Brushing an imagined tear from his face, I looked him in the eye to emphasise what I really needed for him to understand._

_'It's _not_ all our fault, you know. We make choices based on our instincts; ingrained behaviours, and what we think we know to be true, but if those instincts are flawed, well then so will be our decisions, am I right?'_

_'Mm. Logically I understand what you are intuiting, Louisa, I am just concerned that it may backfire is all. If it were to the cost would simply be too great to bear. However, I will do whatever it takes, and if you are willing to take that chance. . . .'_

_'Martin, y_ou_ are also the strongest person that _I_ know. We _will_ get through this – trust me, okay?'_

_'Yes.'_

_His eyes went to the floor and he looked so spent. Taking his hand I walked us back over to our chairs and took his face in my hands._

_'You and I will get through this because, even when all else seems out of sorts and emotions run high, we still _love_ each other very much – not once have I ever doubted that, Martin, not ever. And because of that we also have a beautiful little boy at home in Portwenn who loves us both unconditionally, and who will always need us to be there for him.'_

_'Yes. Once Dr. Arscott comes back you can tell her that we are ready to delve into the past, if you really believe so, but then I would like for us to go home. I need for us to go get James and then I want us all to go home.'_

_'Good, thank you Martin. And I'd like that – let's go get James and go home.'_

". . . but I you need to wake up. I know you feel tired and unwell, but you need to stay with me, Louisa. We are almost to Truro so I need you to wake up. Louisa . . . can you hear me? Louisa? God, LOUISA!"


	8. The Road Twice Travelled

_'Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series.  
_

_Thanks to everybody who has stuck with me so far and I hope you are enjoying this tale which is just starting to take shape, bonus chapter on this December Sunday. Things are never quite as they seem, as we are about to find out! Your reviews make me smile and are always appreciated, happy reading, - DC_

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Eight – ''The Road Twice Travelled"**

". . . but I you need to wake up. I know you feel tired and unwell, but you need to stay with me, Louisa. We are almost to Truro so I need you to wake up. Louisa . . . can you hear me? Louisa? God, LOUISA!"

"Wha' . . . we home? Wherr . . . wha's goin' on, where's James? Thought we'd be pickin'im up?"

"James is fine, he's with the minder. You fell asleep and I couldn't wake you. We're almost to Truro, you are not well and you need to stay with me, to stay awake, okay? You have a slow bleed, most likely from your liver and we are taking you to hospital. Can you try again with some of James' juice, you need the fructose. I don't want to give you any food until we can pinpoint exactly what is going on after you've had your CT scan and the vitamin K has kicked in, but you haven't had any lunch and probably didn't eat breakfast this morning either, did you?'

"Mmm'no . . . stomach hurt, _hurts_. Hurts when I breathe."

"Yes, your diaphragm is pulling down on the damaged tissues of liver when you inhale, causing you pain. Can you try a little bit of the juice under your tongue, you don't have to swallow it if you think it'll make you feel sick."

She was managing the spout on the fruit juice with ease and also did well consuming a good bit of its contents; both equally important to me at this point, proving that she is still fairly lucid, if in a somewhat diminished capacity. Pulling into the ED at the Royal Cornwall Hospital feels like history repeating itself, with a team waiting for us at the doors per my instructions. This time, however, I am confident with the surgeon on call, should his services be required, as I had personally assisted Chris with his appointment after the dismissal of my former pupil Adrian Pitts.

"Patient is Louisa Ellingham, a 39-year-old female presenting with abdominal pain and general malaise, approximately 30 hours post blunt trauma to the right upper quadrant. Palpation and percussion elicited a moderate to severe pain response, which paired with the haematemesis appears suggestive of hepatic contusion with minor rupture or possibly tearing. No organomegaly was observed. Patient has been undergoing warfarin treatment, dosed at five milligrams per day for approximately 60 days, due to a DVT which presented post motor vehicle trauma at which time the patient also underwent a successful AVM embolisation. Current comorbidity includes menorraghia_, _while haematemesis at 1230 hours suggested a slow but active bleed. Melaena has not yet been established. Five milligrams of IV phytonadione was administered intravenously between 1235 and 1245 hours at which point INR was measured at 3.0 An additional five milligrams IV phytonadione in 500 millilitres of normal saline was administered over the past 50 minutes while in transport."

Technically Louisa is not my patient while under the care of the trauma team, but as I have limited privileges and a certain reputation at this hospital, staff wisely cooperate when the patient also happens to share my surname. I help my wife into her hospital gown to prepare her for the CT scan.

"Louisa, are you wearing any jewellery other than your rings and your watch?"

"Uhm, no . . . I don't think so. Can I keep my wedding ring?"

"No, any kind of metal can disrupt the scan."

"Oh . . . well, can you keep it with you until I can have it back then. Please."

"Mm. Try to relax and remain still during the scan, we can hear you if you have any problems and I will be right on the other side of the windows observing the scan, okay."

"Right. Martin? Will I be . . . alright?"

"I've chased up the best care available, and yes – I will make sure of it."

I am rewarded with a tired smile. Gently positioning Louisa on the scanner bed I rest my hand briefly on her pale cheek before joining the radiographer in the adjoining room, anxious as to what the images may reveal. While the nurse is preparing the cannula to receive the contrast bolus, I can hear the usual questions being repeated once more, lastly 'Is there any chance that you may be pregnant?' Louisa briefly catches my eye, then just as quickly looks away – her smile now strained as she closes her eyes and shakes her head. The dimming lights reveal the red laser guides and as the nurse turns away to place a pillow under Louisa's knees, I can see my wife's cannula-free hand wiping at her eyes and a completely different wave of anxiety rolls over me.

We've never discussed the possibility of more children, we have James. Is this something which needs to be clarified and, if so what are my thoughts regarding this matter? Can I _consciously_ make a decision to become a father? Or _not _to, which may very well be the case.

_Should I?_

"Spleen is unremarkable, Dr. Ellingham, which is a very lucky find – a good start."

The radiologist's words bring me back to the scan currently taking place on the other side of the glass and I refocus my thoughts on the computer screen.

"And the liver?"

"We are just getting to that. Aetiology?"

"Blunt trauma. Uhm, our son accidentally kicked her in the abdomen while they were playing and with the warfarin in her system. . . ."

"I see. Okay, well it looks like your hunch is spot on. Subcapsular haematoma with a superficial rupture measuring at 16 millimetres, I'd classify it as a borderline grade II. Slight pooling is indicative of a slow bleed, however she presents haemodynamically stable and I feel confident that this 'leak', as such, will resolve itself in six to eight hours when the vitamin K has had a chance to make some headway. We are of course awaiting the results of the pending blood tests, however _any_ surgical intervention, even angiographic embolisation, would be discouraged until the clotting factors stabilise. Non-operative management under close observation would of course be the standard recommendation in cases where the coagulation factor is _not_ in question, but I'd say also in this case as long as she remains stable. Do you concur?"

"Yes, that seems as favourable as I could have hoped for, given the circumstances."

"Good, I'm glad we agree. Oh, but wait, hang on just a minute. Hmm, odd. See this, right . . . there? I can just barely visualise an abnormality here. This cluster is almost certainly granulomatous, possibly vaguely developed nodules – there, can you see it? I am not seeing any evidence of fibrosis, calcifications, bilomas or abscesses, and definitely not related to this aetiology, but a biopsy with a histological profile will be necessary to give us a better idea of what exactly we are dealing with here."

I can feel myself becoming increasingly tense, needing to get out of here. There is nothing I can do but listen to other people tell me what may or may not be wrong with Louisa, and I don't like it.

"Liver enzyme values are expected to be elevated for some time, of course, so standard blood panels are not likely to tell us much in this instance. I expect the gastroenterologist will order up a few more specialised tests such as AMAs, ANAs and so forth. He may also feel that a plugged liver biopsy later this evening could be a valid option, if the INR and patient stability permits. The department will have my patient notes as soon as we are done here. Has your wife ever had any indicies of liver disease previously? Any family history of illness?"

"No, not that I . . . am aware of. The last few years' blood chemistry panels indicated only slight anaemia, which has been consistent and is being managed. Everything else has been unremarkable, including the liver values."

"Well, it is too early to speculate and whatever we are seeing here looks to be in the early stages. I do, however, like to identify a silver lining whenever one is present, Dr. Ellingham, and I will have to say that your son's exuberance may have been exceptionally well-timed in bringing this to our attention _now_, rather than at some future point in time when symptomatology would have been the alerting factor."

After discussing our various options within the expanding medical team, it is agreed upon that non-operative management is preferable and Louisa will remain under close supervision. A nasogastric tube will be placed to monitor levels of blood and fluids in the stomach. She will receive pain medications and light sedation to keep her comfortable and a CT scan will be repeated in six hours as long as she remains in stable condition. I decide not to burden her with our latest discovery at this time. The additional blood tests ordered should give us a better understanding of what is going on prior to the next scheduled scan and I will discuss it with her then – currently rest is a priority.

XxXxX

In light of the additional and unexpected CT scan findings, the 90-minute drive north-east gives me ample time to conjure up a number of horrible diseases and illnesses that may have befallen Louisa, causing my mood to darken proportionately. And the fact that patient records that should have been available to me for all of Portwenn's villagers; past and present, are highly unreliable due to Bert's flooding of the surgery my very first week there – now necessitating this excursion in the first place, is unacceptable. The Glasson records had been mostly destroyed but for Louisa's, which I had come across and pulled out while looking for that surfer boy's files, shortly after our pirate encounter during the 'Lifeboat Fun Day' festivities.

Years later, Eleanor's emergency hernia surgery in my consulting room had given me a chance to satisfactorily reassemble her patient history afterwards, but as for Terry Glasson the medical slate is blank. Our only close interaction, medical or otherwise, had been my removal of a knife from his arm shortly after it had been placed there by his psychotic friend which, unfortunately involved holding Louisa, Pauline and myself hostage at the surgery. This would also have been the last time either of us had experienced the 'pleasure' of Terry Glasson's company – until now.

The towering granite walls of Dartmoor Prison signify my arrival and I waste no time going through its imposing gates and obtaining the visitor's clearance needed to proceed. I am here for one reason, and one reason only; to obtain Terry Glasson's medical records and as much medical family history as he can recall.

"Old Doc Sim's replacement, Martin was it? To what do I owe this pleasure? It's been . . . what, four years?"

"I need you to sign a medical records release form – now, so that I can access your records. I also need you to tell me of any and all family medical issues you may be aware of, both for yourself and other family members."

"Oh I see, is that all then? May I ask why the sudden interest in my well-being and why I should even consider your 'request', doctor?"

"I am not the least bit interested in your health, however the well-being of your daughter should at least be of some interest to you."

"Louisa? Is something the matter with my daughter, she hasn't phoned me?"

"Nor would she have, Mr. Glasson. Now, I need you to sign at the bottom of all three pages and initial at the top, right . . . there and there."

"Now hang on a minute, Doc, what is going on with Louisa to warrant the village doctor making a special errand all 'way out here? I'm not signing a page one until you tell me what's the matter with my daughter. I love Louisa and I worry about her all of the time."

I have learned from Louisa that he hadn't worried enough to return so much as a word to any of the Christmas and Birthday cards she had posted the first couple of years he had been incarcerated this time around, which had cemented my initial observation of the man as highly disagreeable. It had, however, unnecessarily upset Louisa for a long time and fuelled her insecurities at a time when she had felt she had nobody else to turn to, which is unfortunate.

"So you say. Louisa recently suffered a minor incident which caused some temporary damage to her liver. She is currently in hospital and during some diagnostic tests findings were made that may suggest she is also suffering from an unrelated medical condition that could quite possibly be genetic, in other words inherited – passed down through families. At this point I am simply trying to _rule this out_, and I expect your timely cooperation. Am I making myself clear, Mr. Glasson?"

In all fairness he looks gobsmacked, but I have no time for this, nor am I in the mood.

"Is that CLEAR, Mr. Glasson?"

He signs the papers without looking or even reading a single line.

"What can I do? Can I give blood? Can I give her my liver? What can I do doctor?"

"You can not live without your liver, but there is a living donor program where, if your health permits and your blood group matches that of the recipient, you can donate a small part of your liver. However, the liver is an excellent organ at regenerating itself. For this reason I am, like I said, primarily trying to rule out any hereditary liver disease from your side of the family. Louisa's liver may just heal up perfectly fine on its own, but I am not leaving anything to chance."

"What about the blood, Doc?"

"The blood, what about it?"

"Well, can I give her some if she needs some? I'm a B group, I think . . . at least they told me that when I had a little run-in with some fellas once and needed some of the red stuff myself."

"Well, then no – you can not give her your blood, nor your organs, as you are not a suitable match. Do you know of any illnesses that run in your family, liver or otherwise, Mr. Glasson?"

That sealed any kind of familial donor options, should they ever be called for. Eleanor's blood group is A, as is mine, and Terry likely a B. Louisa is an O, the universal donor, which seems fitting somehow, but as such she can also only receive blood and organs from other O group donors.

"What about Ellie, Louisa's mum?"

"She is not a match either I'm a afraid."

"You then, if you are willing?"

"I am more than willing, but no."

"Why, doctor?"

"Why? My blood group doesn't match, unfortunately."

"No, why would you be willing? Do you donate to _all_ your patients, Martin?"

I do not want to get into this with him, hadn't wanted to and didn't plan for it. I was to be in and out of here, no idle chit-chat.

"Again, Mr. Glasson, do you know of any illnesses that run in your family, liver or otherwise?"

I want to go pick up his records from the Prison Healthcare Manager then be on my way. I had phoned Mrs. Newton on my way here and she had agreed to keep James for as long as was needed, even overnight if that became an issue. But I want to get back to Louisa – to Truro, even if she is still sleeping, which I hope is the case.

"MR. GLASSON?"

"No, no, not . . . that I know of. What if . . . what if there was another option?"

"What do you mean another option?"

"What if, if . . . there was somebody else?"


	9. Two Roads Diverged

_'Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. Reviews are always appreciated, thank you and happy reading. -DC_

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Nine – ''Two Roads Diverged"**

"Again, Mr. Glasson, do you know of any illnesses that run in your family, liver or otherwise?"

. . .

"MR. GLASSON?"

"No, no, not . . . that I know of. What if . . . what if there was another option?"

"What do you mean another option?"

"What if, if . . . there was somebody else?"

"Yes, if need be she _will_ be placed on a donor list, where there will be somebody else – eventually. However, when time is of the essence a pre-screened family member is often preferred if hereditary issues can be ruled out. I am simply attempting to prepare for a worst-case scenario, Mr. Glasson."

"No, not some stranger off of a list. I mean, what if I told you that . . . that Louisa has a sister?"

_God, what is it with these people?_

"Well, then I would tell you that I am not all that surprised, Mr. Glasson. I never got the impression that your marriage had been a particularly solid one, and based on the eventual outcome and what I have been told, it would not be that uncommon for you to have procreated again at a later time . . or at that time."

"Well, she does. Have a sister, I mean. 'Least I think she still does . . . ."

"I see. Does Louisa know?"

"No, she doesn't know and . . . I never strayed while I was with Ellie, not once I'll have you know."

"Right, so how much younger is this sister then, if I may ask?"

"No, Doc, you don't understand. Louisa . . . Louisa has a _twin_ sister."

"WHAT?"

My heart is pounding and a million questions are rushing through my mind.

"And you have not _told_ her this?"

"No."

"And were you _planning_ on ever telling her this?"

"I . . . I don't know, I _don't know_. And I don't know where she is, she's . . . my brother raised her as his own, that's all I know. I haven't seen her or my brother since that fateful day."

"When? When did you last see them, where?"

"I just . . . I stood there looking at my two girls through the big hospital window just one look; just one last farewell glimpse you know, when . . . when Louisa suddenly started crying. She cried and cried and my natural instinct was to go through and pick her up. I couldn't just leave her like that, Doc, she was so tiny – when somebody cries you give'em a cuddle . . . and that was it for us. I'd held her and I'd felt her heartbeat next to mine and her eyes – those beautiful eyes had looked up at me without a worry one. I was in love."

_I knew that feeling. _

"Ellie and I, you know, we were young and hadn't planned to be pregnant, it just sort of happened, and . . . and well, we certainly didn't know we'd made _two_ of'em, now did we? We'd got married to try to make it right, but she was sick a lot with the baby and all that and couldn't work none, and we had no money for taking care of a wee one. My brother held a solid job with the military up North somewhere and was settled with a wife and a nice gaff and all, you know, just no little'uns . . . it just didn't seem to happen for them, whereas Ellie and I . . . Anyways, Ben had bailed me outta trouble a few times over the years after I dropped out of the military, so I knew he'd do it again and this time I'd felt that for once I'd be doing a bit of good, something decent – the right thing. I knew the baby would have a better life with Ben."

"So you decided to _separate_ them, you thought that was the right thing to do – your brother and his wife thought this was okay? And Eleanor agreed to this?"

"Now, that's when things started to fall apart for us, Doc. You see, it was all working out for the best until that very last day in the hospital, when Louisa started to cry. I couldn't do it after that, I just couldn't let her go. Ben was furious, said he'd call the Social on us, at which point I'd told him he had no rights and if he wanted a family of his own he'd have to do with _one_ of my girls. Ellie had yet to look at either one of them, as she couldn't handle it knowing we were giving them up, but I'd held Louisa. . . ."

On one level I can glean some sense of comprehension. After I had first held James I knew my life had changed, if not exactly the full extent of the changes to come. What I simply can _not_ fathom is how a father could choose one out of his two children. That is beyond me.

"Two separate families were formed that day, Martin, in Treliske Hospital car park – travelling in different directions never to speak again."

_The injustice of this world looms over us all, or so it appears. . . ._

"Ellie's always been a free spirit, you know, and she'd never done planned on being a mum. I think being pregnant and sick for eight months broke her in a way. She went from being a carefree teenager to a married mum-to-be. First she was set to give up her baby, then unexpectedly giving birth to twins, only to bring one home after all because I'd changed my mind. I think it was all too much for her, she could never settle down after that. Ellie loved Louisa very much, Doc, but she never could settle. . . . Till this day I don't know if she was running from her conscience or from her responsibilities. We had nothing, really; no money, no family to lean on, but we had Louisa – my wee warrior. She chose us, and I have never regretted it once since that day."

A migraine is forming behind my right eye and I need to get back to Louisa before the second scan. I had come here in hopes of ruling out family history as the cause of Louisa's hepatic granulomas, instead I had gained her a sibling; a twin sister. . . .

"Where they monozygotic or dizygotic?"

"'They what now?"

"Where they – _are_ they, identical twins?"

"That I don't know, Doc, they were babies . . . looked like babies."

"Right." I inhale deeply and close my eyes for a second of reprieve.

"Look, Doc, I know this is a lot to digest on a rainy day. Other than yourself and the involved parties – adults, not a livin' soul knows about this. I don't know that I truly understand myself how it all came about the way that it did do, but it's how it all worked out back then. Maybe if you had kids of your own you'd understand how there wasn't no way I would let Louisa go after having connected with her like that. I just couldn't."

"Mm, I've got to go. I will . . . be in touch regarding Louisa."

Waiting on Terry Glasson's medical records to be duplicated after handing over the signed consent forms, I step into the lavatory before phoning the hospital. Louisa is still asleep and stable which is good, the CT scan in three hours will hopefully confirm that we're on the right track. After quickly perusing the copy I had obtained of the 'Complete Medical Records of – _#DRO0507-G510104_ _Terry Winston Glasson_', nothing appears remarkable, nothing at all. Despite years of heavy partaking, even his liver values are within the normal range.

_Whereas my Louisa is struggling . . . _

I find myself with a heavy foot on my drive back to Truro, a careless habit of mine that surfaces when too many things are vying for my attention, fortunately I guide the Lexus back to the hospital in one piece and in record time. Trying to process this day is proving agonising and the last few hours simply incomprehensible. Briefly I consider phoning Dr. Arscott, but dismiss that thought when realising Louisa should have been privy to this information for 39 years and deserves better. My migraine has firmly seated itself and I jump as the lift signals my arrival at the ward. Instantly back in the present I focus on what the next few hours may show as I make my way down the corridor.

All I know at this moment is that I need to see Louisa – the past will have to wait.


	10. Onwards

_'Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. Reviews are always appreciated, thank you and happy reading.  
_

_-My apologies for Real-Life speed bumps slowing things down... -DC_

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Ten – ''Onwards"**

Waking up it feels like something's not right and I start panicking until Martin jumps to his feet and immediately begins reassuring me. Once again I'm grateful he's here with me.

"Louisa? You are fine, don't try to speak. You have a tube placed in your oesophagus and won't be able to speak or swallow. Can you hear me, do you understand?"

I nod dumbly, the discomfort I'm feeling giving me less of a fright now that I remember what's going on.

"How are you feeling?"

Upon my pointing to the thing in my nose, Martin hits the nurse call button before letting me know I'll likely be able to get the tube removed. As the nurse and a doctor come in after a bit of to and fro, Martin silently steps aside whilst they do their thing, which is very unlike him and he can't seem to take his eyes off me neither. His unusual behaviour stirs up a sense of uneasiness in me which is quickly overtaken by coughing and spluttering as the tube comes out. The nurse gives me some water before stepping out of the room, assured by Martin's presence.

"How are you feeling now?"

"Hm, okay I think – better," _though I certainly don't sound it right now._

"How's James?"

"James is fine, he's . . . spending the night with the Newtons."

"Oh, really? Good. That's good, Martin . . . he'll like that."

I look at my husband whose haggard face, slightly damp hair and splotchy jacket points to a dreary day.

"What time is it Martin, and it's raining?"

"It is a little after seven in the evening and yes, it is drizzling outside."

"Where were you?"

"I was . . . uhm, out – just . . . out."

"Oh. Right, so . . . what's next, then? I mean, other than the toilet. I need to wee, can you disconnect whatever it is that needs to be disconnected, if anything, please, Martin."

"You can take this pole with you, it has your infusion pump, and . . . here, take this container in with you as well. They are going to want a urine sample to gauge your liver and kidney functions. Try to fill it as best you can, don't use your arm with the cannula obviously, and . . . I'm sorry, for all this. We'll talk when you come back out, okay?"

"Yes."

Martin walked me all the way into the lavatory just in case I was still dizzy and he unscrewed the large urine collection cup for me, but then let me have some privacy. I still feel sore where James got me 'course, and now also have a sore throat from that tube thing, but generally I feel better I think. I'm anxious to learn what the test will show as to the bleeding this time 'round and what is next, but I am guessing I am improving or Martin would have been frantic and he seems rather . . . subdued, eerily calm really.

When I got back out he was standing by the end of my hospital bed putting back what I assumed to be my patient files.

"What'd it say?"

"Mostly what we want it to say, which is good."

"Mostly? What'd the rest of it say then? Martin?"

"It didn't."

"What? Martin, stop. You are confusing me and I need you to tell me what is going on, or do I need to call the nurse?"

"What? No, of course not, you . . . "

"You're frightening me!"

"Your scan revealed exactly what I had expected to see considering what had happened and it appears now your bleed has also stopped, which is excellent."

"And?"

"And . . . the scan also revealed some . . . _anomalies_ in your liver that we had not expected to see, abnormalities that have no connection to your current injuries whatsoever."

I'd sat down heavily on my bed at that – _anomalies_. Martin explained to me everything that he knew so far, and how the extra tests ordered on my blood had not come back yet. Approval had been granted for a liver sample it seemed, so that would be done after the second scan later tonight, if those results were good. Then we'd just have to wait and see what the tests will say, probably we will know something in the morning. However, the biopsy results we'll have to wait a few days for.

"So what do you think is wrong with me, Martin and how much longer do you reckon I'll have to stay here?"

He sat down on the bed next to me and looked straight ahead, as if the answers lay somewhere out there.

"I don't know, Louisa, there is no use in speculating. Granulomas can indicate the beginning stage of a vast number of illnesses, or they can remain idiopathic; which means we may never know. They can be chronic; in which case they will be managed, or they can be spontaneous and completely disappear on their own. We simply don't know yet."

"Worst case scenario? Best case scenario?"

"Overly simplified we get you a new liver or the abnormalities go away, respectively."

"Right . . . did the doctor doing the scan say anything?"

"About the granulomas? No, just what I have told you. He did, however, credit James Henry for bringing it to our attention. Whatever the cause, we have caught it very early – which would have been unlikely had events not unfolded as they did."

"A silver lining then?"

"His words exactly."

"That's our boy, Martin – Master diagnostician, just like his Daddy. So . . . which is worse, then; hereditary disease or just 'regular' disease?"

"It doesn't work that way, Louisa, they're not mutually exclusive – diseases come with their own set of behaviours and expressions. The inheritance factor is simply a means of 'transmission', if you will, but can often be utilised as a guiding tool to either confirm or rule out suspected illness."

"Mm, well . . . I don't really know that much about any illnesses mum or dad may have had or _have_, though nothing jumps out at me really – unless parental gambling and abandonment can have a negative affect on one's liver. Doubtful that . . . seems to me a pain in the arse has been the usual outcome. I do know that James, my grandfather, lived to be 93, so he couldn't have been in too poor of a condition, could he?"

"Louisa, I . . . there's something you should know."

"As long as you're not gonna give me any more bad news today, Martin, I'm all ears. I don't think I can take another blow right now, stomach or otherwise. . . ."

"Mm, yes – right. I . . . I need to tell you that I went to see . . ."

He looked at me and then away again. _Odd._

"I mean, you should know that I have, that I . . . went to, went _through_ your parents' medical records. Erm, earlier."

_Definitely acting strange . . . _

"Nothing I saw there was indicative of liver problems on either side, which is good. We will just have to wait until the test results are posted, worrying unnecessarily at this point will not change the outcome. Right now I want the CT scan to confirm that your bleeding has completely stopped, then we go from there."

"Yes. Martin, that sounds good. I do feel better – really, thank you for taking care of me today. I'm grateful and I trust you unconditionally, you know – I don't know what I was thinking last time 'round – I wasn't really. I'm sorry."

"Louisa, that was different. It was different then, _we_ were different."

"Yes we were." I once more take in his haggard appearance and ponder at his behaviour, when I realise it's late and it's been one helluva day.

"Martin, have you eaten anything today?"

"I've had more important things to see to, Louisa."

"Yes you have, but _your_ health is important to _me_ as well, you know. I know it's late for you, but will you promise me that you will pick up something, _anything_, from the canteen before driving home tonight? Please."

"I'm staying here, Chris brought me a set of scrubs and ordered to use them along with the sofa in his office, there are shower facilities available for staff as well. Seemed arguing the point got me nothing but grief."

"Oh, good – that's good, I'm glad you'll be here with me . . . and off the road. You will eat something, then?"

"Yes."

The CT scan and some blood tests had indeed confirmed that my blood had been able to clot now and the slow bleed had resolved itself, which was one step in the right direction. However the local anaesthesia given for my liver biopsy afterwards had made me nauseous and caused me to be sick as soon as I'd got back to my ward. With my sore throat and sore _and_ empty stomach, it had been an extremely unpleasant experience and I could tell Martin was having an even worse time of it. This day, and its uncertainties and discomforts were finally catching up with me and having tired me out mentally and physically the tears came unbidden. I could see a look of despair etched on my husband's face, making me feel even worse about everything.

"Martin, I'm sorry . . . didn't mean to make you feel sick as well, I just couldn't help it. And here I was gonna suggest you go eat something. . . ."

"You haven't made me sick, Louisa, you didn't, I just don't . . . I don't like seeing you like this and it makes me feel helpless, not being able to make you better."

"It's fine Martin, it'll be fine. I'm okay – really, it's just been one helluva day is all and I'm . . . knackered."

I gave him my left hand, palm down, which he looked at with a rather puzzled expression.

"Well, make a girl feel better then?"

"What?"

"My wedding ring?"

"Oh. Uhm, yes, if you insist."

He frantically searched his trousers before remembering he'd put it in the inside pocket of his jacket.

". . . I _do_."

"Hmm?" Martin put the ring back on my finger.

"I promise to have and to hold you; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish you, till death us do part."

_I could recite that line in my sleep at this point . . . had been on my mind a time or ten._

He looks at me as if gauging whether or not to lower my pain medication.

"We never did say our vows, you know, I'd even been practising back then . . . but now seemed as good a time as any. I've . . . thought about that a lot lately, actually, Martin, and . . . I just wanted you to hear me say the words. I do mean it, all of it, and I won't stop fighting for us."

His eyes softened some as he looked to me.

"You and me and James, we're family, we're all we've got. Well, and Ruth 'course. Family is important, Martin, and I want to show you what it can be like. I want us to make a whole out of two halves. Neither one of us really know what that means, but we can learn – I believe in us, I do."

"Right, uhm . . . yes, good. And I, _yes_, I do as well – what you just said. And I do love you, Louisa."

"Good. Will you stay with me till I fall asleep, then go eat?"

"I will."

The residual anaesthesia had left me drowsy once I'd got the vomiting out of the way and I could feel myself ebbing fast.

"You know . . . we're kind of a mess, aren't we? But _I_ love you too – no vows and all. And I know that I'm stubborn and one of a kind, though not much of a warrior at the moment I'm afraid. But I'll keep fightin' for us, too right I'll keep on fightin' . . ."

With Martin by my side I could finally close my eyes to all that is unknown, feeling hopeful.

_Tomorrow is another day._

"Night, Martin . . . and I'm lucky for having chosen you."


	11. Roundabout

'Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series*. Reviews are always appreciated, thank you and happy reading. -DC

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Eleven – "Roundabout"**

_One phone call that would change my life._

_One letter that would change her life._

_One husband desperate for help._

_One person I do not know, _

_One I'll come to love._

_Two families._

_Two lives._

_Us._

* * *

. . . I knew the call would come, someday, I had been expecting it. Under which circumstances, or who the person on the other end would turn out to be, well those were the unknowns – until now.

When Dr. Ellingham phoned me at work, his call patched through from the Yorkshire Major Crimes Unit's switchboard to my desk on the second floor, he informed me my father had passed along my contact details which instantly put me on high alert. Nonetheless, Dr. Ellingham's voice conveyed a level of sincerity and desperation that got, and held, my attention throughout our conversation and what he had to say went far beyond anything I could have ever imagined or expected.

A brief introduction is in order. My name is Helen Morton, maiden name of Glasson, and I was born on 21 July, 1971 at the Treliske Hospital in Cornwall. I grew up an only child in a military household with my father, Benjamin Winston Glasson of Harrogate, North Yorkshire, working as a Senior Intelligence Analyst in the RAF at Menwith Hill. My beloved mother, Nell Glasson, passed away when I was 11 years old. Professionally I hold the title of Detective Inspector and these days primarily work murder cases. I am married and the mother of four boys, of which the oldest is 15.

When turning 16, I had initially decided to follow in my father's footsteps and pursue a career in the military. As such, and as an initiation into adulthood, my father handed me my original birth certificate and sat me down, informing me that although he and mother had raised me and loved me as their own, I was indeed the daughter of father's younger brother and his young bride. When I later scrutinised the certificate I noticed it read _T. Winston Glasson_, in barely legible cursive. And although my mother's legal name was Eleanor, she always went by Nell – after whom I was named.

If you are reading this, I suspect Dr. Ellingham has already had this conversation with you, and I predict your next move will be to verify that _your_ birth certificate also reads _T. Wilson Glasson, Eleanor Glasson_ and _Baby Girl Glasson_, and is dated 21 July, 1971 – which I strongly suspect will be the case.

Should you find that you would like to contact me you now have my email address, which is the most reliable way to connect with me, as my my iPad is usually within reach at all times. However, I can appreciate the fact that you may need some time to process this news.

Despite never having been made aware of you, I have had the advantage of over half a lifetime of coming to terms with the fact that all was not quite as it seemed growing up. Yet as it pertains to you I suspect this is _all_ new information. Nevertheless, given these latest developments I would be interested in revisiting the past and pursuing this further, should you agree. If this is something you would rather not consider at this point in your life then I will fully respect that – this is not a position in which we should ever have been placed, nor should being faced with making such a decision ever have been necessary.

Lastly, I am truly sorry that it took such a drastic measure for all this to come to light. When you do feel stronger and in better health I will be looking for possible correspondence from you, until then wishes for a speedy recovery from afar will have to suffice.

Yours Sincerely,

– Helen Morton, Leeds

* * *

It's late as the the train rolls on back towards Leeds and I read and then reread my email, trying to decide on the appropriate salutation to use. 'Mrs. Ellingham' seems so formal, but then I don't know her, and as such 'Louisa' doesn't seem proper either. This type of connection has me completely out of my element, I'm not really . . . good with people.

_She is._

After I had confirmed my medical details, to the best of my ability, which had been the main reason for Dr. Ellingham's phone call, one of the few non-medical facts I learned from our brief conversation is that his wife loves children – people in general. As such he'd cautioned me that once she becomes aware of my existence, she will likely want to meet with me and get to know me and is apt to become 'very emotional', as he'd put it.

I don't do emotional.

However, when he'd expressed how he'd hold off on telling her any of this until she was medically fit enough to deal with the outcome, should I choose _not_ to acknowledge her existence, I had made an uncharacteristic split-second decision as there was simply no need or justification to drag this out.

Despite my own insecurities there would be a letter from me, addressed to his wife, outlining the basics of what we had just discussed. In this letter I'd also reach out to her, sparing her any undue emotional stress in the midst of her current medical ordeal – I felt the least I could do was to take charge of the situation, to deal with this head on by presenting the relevant facts. With the understanding that he would receive my letter in his email within 24 hours, we'd rung off just as Boss had informed me of a major incident out in Bradford.

Really I should have been on my way home at that time, so it would have to be up to Michael to go through the boys' homework again tonight . . . criminals are unpredictable that way. Unfortunately there never seems to be a good time to kill someone.

_'You said what we do here is all about connections. Well, we don't just find them and make sense of them, we also form them occasionally.' _

_. . . _

_'Just be yourself, that's all.'_

Boss having turned my own words against me shortly after I'd transferred from Regional Intelligence, had probably been the best thing that could have happened to me at that point in time. Not fitting in too well, it had pushed me to open up just a little which in turn had paid off and allowed me to feel a bit more like a part of the team from then on. And today has become one of those days when I need to think back on that exchange and remind myself to 'just be myself'.

_And sometimes we all need saving from ourselves. . . . _

So now here I am, on my way back to the office from a messy murder-suicide, wrapping up an email to a person I don't know and didn't know existed only a few hours ago. In trying to visualise a twin sister, my own flesh and blood, I come to realise that this particular person was closer to me at one point in my life than anybody else has ever been since – we're not complete strangers, not really, and this person is also a blood relative of my children, which puts things in perspective.

Placing the cursor at the top of my letter I key in the words 'To My Sister' and quickly hit the send button before swapping my iPad for the iPod and closing my eyes to the music. I often prefer the train to the squad cars, it's faster and the music is better, yet on this occasion all I can hear is the repetitive sound of my own thoughts slowly repeating the words 'My Sister'.

XxXxX

Having saved the email to my 'Personal' folder I print out a copy, folding it neatly and placing it in my coat pocket along with the photocopy I just made of Louisa's birth certificate. Acquiring Ben Glasson's phone number yesterday had come down to a few minutes on the phone with the enquiry service before I had the man in question on the line, fortunately his number had not been ex-directory. Initially tight-lipped, it seemed Terry had been truthful about his brother's anger in regards to having separated the infants some 39 years ago. And once learning of Louisa's current situation and the possibility of hereditary illness playing a part, which could also be affecting _his_ daughter, he had been very forthcoming. Like Terry, however, he could not recall any major illnesses within the family.

Helen Morton. It had been a rather unusual experience speaking with this woman, Louisa's sister, on the telephone while racing across the moors of Devon. The fact that it should have been Louisa's choice if and when that call would have taken place had left me with a sense of betrayal, yet I knew Louisa would understand my reasoning, it being medically related. Despite the odd encounter there had also been a familiarity present which I had not expected and hadn't quite been able to place at the time. This Morton woman had a similar voice to Louisa's, save the Cornish lilt of course, but there was something else there as well, something undefined. Had she sounded . . . driven, was that it? Yes, that fits. They both sound driven in much the same way, which is remarkable given their rather apparent differences in manner. I found Louisa's sister to be quite . . . direct and to the point, straight forward, and I had appreciated that.

Feeling much improved this morning Louisa had insisted I head home to relieve the Newton woman and tend to James, and with impeccable timing Aunt Ruth had phoned me for an update on Louisa just as I was securing a grizzly James into his seat. Deciding lunch would be a better idea Ruth had informed me she would be at the surgery in short order so with James temporarily distracted by the familiar toys in his cot I shower and shave before carefully transferring Louisa's letter and birth certificate to my fresh suit.

As the sound of the kitchen door carries upstairs I am reminded of how our new layout has replaced patient grumbling with the sounds of family. Dressing quickly and grabbing James I head downstairs hoping he still has enough energy to eat something before a much needed nap. For his mother's sake I desperately need him to cooperate today. Finding Aunt Ruth already seated by the kitchen table with an assortment of what looks to be cubed cheese, banana, bread and rice pudding on James' tray, is a welcome sight. There even appears to be a sandwich plate for me and I realise just how hungry I have become.

"Aunt."

"I was thinking I would prepare him a fancy meal, but this will have to do – just got it at the market yesterday, so should be perfectly safe, if not wholly appetising."

"No, that's good . . . uhm, thank you."

Happy with the attention from Ruth James pairs cheese with pudding and starts showing off.

"So, how is she?"

"Better. I'm hoping with continued monitoring here at the surgery she will be home by tomorrow. We'll have to see for now, but being confined to bed in hospital is less than ideal given the prior history, some moving around would be advisable and she'll be more comfortable at home, particularly after I talk to her today."

"Oh, do tell? She may be better but judging by the look on your face I take it all is not well?"

"Look, Aunt . . . can you have James for me this afternoon here at the house, just for a few hours? I need to speak with Louisa, alone, and as soon as possible. Not medically relevant, per say, but it is imperative we talk. I know you said babies aren't your thing, but . . ."

"But we will manage, Martin. I may have established a lack a natural aptitude in that area, but I am not completely helpless and technically he is no longer a baby. You had better focus your attention on Louisa and get whatever is eating at you taken care of."

"Thank you. I'll put him down for his nap in a few minutes, then he should be out for a couple of hours at least. He'll need a new nappy once he wakes, but other than that I'll make sure he's dressed and ready. Maybe you could bring him to see his mother after he wakes? She was asking for him earlier and will disappointed to learn I left him here. I'll fit his seat in your car before I leave."

"Right, then. And while in a motherly frame of mind, so to speak, I implore you to finish that sandwich I brought you prior to heading out, or at the very least start it. A bit dry I'm afraid, but edible."

"Yes, good. And I . . . appreciate your help with this."

XxXxX

"Martin, where is James?"

"He's at home, with Aunt Ruth. Needed a nap, was terribly whingey when I got him from the Newton woman, doubt he slept all that well last night . . . I know I didn't."

"No, me neither . . . not really, I miss him. And it's Hana, Martin."

"Mm, yes. Ruth's bringing him by once he wakes, but like I said before I won't have you holding him and I will have him in a firm grip, and that is not up for discussion."

"I know – I just need to see him and he needs to know I'm okay as well, 'right?"

"Yes. Uhm, look, Louisa . . . before they get here there's something we need to talk about, something important."

Seeing a look of horror on her face I hastily add "NOT James, and not medical, nothing medical . . . at least not directly."

"Then what, what's going on Martin? Did you scare Hana off, please tell me we still have a minder?"

"I didn't scare anybody off . . . quite the contrary. As a matter of fact, James seems reasonably content there as far as I can tell and Mrs Newton was very accommodating and asked no questions yesterday when I didn't make it by with James' night things, like I had planned on."

"Oh. Why not, did something happen?"

"I went for a drive yesterday, while you were sleeping, to, uhm, Devon. Princetown specifically."

"What, why? Why Princetown? There's nothing out that way but for the . . . Prison. . . ."

She seems to realise where this is headed and the confusion evident on her face leaves me uneasy.

"Dad? You went to see my dad, but why? He doesn't even know we're . . . that we're together; married, parents – that he's a granddad, or any of it."

"And he still doesn't Louisa."

"I see, so not a 'family' visit then. How . . . how is he? I feel a bit . . . guilty now, having kept it a secret all this time. I'm going to have to face him again eventually, you know."

"Mm, yes. Yes you will. He appeared healthy, fine. Consistent with his medical records."

"Right, so no surprises on that end of the family then. He always was healthy as a horse."

"A very dark horse, Louisa. There, uhm, there was _one_ surprise, as a matter of fact – one very _real_ surprise. And I think you should . . . I need for you to read this first, to see where you stand, what's going on and . . . and then we will talk or . . . I can listen. Whatever you need, I'm not going anywhere."

Louisa's bed is in the corner of the ward and the bed next to her is currently vacant, so we have some modicum of privacy. Reaching for the letter I give it to her and find myself unable to let go of her hand. As she carefully unfolds the piece of paper that one way or another is going to change her life, cchange _our_ lives, I observe her lips silently forming the novel words as she begins to take in what her eyes are seeing.

_To My Sister,_

_. . . _

* * *

_A/N:_

_*Helen Morton and 'DCI Banks' is the property of Left Bank Pictures, no copyright infringements or existing case spoilers are intended, I'm just borrowing a character or two. If you like detective dramas, then DCI Banks is an excellent one to watch and our DI Helen Morton enters the series during the first episode of Series Two, 'Strange Affair', though no prior knowledge of the series is necessary. To each and every one of you in the Doc Martin universe and beyond I wish you a Happy Christmas, hope it will be a good one. -DC_


	12. Hovering

_'Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. 'DCI Banks' is the property of Left Bank Pictures, no copyright infringements or existing case spoilers are intended, I'm just borrowing a character or two._

_A very belated Happy New Year and I am so glad to be back. A real life medical scare left me in a fog for the past three months, but things are finally looking better - it's the not knowing that gets you... Not having been on here at all I've become very behind on your stories, old an new, and I'm looking forward to catching up, at least that part is a treat in the midst of all this. So again, my apologies for the long break in updating this story and I will do my best to get back on track - poor Louisa was left in the hospital all this time... _

_Wishing all of you a happy spring and with the brand new season of DM starting filming today it is bound to be a good one! __Reviews are always appreciated, thank you and happy reading. _

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Twelve – "Hovering"**

_. . . _

_Lastly, I am truly sorry that it took such a drastic measure for all this to come to light. When you do feel stronger and in better health I will be looking for your possible correspondence, until then wishes for a speedy recovery from afar will have to suffice._

_Yours Sincerely,_

– _Helen Morton, Leeds_

The soft tap of a tear – my own, onto the piece of paper I was clutching, jarred me back to the present.

"Louisa, are you . . . okay?"

I wasn't.

Martin sounded unsure of what to say to me, reflecting my own jumbled thoughts. He was here though and, as I'd just realised, still holding my hand.

"Why, Martin? How . . . _why? _ I don't understand. I don't . . . why _me_?"

"How . . . do you mean?"

"What? How can you . . . did you even read it?"

"No."

"Oh . . ."

"I didn't want to intrude. Would you like for me to read it?"

All I could do was nod dumbly, and even that almost set me off, as I handed over my twice-creased and altered reality for Martin to interpret. Studying his face the entire time I was hoping to get a sense as to how _he_ feels about this – where he stands, but his expression remained one of restrained concern as it had done since initially handing me the letter. Having reached the end he folded it back up, placed it on the bedside table and just looked at me, now looking troubled.

"I'm . . . sorry Louisa, I should have explained things to you – first, I mean. I thought she would have . . . clarified, but it appears she thought the same of me. It's my fault, I didn't really give her a whole lot of information beyond the basics."

"Seemed a bit . . . impersonal, don't you think?"

"Well, she doesn't know you, Louisa. As a matter of fact she'd just been made aware of your existence, as you've now been made aware of hers. Seems like a perfectly logical summary of events considering the limited facts."

"Right . . . Why me, Martin? Why _me_? And mum and dad, how could they? How _could_ they, Martin – how could they do that?"

I suddenly felt like I couldn't breathe and it added to my heightened emotions, leaving me nauseated.

"How the HELL could they!"

"Louisa, calm down, you're not –"

"Don't you tell me to calm down, Martin! You don't know the first thing 'bout me, nor apparently do I, so just don't!"

"I know more about this than you do."

I know he didn't mean any harm, but it stung nonetheless and as I recoiled he seemed to realise it.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry . . ." Sighing and closing his eyes he seemed to be getting increasingly frustrated. Not with me necessarily, but with the situation as a whole.

_Not that I could blame him._

"I don't like seeing you upset like this, Louisa, but I needed to make you aware. Will you give me a chance to explain it to you, please, as it was explained to me?"

"Yeah, that'd be . . . good. And I'm sorry Martin, I didn't mean to snap . . . it just comes as such a shock and . . . well, I don't know what to think honestly. Hopefully once I've the basic facts, it'll all clear up a bit."

"Mm, yes. Just try not to get too worked up Louisa, it's not beneficial to your health. And Ruth will be here soon with James, you don't want him to see you upset."

I squeezed his hand as an apology of sorts. Despite what I'd said in the heat of the moment, Martin probably knows me better than most in the ways that really matter and I reckon he's been struggling with this information himself since dad dropped him in it yesterday. . . .

"I had planned on checking on James yesterday when the Newton woman assured me he was fine. I had your mother's records but your father's medical records were ruined when Bert flooded the surgery my very first week here and I needed to know, Louisa – I had to contribute somehow to your well being and it was the only way I could see how. Driving out to Dartmoor to get your father's records seemed a logical use of my time."

Martin seemed distressed as he recalled yesterday's events.

"At first he was fairly disagreeable, but once he realised your predicament he couldn't seem to _stop_ talking, which leads us to these latest developments . . ."

XxXxXx

"Hiya Dr. Ellingham, Doc said you'd be here lookin' after the little'un for a bit. Rang me on his way to hospital to see Mrs. E., he did, wants me to get surgery ready for day after next. Seems he's gonna be bringin' her on back home soon then no matter, don't it?"

"Hello Morwenna. Yes, that did appear his intention before he headed out. Hopefully he'll at least have the sense to talk it over it with Louisa's consultants. Whether he'll listen is another matter entirely, though I imagine even Martin wouldn't be suggesting she go home if he wasn't absolutely confident in his ability to look after her properly."

"She's better, then I'm guessin'? Must've been a fright, though, everything they've been through. Finally on the mend then somethin' done happened for no reason . . . stupid that. Oh, and Al said to tell you he can be here in a tick to help me look after James Henry if you wanted to go visitin' with Louisa, kind of a waitin' game out at the farm still, yeah?"

"Actually, I am taking the child with me to see his mother as soon as he wakes, so that won't be an issue. However . . . Martin was rather preoccupied earlier and left the baby's car seat sitting on the boot of my car which clearly won't do either of us much good. Al will do a far better job of getting it correctly fitted in my car within a reasonable amount of time, and then he could carry James on out as well and do up the harness for me."

"I'll ring him right now and just in the nick of time, eh? Judgin' by the sound I'm hearin' upstairs I say James wants your attention, Dr. E. – got quite a pair of lungs on him that one!"

"Yes. Well, it has been at least two hours . . . I should count my blessings I suppose."

"Alright, I'll send Al on up as soon as he gets here. Meantime I better get this call, only had the answerphone off for two minutes and it's already ringin'. . . ."

"Right then. Well I better attend to my grand-nephew, hopefully his wishes will be concise. Oh I do miss Michael. . . ."

"Dr. Ellingham's Surgery . . . No, I'm sorry, Sir, the doctor isn't in today, he's got a family emergency and is visitin' with his wife in hospital. He should be here Thursday, how 'bout I try and fit you in then, yeah? Personal . . . okay. Give us a ring 'round nine that mornin' and he should be here, 'right? Yeah you too, bye then."

XxXxX

"Can you better grasp the basic facts now Louisa, was that . . . useful?"

"Useful, yes, do I understand it . . . 'fraid not. None of this makes any sense Martin. Is this some kind of a bloody joke, what's dad playin' at? I mean, I know it's not but I just . . . I can't wrap my head around any of it."

"Look, Louisa, this . . . this . . . _discovery. _It can only affect you if you let it."

"What? How can you even say that?"

"No, I didn't mean . . . what I mean to say is – it is up to you what you do with this information."

"Is it . . . is it really, Martin?"

I thought I'd heard his mobile buzzing and his frantic search confirmed it when he fished it out of his coat pocket and spoke all of five words before tucking it away again.

"That was Aunt Ruth, they just parked in the main lot. I should go help her with James. Will you be okay here for a few minutes, after . . . ?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, yes I'm sure, Martin. James can't get here soon enough, I don't like being away from him . . . I need to see him. And it'll be nice to visit with Ruth as well, a familiar face in the midst of all this uncertainty."

"Mm, yes – right."

Martin strode off and I was trying to gather my thoughts when a nurse suddenly appeared in front of me, or at least that's how it seemed as my mind was somewhere else entirely.

"Mrs. Ellingham? Telephone for you Mrs. Ellingham." She handed me the handset and smiled encouragingly at me.

"For me? Oh, my husband must've forgot something. He went to the car park to fetch his aunt and our son. Thank you."

"Certainly, I'll be back to collect the handset later, take your time."

"Hello, Martin? Is James okay?"

"Louisa? I've been so worried about you ever since Martin came to see me yesterday. Are you alright? What's wrong? Are they going to make you better? Oh, and I can guess the Mrs. Ellingham, so James must be –"

"DAD?"

"Look, Louisa . . . I don't know what Martin's told you, but –"

"Enough. He's told me enough. . . . How could you? How _could_ you, Dad – and Mum? I . . . I don't want to speak with you right now, I just . . . I can't talk with you now. Goodbye."

My pulse was racing and I felt numb as the phone slipped out of my hand and to the floor sending the batteries flying across the way.

"Ah, there you are Louisa glad to have found you, this place is a maze. Not nearly as intricate as the halls of Broadmoor, of course, but then I also knew every nook and cranny as my life depended on it. My nephew should be right along with James, he just happened to . . ."

Poor Ruth, walking in just as the dam had broken. Dad calling had been the last straw and I was rather a mess, but to her credit she persisted – picking up the batteries appearing in her path as if nothing unusual had occurred.

"Louisa, do I need to go get the nurse?"

I shook my head to the negative and tried to compose myself somewhat.

"No Ruth, please do sit down I'll . . . come 'round in a bit, just feeling like maybe I should be in Broadmoor myself at the moment, rather than here."

"Well, as I was about to say when I first came in, Martin ran into one of your consultants and is speaking to the possibility of getting you out of here. As for the Broadmoor aspect I may be of some assistance, though I imagine whatever has you so upset is in some way tied to Martin's urgent need to speak with you this afternoon."

"Well, yeah. However it's not Martin though, it's my Dad. I've . . ."

Looking at the mute, gutless telephone on the linoleum was strangely comparable with what I was trying to say.

"Ruth, I've spent my whole life forgiving my dad for his transgressions, digging for the truth in his far-fetched tales . . . or trying to anyhow. Last time he was here a couple years back I learnt he'd lied to me all that time after all so I finally cut him off, told him to leave. I asked him to go and he has stayed out of my life . . . well, that and the fact that he'd earned a spot back at Dartmoor."

"Thing is, I've spent these last few years feeling guilty about not visitin' him and not letting him know he's a grandpa. Despite everything I've always loved dad, but now. . . . I don't think I can forgive him this time."

"Right. Yes, I can see that. What did he do this time, if I may ask? You seem upset, almost angry."

"What he did wasn't just this time, Ruth, it was . . . throughout time, _before_ and _during_, if that makes sense. Upset, yes . . . but anger is too small to cover it I'm afraid."

Knowing James could be here any minute I needed to clean up a bit, I didn't want him frightened by seeing his mum even more out of sorts than I already felt. And I really longed to see his smiling face, it would go a long way towards making today – this week, better.

"Martin went to see my dad yesterday, at the prison, with the intent of getting some family medical history out of him. I didn't know he'd gone until he told me about it just now. What he got, though, was a lot more than medical history. . . . Look, I need to use the toilet, sort myself out a bit before James gets here, but meanwhile if you wouldn't mind reading this through."

I handed Ruth Helen's letter.

"Martin brought this with him today and it may . . . give you some insight into to what I've just learnt myself. Maybe you could even give me your take on it when I get back, I'll fill you in as best I can on the missing pieces. That be alright?"

The person looking back at me in the mirror looked like a stranger – pale, vacant and drawn truth be told, but at least I didn't have dried tears on my face anymore. Not that James would care, but I do.

Ruth studied me carefully as I made my way back to the bed and settled in.

"Feeling better?"

"A bit. So . . . what do you reckon I should make of all this? I haven't been able to get much from Martin, as to where he stands I mean."

"Well, it is quite a lot to take in. Did you ever suspect anything like this?"

"What? No, 'course not!"

"No, I imagine not."

"No . . . I didn't even know dad _had_ a brother, he's never said. And mum's never once given me reason to believe anything like this. I mean, I know she is . . . can be a bit . . . unreliable at the best of times, but this? It's just . . . it's not real is it, it can't be? I mean, I understand that it is, you know, but it just seems so . . . Oh I don't know Ruth, just when I think she can't do anything else to surprise me. It's messy, just very messy and James . . . James now suddenly has four cousins he hasn't met. That's hard to imagine, isn't it – I wonder if they look like him at all?"

"So . . . you're understandably angry with your father and your mother, both. You've also now mentioned this uncle that you knew nothing of and you express concern as to Martin's feelings on the matter and James and the familial traits of his cousins. All valid and expected emotions in a disclosure such as this."

Ruth appeared to be looking at the letter again before placing it back onto the little table and looking me square in the eye.

"So what had you so upset after Martin stepped out to come find me? He gave the impression that you appeared to be taking the news he'd shared with you relatively well and that he felt confident leaving you here for a few minutes."

"Right. Well, yes – I _was_ feeling okay. Confused and angry, but okay. That was . . . until dad phoned. The nurse came in, said I had a call. Of course I thought it was Martin . . . but it turned out not to be. Dad started asking about me and about James, and . . ."

"And you felt guilty."

"Yes! Yes I _did_, Ruth. Despite everything I'd just learnt, _I_ felt guilty – like _I'd_ been caught in a horrible, unforgivable lie. When you walked in I'd just rung off, hung up on him really, and well . . . ."

"Louisa, you asked me for my opinion on this, so I will tell you what I find to be perhaps most revealing of all."

I could hear James laughing down the corridor and was starting to lose focus on what Ruth was saying.

"Not once, Louisa, did you speak of your sister, yourself or where you feel _you_ stand in this 'mess', as you've so aptly labelled it. You have omitted yourself and your sister entirely from this situation, why do you think that is?"

The older woman regarded me with what I determined to be an encouraging smile . . . of sorts, as I attempted to take stock of her findings. A tad unsettled, my thoughts felt chaotic – like they were hovering over my health, my life and my family as a whole, all at once.

_My family._

"How do _you_ feel about this, Louisa, where do _you_ stand?"


	13. Standstill

_'Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. 'DCI Banks' is the property of Left Bank Pictures, no copyright infringements or existing case spoilers are intended, I'm just borrowing a character or two._ _Reviews are always appreciated, thank you and happy reading. -DC_

_-Thanks for all the well-wishes, I'm crossing my fingers for continued good health! :)_

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Thirteen – "Standstill"**

Despite my best efforts, Louisa hadn't been discharged from the hospital until late Friday. A urinary tract infection accompanied by a low-grade fever had developed by mid-day Wednesday and although not a major concern, combined with blood tests which had recorded values less optimal than we'd predicted, the decision had been made to keep her under observation at the very least one more day as a precautionary measure.

I was not comfortable leaving Louisa in the hospital alone after such a stressful week, however by then, having been closed for five days, surgery had already been scheduled to reopen the following morning. Originally I'd planned to have her safely situated at home at that point, where I would have been able to keep a close eye on her, and I'm ashamed to admit that part of my uneasiness stemmed from my fear that she may again, for whatever reason, feel the need to run away.

Thursday morning I had taken James Henry to the Newton residence, as had become his routine, after feeding him his breakfast and prior to opening the surgery. Aunt had been set to retrieve him around the time Louisa normally would have, where I would still be busy seeing patients, thus trying to keep his day as routine as possible.

My consultations had been a gruelling ten hours without so much as a minute to spare and continuing on well into the increasingly booked Thursday late hours. The last patient hadn't left until 20 minutes past seven, at which point I had phoned Louisa to let her know I would be delayed. She'd insisted I stay home and spend some quality time with James to which I had reluctantly agreed, far too tired to argue.

In hindsight I realise Louisa had sounded rather subdued even then, not quite herself, and I should have phoned her back after James' bedtime routine, but hadn't.

I don't know why.

Even though I'd had Ruth collect and bring her mobile and charger on Tuesday, Louisa hadn't used it once to phone here either.

_Not even to speak with James, come to think of it._

Having intended on staying with him while I visited Louisa, Ruth had instructed me to have supper with them before driving to Truro, so after a very long day the last people I'd expected to see in my kitchen setting my table were Al and Morwenna.

Thankfully Al had only intended to deliver the food Ruth had ordered from Bert's and to collect Morwenna, which had suited me just fine. They'd then left James, Ruth and I to a relatively pleasant meal of my usual foolproof fare from that restaurant – steamed fish and vegetables.

Our family meals with Ruth have become more frequent of late, which had made Louisa's absence even more noticeable that evening – as they both tend to make the other talk during mealtimes. Other than James' contributions and the occasional sarcastic comment from my aunt, the table had seemed eerily quiet.

Yet . . . in spite of Louisa's return home last night, the cottage is _remaining_ unusually quiet. I've now garnered some understanding of what Louisa must mean when she says she finds my silence to be unsettling.

This _is_ unsettling.

I haven't let her play with James, of course, as there is no room for another incident. That may explain part of the deviation from the norm, but she'd known those would be the terms for a few weeks and shouldn't have taken offence by that. And she frankly doesn't come across as offended or angry, more . . . distant, and when she'd read to James at bedtime last night she had seemed reasonably content while doing so.

_Hadn't she? _

This morning had commenced with a call from Chris giving me an overview of the pathology findings from Louisa's liver biopsy, rather than having us wait an indeterminable number of days for the results to make their way through the official channels.

And on the whole the results are favourable.

At this point in time the most likely diagnosis concurs with chronic sarcoidosis, based on the histological findings and the vast number of other specific causes that have so far been summarily excluded. Louisa is likely to continue to be asymptomatic as we have seen no evidence of clinical manifestations in her annual blood panels up until now nor do I expect to see any immediate changes in the near future.

However, as James Henry unexpectedly brought this all to light we will be extra vigilant in continuing to monitor her liver enzymes once they return to a relative normal and we again have a base to work from, at which time we should also be able to better determine the clinical burden the lesions may present, if any.

Sarcoidosis is not an entirely uncommon finding in Louisa's demographic and we would likely have remained unaware of this condition for some time if not for that scan. Having prepared for a barrage of questions from Louisa regarding hepatic sarcoidosis, of which pathophysiology very little is known, I'd been rather taken aback by her perfunctory response.

Other than an instant and honest expression of relief, she had seemed almost disinterested and had not asked for even a morsel of information regarding the condition. This bore absolutely no resemblance to the Louisa I know and deviation from the norm always makes me uncomfortable, especially as my wife is concerned.

Whatever she is struggling with it must be tied to my telling her about her sister, yet I don't feel that she is upset with _me_ necessarily, rather the discovery itself – or perhaps aspects thereof.

I had decided at that point that I would allow her space the rest of the day to let her decipher her thoughts on her own, but at some point I would have to somehow elicit a response. The _somehow_ currently causing me a fair amount of trepidation as to _my_ ability to decipher her thoughts.

If there is anything I have taken from analysing our problems and our past, and this has also come to light during our discussions with Dr. Arscott, it is that communication is absolutely vital to the endurance of this relationship, regardless of how uncomfortable it may make one or the both of us at that given time.

I have admittedly improved when it comes to opening up and forcing myself to share things with Louisa that I'd much rather keep to myself, however this current situation is new to me.

Although not that different in presentation, our circumstances are now _reversed,_ which does put things in perspective. This time it is up to _me_ to initiate a response, rather than simply allowing it to occur as is usually the case, and the possibilities of failure seem interminable.

It is now Saturday evening, we have retired for the night and Louisa has yet to speak another word about this latest discovery.

I use the term _discovery_ lightly, however it was unfortunately the first and only suitable term that came to mind when attempting to console her in the hospital. I had at that point hastily suggested that this discovery could only affect her if she let it, which initially hadn't come across as I had intended. We got interrupted when my mobile rang signifying James' and Ruth's arrival and our discussion regarding her sister had come to an end.

That was Tuesday.

_Time is up . . ._

"Louisa?"

She is curled up on her side of our bed with her back to me, I imagine protecting her abdomen as I have emphasised on numerous occasions since she's been home that it is of the utmost importance.

No response.

From the rhythm of her breathing it is clear to me she is not yet asleep.

"Louisa, are you . . . asleep?"

Redundant question, obviously, but I'm grasping at straws. None of this, this … _behaviour_, is like her. Normally reactive, good or bad, but never this . . . silence. I don't know the expected things to say or do at the best of times and now the lack of the pattern I have become accustomed to has me utterly confounded.

Had I been wrong in telling this sister that Louisa would likely want to reach out to her? I really don't believe so and I still feel quite confident in my initial assessment that Louisa will eventually arrive at that conclusion. Even so, presently things are clearly at odds for her and she's obviously struggling.

I recall warning her sister that Louisa would likely be very emotional. The fact that withdrawal also falls into that category suddenly occurs to me and I could kick myself for missing the numerous signs. Withdrawal just isn't at all what I had expected, it is not a behaviour I've seen in Louisa previously as she tends to be rather outspoken, so I haven't given much thought to that end of the spectrum.

She is reacting in a manner strongly resembling what I've learned to recognise as my own default behavioural pattern and I am mentally going through all the ways Louisa has tried to reach me throughout the years when I effectively shut her out.

_Touch._

I lightly squeeze her shoulder.

"Louisa . . . ?"

There's an almost imperceptible nod coming from my wife and reaching for her I touch her face in acknowledgement, encountering a trail of warm moisture on her cheek.

"– You're crying!"

Was she crying last night as well and I had failed to notice?

I instinctively halt for a brief moment before Louisa's own words from earlier in the summer come to mind.

_'It is nice, you know, when you've had a crap day, to know that there's somebody waiting for you at home who will give you a hug or a kiss and make it all better . . . affection can make one feel better, feel loved.'_

I clumsily attempt too dry her tears with my thumb. Not entirely confident a kiss will be the appropriate course of action, I instead move closer to her positioning myself along her back while taking her hand and gently hugging her, hoping the reassurance of both our arms around her will bring some measure of comfort.

'Spooning' Louisa calls this and she has done it to me on numerous occasions. Initially I had found this configuration a rather odd and awkward entanglement, but I have since come to take comfort in this form of closeness between us. It does have the remarkable ability of promoting intimacy while simultaneously allowing a person space, which I can appreciate.

A brief attempt at imagining what may be going through Louisa's mind – what she may be thinking – only serves to remind me of our differences.

I decide her current behaviour is less likely a reflection of my own behavioural patterns and more emblematic of a departure from what she knows to be tried and trusted. Abandonment has perhaps taken on a different form yet again, adding to her persistent insecurities – a root and consequence Dr. Arscott has pointed out on more than one occasion.

I know Louisa often feels lonely and I know she needs someone to talk things over with, she's admitted as much. Yet in spite of knowing every last person in this blasted village, the only one she really has available is me and I'm not very good at . . . any of that.

_I want to become better at it._

Even when alone I rarely feel lonely, I crave solitude and need time on my own with my thoughts. At least that was almost exclusively the case prior to having Louisa and James in my life, they have become the exception – I _have_ changed in certain aspects. Louisa, however, is my complete opposite so I imagine she is extremely confused by her own reaction, or rather the lack of one, at the present time.

Whether I have made the right decision in not forcing the issue this evening, as I had originally intended, remains to be seen. I'm acting on something akin to an instinct and as instincts go mine are often wrought with flaws.

Hopefully she can gather the comfort and strength she needs from me tonight as she is trying to find her way through this standstill on her own.

Lonely, but not alone – _I'm_ here.


	14. Peace by Piece

_'Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. 'DCI Banks' is the property of Left Bank Pictures, no copyright infringements or existing case spoilers are intended, I'm just borrowing a character or two._ _Reviews are always appreciated, thank you and happy reading. -DC_

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Fourteen – "Peace by Piece"**

Louisa had in the end cried herself to sleep last night, curled into herself and grasping on to my hand until finally relaxing as sleep overtook her. I had remained awake for quite some time, not daring to move and simultaneously overcome by a sense of inadequacy – an inability to help her, to be useful.

She had appeared uncharacteristically small and vulnerable, completely enveloped by my stature and seemingly locked into place the way she had tucked her head under my chin. Not having bothered combing out her hair after showering, the usually soft texture of it had felt . . . coarse and different against my skin.

_She had felt different._

We are scheduled to see Dr. Arscott as usual tomorrow afternoon, but that is more than 24 hours out and I remain concerned for her welfare, uncertain as to the progress today may bring – if any.

Currently turned into me, buried against my side as if hiding, she is beginning to stir yet not fully awake. James Henry is thankfully still quiet, likely exhausted after the last couple of days' antics. Like myself he does not take kindly to changes in his routine and this entire past week, and particularly yesterday with Louisa unable to interact with him as she normally would have, has left him uncharacteristically uncooperative and whingey.

A warm and familiar hand finds its way past my sternum and settles over the general area of my heart, a gesture with which I have generally come to associate certain repose.

"Did you know that your heartbeat has a very soothing effect on me, Martin? Well, most times anyways."

"No, I didn't know that. Good morning."

"Morning. Well now you do."

"Do what?"

"Know 'bout it."

"Right, yes."

"Thank you for . . . being there for me last night, I must've been in need of a good cry. I guess all the . . . the _events_ of this week, have got to me more than I thought they would – or could. Or maybe I'd just never thought I'd be dealing with something like this – I don't really know. Seems there's no preconceived notion for this kind of thing floating 'round in my head, least I can't locate it. And I've been searching these last few days you know."

"Mm. How are you feeling today?"

"Bit better now, been thinking. . . . I want going forwards to be . . . like a blank slate, and I've come to realise that looking back right now just makes me angry and sad – upset like. So for now I should be focussing mostly forwards then, yeah? For a while, anyways – leave the past in peace till I get to know the present."

"Sound reasoning."

"Ruth had me look past the anger and hurt – well, something she said made me do it, really. And this is where I ended up, hopefully she'll approve.

Louisa is quiet for a long time, before speaking up again.

"What's she like?"

"Who?"

"Helen, my . . . sister."

"Oh, um – yes right. I didn't speak with her for very long, Louisa."

"Well no, but you must've formed some kind of impression of her in the time you _did_ speak to her?"

"She seemed very . . . straight-forward – direct. Organised in speech and to the point, not easily rattled. Clear and concise in answering and conveying the information I requested, took what I had to say in stride. Reliable, she had the letter to me just as she said she would. Other than that, I don't recall anything specific."

"Actually, Martin, that was pretty specific. She sounds . . . well, she certainly doesn't sound much like me at all, does she? More like you really I reckon, and I should know."

"Hm, yes – a bit. It is worth bearing in mind that I did interrupt her at her place of employment and she _is_ a Detective Inspector, which is exactly how she came across. You sound very different when you are at the school, Louisa, more . . . authoritative, commanding – disciplined."

"I do?"

"You do. As a matter of fact . . . during your interview for the Headship, when I was recruited for the Board of Governors?"

"Mm . . ."

"Well, you weren't very happy with me at the time, as you may recall."

"I do, yes."

"The fire you possessed that day, during that interview, and the way you stood up for yourself and the pupils – stood up to _me_. You made quite the impression on me that day I will have you know, and you have continued to do so ever since. You're _driven_ Louisa."

"Driven?"

"Mm, yes. And as for your sister not sounding like you, that's not entirely true. You may not express yourself with similar manner and verbage, but I clearly recall my immediate thoughts after having rung off that day were how she seemed to share your sense of drive. You both seem motivated in much the same way, though I'm not clear as to how I reached that conclusion, it doesn't seem logical."

"Life isn't always logical, Martin."

"No, I suppose not."

"What's she sound like?"

"A bit like you perhaps, but more Northern not Cornish obviously. Not as . . . melodious?"

That brings her out of hiding as she studiously perches above me – _my_ Louisa having seemingly returned.

"Did you just call me _melodious_?"

Kissing me full on the mouth she seems appreciative of my diction and settles back down into her spot, albeit scooting up a bit.

"Well, you . . . do have your ways of making me sing, husband."

_That much has proven true time after time and is an experiment in which the outcome can be predicted and repeated with a high degree of certainty._

"In all seriousness though Martin, do you think I'll like her, get along with her? More importantly, do you think she'll like _me_? What if she doesn't like me, then what?"

"I couldn't possibly say from one phone conversation, Louisa. But based on _logic _I will say that with your affinity for people and the way people in turn feel comfortable around you, the odds are pretty favourable."

"Hope so . . . I'm a little bit scared if I'm to be completely honest. I'm worried I'll let her down somehow, that I'll end up disappointing her."

"Louisa . . . "

"How 'bout the twin thing, Martin? As a doctor what do you think, don't they say twins have a special bond or something of the sort?"

"Well, that holds true with monozygotic twins to a certain extent, but dizygotic twins raised apart shouldn't expect to be any more connected than singleton siblings raised apart."

"Oh, I didn't know that. Did dad say anything about that, about . . . you know, what _kind _we were?"

"_Are_, Louisa. And no I asked, he didn't know."

"Right . . . I just, I don't even know where to begin – what to say, what to do or how to _act_. Here she's got a head start on me and has already done up and passed along a very informative and well thought out letter, whereas my thoughts are bouncing all over the place and I can't even think straight, never mind try to sit down in front of a computer to methodically type up a document. I just wanna pour my heart out, but she probably wouldn't like that, would she?"

Louisa's bottom lip is being punished once again by those perfectly white upper teeth. A decidedly bad habit, but one I consider to be uniquely my wife. I can't help but wonder now if her sister carries the same trait.

_Time will tell._

"Maybe I should go 'bout this like I did do when I was a kid, Martin. I'd hide under the duvet with a torch scribbling in my diary all of my thoughts – just anything that would jump to mind, a jumble of words usually, but mine nonetheless."

"Well, don't _act_ for one – just be yourself. And you could compose a diary if you feel it would help, but you wouldn't necessarily need the torch. I, um . . . I got you something. Well, ordered you something . . . useful. It arrived Tracked 24 yesterday, but you seemed a bit out of sorts so I didn't want to burden you." 

"A package arrived yesterday, for me? From you?"

"Mm, it is sitting in my consulting room. Since your spirits seem to have lifted, perhaps you could take a look at it today, after breakfast?"

"Now . . . now is good, yeah?"

"Now? Well I could go get it."

"You . . . could."

I can tell she is rather anxious to see what it is that I have picked out for her, patience is not one of Louisa's many virtues, however unbeknownst to her I am quite enjoying seeing her like this. I am relieved her mood has lifted and one would have to be rather obtuse not to pick up on her poorly repressed enthusiasm. Even I am not that abject.

"So . . . should I then, go get it I mean?"

"Martin, my god. You're actually teasing me, aren't you? Yes, yes go get it – please. Hurry, before James wakes!"

So I do as I am told and return with said item, quite anxious myself to see her reaction. I could be way out of line of course, but I'm hoping she'll find it a useful incentive and a first step in connecting with her sister.

"– Martin, how did you . . . ?"

"I called the shop in Wadebridge on Wednesday to set it aside for you, hoping we could pick it up on our way home, but when it became clear that we weren't going to be stopping in I phoned and had them dispatch it through the post instead."

"It's brilliant, just brilliant – how'd you think of it?"

"Helen, actually. She mentioned in her letter to you that she has one with her at all times, so I thought it only fair that you should have one as well. It may also prove useful for your school work and I believe you can transfer your pictures of James onto it as well as take new ones – it has a camera built in."

She's already got the gadget booted up and seems very pleased with my purchase.

"Where your mobile is black, that seemed the logical choice, but there is a white and silver option available if you prefer. And I've already had the iPad mobile access added onto our plan, so you should be able to utilise it wherever you have a signal for your mobile, or so I was told."

"This is a very nice and thoughtful surprise, Martin. You _really_ want to see me pursue this, don't you?"

"Of course I do. You've been given a chance to find your missing piece and to make it right."

"Thank you Martin. For thinking of this, for steering me in the right direction – keeping me afloat when I feel like I'm sinking. James and I are very lucky to have you in our lives, you know, and I don't think I tell you that enough. I will try to do better."

She gives me a quick peck on the cheek.

"I'm also hoping I can tell my sister about you one day, to let her know how lucky I am to have found you, that is. To have a friend, let alone a sister, who might understand these kind of things . . . Well, just maybe that's in the cards for me now, who knows, yeah? Scary and exciting at once it is."

Louisa is rarely truly afraid of anything, but no doubt this is stirring her underlying insecurities . . _. and I'll have to admit rightfully so. _

"But . . . Martin? You should know that I already found my missing piece years ago, my perfect opposite. Took me a while to realise it and a considerable while longer to see us align in time and space, but . . . once we did do I knew with absolute certainty that I loved you and that we love one another."

She's drawing little patterns on my chest with her index finger. I don't think she's even aware, but I'm enjoying the familiarity of it – another trait that is uniquely Louisa.

"The hardest thing 'bout being perfect opposites, Martin, is the _perfect_ part – doesn't allow us much wiggle room, now does it? When we're even the littlest bit off kilter, we don't fall into place as easily as most people. But that's okay 'cause we're not most people, we're us – _you_ and _me_ Martin. We've just got to learn to trust that we do perfectly form a bigger picture; a family that will continue to change piece by piece. Sometimes we may not even recognise it, but its ours, Martin – yours and mine, and that's how family comes about."

And this is the Louisa that I know and love, the feisty emotionally outspoken one who will say and do all the things that I cannot even conceive of, let alone express. She's the only person who has the innate ability to render me speechless and who's come to understand, even expect perhaps, that when I look at her as I do now it is with absolute and unconditional love and admiration.

"This family we're part of may not've come 'bout in the right order, nor are we picture perfect . . . but we've got potential don't we Martin? We've got all the right pieces, just need to keep workin' on the layout, yeah?"

And working on it we are.

We are doing considerably better Louisa and I, and with the addition of James Henry in my life family has taken on a whole new meaning for me as well. As Louisa has correctly gathered, I now feel part of a bigger picture – possibly for the first time ever. No longer does the thought of such a unit fill me with absolute dread.

In fact, despite the unpredictability and inevitable changes involved, and now an extended branch by way of Helen and her family, I find that I want to continue to grow what was planted years ago when I found _my_ missing piece.

Even if I'm not exactly certain as to what this realisation may mean for us, I do know that I'm at peace with it and no longer opposed to finding out.


	15. Halfway

_'Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. 'DCI Banks' is the property of Left Bank Pictures, no copyright infringements or existing case spoilers are intended, I'm just borrowing a character or two._ _Reviews are always appreciated, thank you and happy reading. -DC_

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Fifteen – "Halfway"**

I study the photo on my iPad, the familiar features mirroring my own. In a way I can only describe as a visual sense of déjà vu, the mental feedback I am experiencing is a rather odd awareness of _not_ having been present within the situation yet still feeling as if I'm looking at myself smiling back from a time warp.

The smile is distinctly my own as well and I can easily identify the source from whence it comes. In my case the little boy looking up at me hadn't done so with bright blue eyes and golden locks, but the bond clearly present between mother and son in this snap is one I know four-fold and one to which I can fully relate.

Next weekend my oldest, Steven, will turn 16 after a year of testing that connection on what has seemed a daily basis. He'll be the same age to the day that I'd been when my father had sat me down and tested our father-daughter bond by informing me I was in fact the biological offspring of his younger brother. Then about one month ago I learnt that I've also had a sister out there all this time, my father had never said.

Not only did I discover the existence of a sibling, but as it turned out she is also my identical twin and today will be the day where there'll be no denying it.

I haven't told the boys about this discovery, but by next weekend it is my intention to inform them of their relative. By that point in time I've hopefully also gleaned the knowledge required to report back and answer some basic questions about her, should they so inquire.

_Time will tell._

Although I don't find connecting with people to be particularly easy, I was relieved to learn Dr. Ellingham would be accompanying his wife. Small talk is not my forte and with just the two of us I had feared it might have become a rather awkward first encounter, or at the very least a one-sided introduction.

Based on the limited communication we've shared so far, solely through email at my insistence, Louisa does appear to go on about seemingly trivial things, whereas I tend not to discuss a subject unless it's relevant – neither tactic particularly useful as a means of information gathering and exchange. I find mindless chatting over the telephone to be inconvenient at the best of times and there was no sense in postponing the eventuality of meeting in person.

So in a rather unusual move I'd been the one to almost immediately devise a plan to pursue said meeting, finding I'd become rather intrigued by this other person who also happens to share most of my DNA. Seems there may be actual genetic tendencies, in spite of our obvious differences, that should allow us to get along somewhat and I'm actually truly wanting to find out – to investigate what this other person is like.

I'm hoping we'll tolerate one another.

I haven't got many friends, really – trust and honesty can be hard to come by, but the possibility of trust based solely on a shard bond of some sort is worth looking into.

Dr. Ellingham had said Louisa would likely want to meet me, so I'd determined taking charge of the planning step to be a welcome gesture, a solid first step. It should also be a good way of addressing a number of practical questions and concerns head on and in an efficient manner, without the misunderstandings that can easily arise over the course of a telephone conversation.

Communicating via FaceTime or phone may be a suitable option later on, but for sensitive initial conversations I predict video-conferencing would have served more as an interrogation than an introduction, particularly for Louisa if she proves as emotional as her husband seemed to suggest.

For this reason alone having her immediate family present for moral support may prove useful, and for purely selfish reasons I can appreciate the fact that they'll also likely turn out to be a welcome distraction to the overall schedule of events.

Myself, I'd needed to come here alone. The boys rely on Michael mostly anyways and I'm not comfortable leaving them all with his mother at the same time, it is better for them to stick with their routine.

There's nothing routine about this weekend, however, this is all new and unpredictable territory for me and as such I'll require time and space to analyse and process my findings – on my own without needless interruptions.

So now here I am on a Saturday morning, en-route for us to meet halfway . . . so to speak.

With the 09:11 CrossCountry line from Leeds rolling into Birmingham New Street station I've journeyed well past the halfway mark and should be right on time for my scheduled 12:42 arrival in Bristol.

Passionate about punctuality, I'll consider this to be a good sign for this weekend – so far, so good.

In a little less than 90 minutes I'll be face-to-face with my sister, her husband and their young son. From here on out there will be no going back, only forwards.

I've already spoken with Dr. Ellingham of course, albeit briefly, and he seemed straight forward and to the point, qualities I can relate to. Their boy will be shy at first surely, perhaps even a little apprehensive when seeing his mother's double, but I predict he'll quickly get over it and _then_ be shy.

I'm truly looking forward to my interactions with him as I am confident in my dealings with children having had plenty of experience with them. Kids are honest, they tell it like it is, which allows me to feel comfortable when in their company, that's more than can be said for most adults I have to put up with.

And that only leaves his mother – my twin.

Will I be comfortable interacting with Louisa, will I be able to relate to her at all?

_Perhaps_.

Am I a little apprehensive at the thought of seeing my double, but still looking forward to meeting with her?

_Yes_.

Do I have any experience in this field, do I feel confident in predicting that our interactions will be straight forward and to the point?

_Hardly . . . _

Trying to calm my nerves and take my mind off this weekend I get my iPod out and the ear buds in, then set a random music selection to shuffle before closing my eyes in an attempt to take my mind off this, my altered reality – if only for a few minutes.

XxXxX

"I can't find it anywhere. . . are you sure you haven't put it somewhere?"

"Louisa, we are going to be late. It's already a quarter past nine and we have a solid two hours and thirty minutes of driving ahead of us. That is _if_ there's no traffic to speak of, which I don't need to explain to you is _highly_ improbable on this remarkably mild and sunny October weekend wouldn't you say, hmm?"

"But Martin! Everything for this trip that we'll need is on there – pictures, maps, time tables, our reservation. Oh, and the steam train information I found. Can you just . . . just help, please."

I must've sat my iPad down at some point whilst packing and now it's nowhere to be found, 'course.

"Where did you have it last, have you checked your desk? It may just have survived this morning's avalanche – if you're lucky. If not, a paper copy of our hotel booking is in my coat pocket along with Helen's itinerary. The Lexus has Sat Nav as well as several road maps in the glove compartment, but I feel relatively confident Bristol hasn't relocated since my last visit. Anything else?"

Peeking down over the banister I spot the iPad teetering precariously on top of a jumbled stack of unfinished grant applications and other budget related forms on my desk. Martin had insisted on my staying away from the 'rowdy pupils'for four weeks after my incident so I'd brought work on home with me to catch up. I go back on Monday, but I have more important things to catch up with first, one person in particular. . . .

"Found it! You reckon the iPad car charger is still in the car?"

"Where else would it be?"

"Right. Oh, and did you remember to get the travel cot from Hana?"

"Yes, it's in the boot along with our overnight bags and the buggy. Now, if there's nothing else can we please be on our way? There is absolutely no reason for us to be late, none whatsoever. It's inexcusable and frankly I find the prospect embarrassing."

"Oh Martin, it'll be fine – she'll understand I'm sure. She has kids."

"Louisa. James has been ready since nine o'clock when we were meant to leave, if you recall."

They were both standing above me on the landing, regarding me with a similar displeased expression, yet looking quite handsome in their travel clothes. Martin was impatiently rotating the keys in his hand and James was opening and closing his fist to mirror his daddy.

"Yes, well we're ready now, aren't we, so are you two planning on coming down so we can head on out or are you gonna stay up there shouting and pouting the day away?"

After five more minutes we were all buckled in ready for this weekend and from my vantage point in the back seat I noticed the time popping up at exactly 9:35 upon Martin starting and reversing the car.

Within the hour then, could be worse – and I've got my iPad. So far, so good.

"Louisa, did Helen by chance communicate whether her train has departed? She should be a good twenty minutes into her travels by now, we'll be cutting it close."

"I don't remember hearing anything, but let me check anyways. She did say that she would text rather than email the day of, so I should've heard from her by now if . . . OH BUGGER!"

"Is everything alright?"

"Well, it's my mobile . . . it's not in my handbag. I think it's still on my bedside plugged in. I'll just go fetch it then . . . I'll be quick. Oh, and . . . um, can I use your keys?"

"What's wrong with _your_ set?"

"Nothing, 'cept . . . I put them on top of my mobile so I wouldn't forget to take it, but then _you_ ended up locking the door so I was made to forget anyways."

"Oh I see, this is all my fault?"

"Well . . ."

"Good God, Louisa. I recognise the fact that you have had a lot on your mind these last few weeks, but this is becoming absolutely ridiculous!"

There was no mistaking his patience wearing thin, and he practically slapped the keys into my hand before barking an order for me to hurry up, 'unless I'd rather be at home'.

Martin was still irritated as we passed the welcome sign to the village on our way out and the silence forced me to really think about this weekend for the first time today. I'd managed to stay busy planning and packing till the last minute, but now that the day was actually here, I was starting to properly realise just how special this is, can be – how _big _it is, and how absolutely overwhelmed and unprepared I feel.

If all goes well I'm hoping we'll recognise each other as an accepted part of the other's life and family from here on out with no going back, only forwards. But if I'm to be completely honest I'm wanting to feel a sense of belonging as well – that bond that comes complete with trust and love and all those things. . . .

I may not see us as missing pieces, more like missing _people_, but on one point Martin had made absolute sense – we've been given a second chance to make it right.

And after this weekend I _will_ no doubt have a sister . . . I'll _be_ a sister, whatever that means. So should this turn out even halfway as meaningful as I've dared hope for, then two people wronged will have made a right.


	16. Parallels

_'Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. 'DCI Banks' is the property of Left Bank Pictures, no copyright infringements or existing case spoilers are intended, I'm just borrowing a character or two._ _Reviews are always appreciated, thank you and happy reading. -DC_

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Sixteen – "Parallels"**

Once Louisa had finally retrieved her mobile she had in fact found an SMS message from her sister verifying that she should be arriving at the Temple Meads station on time and would have only a short walk from there to the hotel. By the time I pointed the Lexus into the hotel car park in Bristol, we had been travelling for exactly three hours, the motorway around Taunton our main hold-up, placing us all at our intended destination at around the same hour.

Louisa had just finished giving James Henry his lunch which proved a good idea as he will now then be ready for his nap in a few short minutes. She had also called the hotel on our way and managed to secure an early check-in for us, so I'm carrying only James, his travel cot and bedding in with me while Louisa has the changing bag as well as her iPad – which she's insisting on using as they can scan it or some such nonsense. I will come back out for the rest of our belongings once we get James' things set up.

I'm pleased to find that our double guest room has an impressive view of the city centre, being located on the top floor, and it's relatively spacious which leaves us ample room for the cot in the corner by my side of the bed. There are functional furnishings throughout, the linens appear crisp and everything looks recently renovated with the required safety features in place.

So far the only negative are the complimentary chocolate chip cookies we were given upon our arrival, an absolutely unnecessary and appalling practice. Louisa was in possession of mine before I had a chance to turn it down, a missed opportunity for dispensing some useful information on the detrimental nutritional aspects of said offerings. And apart from the trail of crumbs Louisa is leaving behind, the room also appears acceptably clean at first glance.

It looks as if this weekend may turn out to be tolerable – so far, so good.

After inspecting our bedding and switching off the room's ventilation system I make for the Lexus to retrieve the remainder of our things. Having placed our car park ticket in the windscreen I get our remaining luggage out of the boot and stride into the lift inside in the reception area just as the doors are about to close.

"Top floor, please" I say as I squeeze by the only other guest present in the rather confined space, both my hands holding onto the bags.

"Mm."

When no motion is made towards fulfilling my request I look up and note the floor in question has already been selected. I also realise that I am sharing this claustrophobic enclosure with an absolute human replica of my wife and I cannot seem to take my eyes off her, it's . . . uncanny.

Those oddly familiar green eyes suddenly lock onto my gaze with fierce purpose.

"You've got a problem."

As she speaks I notice traces of cookie crumbs adhered to her lipstick. _ At least they have one thing in common. . . . _ Upon closer examination the crumbs lead to what looks to be smeared chocolate at the left corner of her mouth, a mouth which looks exactly like Louisa's and is starting to curl in a way I have come to know as a clear warning sign.

"Will you stop that, please."

"Helen Morton?" _Not that there could ever be any doubt._

"Yes?"

"Martin Ellingham, Louisa's husband."

"Ah, Dr. Ellingham." She briefly wipes at her mouth before realising her faux pas and instead extends her other hand in a half-hearted greeting. I nod to the cases in my hand, preferring to avoid setting them down in areas where God knows what or whom has tracked their filth.

"Right, of course. And sorry, thinking the worst because of what I see at work. Not used to being analysed so closely at first glance unless I'm face to face with a murderer or some other pervert."

"Oh . . . right, yes. You, um . . . _chocolate_, you have a bit of chocolate at the corner of your – "

" – Yes, well warm chocolate chip cookies were handed out when I checked in, it must've smeared."

"Yes. I mean it's, it's alright. I just . . . Louisa consumed hers and mine both, so you are in good company that is. Well, will be. I don't much care for cookies, they're nothing but empty calories, sugar, starch and saturated fat."

"I see. Well thank you Doctor, I find the occasional cookie gives me energy, but I will certainly keep that in mind next time I eat one. I believe we have arrived at our destination?"

"Right, yes. Ladies first."

We stride down the corridor and open our respective doors, directly parallel to one another, without looking back.

"Martin! You look like you've seen a ghost, is everything alright? James is fast asleep so we should have a few minutes to get unpacked. I haven't heard from Helen yet, but I'm expecting a text any minute now letting us know she got here safely."

"Yes. And she . . .erm, did."

"Did what?"

"Get here safely. Helen. Mm, yes – so that's settled."

"What do you mean she got here safely, did you already talk with her? You _met_ with her? She's here?"

"Yes, across the corridor as a matter of fact. She . . . um, was in the lift when I stepped in. Mm. I didn't realise it until I . . . well, until I looked up. And you no doubt exemplify monozygotic twins, down to your shared craving for sugary confections."

"Oh. So . . . so you were the first to learn of her existence, then the first one to talk with her and now the first one to meet her. Just . . . great!"

"Technically speaking, Louisa, you have already met each other and my encounter with her can hardly be classified as a meeting."

"Still . . ." As Louisa appears to be thinking her face morphs from disappointment into that coquettish grin she sometimes possesses, which I happen to be quite fond of.

"So . . . you must've caught her eating her chocolate chip cookie then I take it, interesting. You didn't discourage her, did you?"

"Um . . . no and yes."

"What, you _didn't_ see her eat one but you still lectured her about it?"

"That is correct, I informed her of the facts so she can better make an informed decision in the future."

"Martin! You've got to be kidding . . . what'd she say?"

"She said she will consider my advice the next time she eats one."

"Oh did she now. I'm liking her already!"

"Yes, I thought you might. . . ."

As if on cue Louisa's mobile beeps.

_Hello. Am checked in &amp; _

_believe directly _

_across corridor from u._

"What's that mean?"

"That she is where I said she would be?"

"Well yeah, but . . . now what do we do?"

"_We_?"

"Well . . ."

"If you hadn't already eaten two cookies I would have suggested _we_ have lunch, I'm rather hungry and the restaurant downstairs is supposed to be quite good."

"Right, I am getting a bit peckish and I'm sure Helen is hungry as well, but . . . what about James? Do they offer room service?"

"Oh um . . . I'd rather not." The mere thought of ill-prepared food wheeled through a maze of corridors has my stomach churning.

"Why not?"

"Louisa. Why don't I go for a walk, chase up a delicatessen or something and bring us all back some _actual_ sustenance. That will leave us to take our dinner at the restaurant later tonight which may be a better option."

"Yeah, that would be good. Are you sure?"

"Yes. Aah . . . maybe you can meet with Helen, get the first introductions out of the way and so forth."

"What, now? God, I'm so nervous Martin. . . ."

"Yes. You'll be fine, just be yourself. I shouldn't be more than half an hour."

_Hello Helen, Martin said _

_he'd met you. He's gone _

_out to fetch us all _

_lunch, but maybe you'd _

_like to help me polish off _

_some Chocolate Digestives _

_to start? Got about half _

_a packet. I just put James _

_down for his nap, so _

_you'll have to come here._

_. . ._

_Louisa. Give me 5 mins. _

XxXxX

It had felt like the longest wait of my life, and I about wore a hole through the carpet, but after exactly five minutes there was a knock on the door. For a second I thought about looking through the peephole, so I'd know what to expect, but I already know the outside. It's who's on the inside I'm wanting to see.

I'd fretted over what to wear this morning and ended up in my black jeans, black heeled boots and old favourite pink jersey wrap top – I've always felt confident in it. _Not working now though. . . . _ My hair's in a ponytail, 'cause James pulls on it and it's an easy do-over, so nothing fancy.

_Just . . . me. _

A second firmer knock has my heart in my mouth as I undo the lock and stand aside – frozen.

"Hello. May I?"

I nod, as is all I can do it seems. She strides in and looks around the room for a bit, then turns to me extending her hand. It reminds me of Martin during our first proper meeting after I'd returned to the village six months pregnant, when he'd come to the school. I'd felt as awkward then as I do now.

"Helen Morton."

I take her hand and it's such an odd feeling, both the gesture and the actual sensation.

"Louisa, Louisa Glasson – well, _Ellingham_ now."

"Right, so how long have you been married?"

"Oh, um . . . six months or thereabouts. Well, we were going to get married two years ago but . . . it's a little bit complicated."

"Mm."

"So . . ."

"Biscuits?"

"Oh right, yes! Sorry, I'm a bit nervous – well, a lot nervous I reckon. There's a chaise lounge over there by the window if you want to sit down or . . . or whatever you're comfortable with really is fine, so . . . yeah. Good."

When she gets to James' cot she sidesteps and bends down to look at him in his sleep. Stroking his hair gently she touches his forehead and adjusts his blanket, before sitting down on the chaise, looking out over Bristol City Centre.

"You've got a nice little boy. He's got certain features of my third – also a James."

"You have a James as well?"

"I have. He's ten, named for my Mother's brother, a Police Officer. Former Chief Superintendent."

"James Henry is named for my Mum's dad, a postman, and Martin's grandfather, also a doctor – or surgeon, like Martin."

"Your husband is a surgeon?"

"Um, well . . . yes. He's the GP in our village though, and a very good doctor."

"– Who doesn't approve of sweets."

"Bugger, the biscuits!"

I grab the packet from my handbag and stuff a biscuit in my mouth after having first offered Helen one, hoping it'll prevent me from saying or doing something silly or stupid.

_Buying me some time to think at least. . . _

"Oh Martin's alright, he's just . . . different."

We look a lot alike, Helen and I – _a lot_. She's got her hair gathered in the back like mine, but in a neat bun rather than a ponytail, without a wayward hair one. _Well, her kids are all older I'm guessing. . . . _Her tucked-in blouse is pink with a contrasting pink around the collar, which is buttoned all 'way up and is a similar shade to the dark colour of her lipstick. On over it she's got on a light silver grey blazer and black trousers with a thin leather belt and she really looks very presentable and put together . . . _unlike me._ And the boots she's wearing are . . . exactly like mine. _Yes – they really are!_

"– I like your boots."

"They're nothing special."

I'm sitting on the edge of the bed facing the window seat and my feet are dangling off the bed. Holding one leg up I wiggle my foot up and down in her direction.

"Mine neither, but I'd say it looks like we're twins!"

_And . . . there you have it. I couldn't have said anything more stupid if I'd tried._

"Um . . . well, you know what I mean."

At that she actually smiles which makes her look even more like me. I laugh a little as I practically shove the packet of Digestives in her face, nervous laughter I'm sure, but that's still good I think.

"Another biscuit?"

"How many have you got?" 

"Oh, I'd say about . . . half a dozen?"

"Then shut up and deal."

XxXxX

I'd found a surprisingly well appointed Delicatessen directly down the street from the hotel, with an impressive selection of quality meats, cheeses and bread baked right there on the premises. Having selected my usual roast chicken with mustard on rye I was less certain as to what else to choose. Louisa will eat anything, so I decided on a classic Brie and cranberry as well as a ham and mustard, then she can eat whatever Helen doesn't pick or they can share half of each, whatever the case may be. I also picked up some fruit and wedge cheese and a disposable wooden knife.

Jamming my card key into the slot a few times the blasted room door finally unlocks and as it swings open what I see will be with me for a long time. Louisa and Helen are seated on the rather cramped window seat lounge. They have on similar clothing, their hair is pulled back and they are both tinkering with their iPads.

"Oh hello Martin, we're looking at pictures and Helen is using an app to transfer some of hers to my iPad and showing me how to send her some of mine, oh and she's activated my cloud so I won't lose them."

"Your cloud? Well if the forecast is favourable, maybe we can eat now?"

I had picked up a copy of the Bristol Post and quickly unfolded it over the small round table in the corner before laying out our wrapped sandwiches.

"Helen – may I call you Helen?"

"Of course."

"Well, Helen, not being familiar with your culinary preferences there are a couple of different options, as well as some cheese and apple for afters. Hopefully it will prove to be adequate, it's been a long day so far and a cookie or two can hardly be considered proper nutrition."

They both glance at each other at that as I head to the wash room to clean my hands as well as wash the apples and the knife – I am ravenous at this point. Pulling up the desk chair so I can have a seat Louisa is looking at me with an odd, but amused expression and I wonder what it is I've missed this time.

"This is excellent, Dr. Ellingham, good choice. How did you know roast chicken and mustard on rye to be my preference?"

"What? Um, I didn't. That was – "

" – an _extraordinary_ choice, Martin. Well done! And please call him Martin, Helen, seeing as we are family now, yeah?"

Louisa is nodding frantically at me.

"Um, _yes_ – Martin is fine, that would be good. Mm."

"I think I'll have the Brie and cranberry, Martin, if that's okay with you – I've a hankering for it."

She hands me the ham and mustard sandwich with an apologetic smile, knowing I won't eat two servings of cheese in one sitting and that there are wedges of cheese and apples yet to come.

Strangely enough a ham sandwich has never tasted better and by unwittingly giving up what I thought I wanted and needed I have contributed to the contentment of each member of this unlikely unit, this . . . family.

I glance over at James' peaceful form in the cot and realise what a difference absence of fear and presence of love and care makes. He will know no different and as such will act on unguarded _instinct_, whereas I act mostly on what Louisa, and to a lesser extent Auntie Joan, have taught me.

My fears are still very real that the intrusion of my learned behaviours will take away from his ability to continue this instinctual development as he gets older, though the fact that he is sleeping contentedly through all our chatter and noise must mean he finds our presence and behaviours comforting – hopefully that trend will persist.

It's dawning on me that the silence from my childhood, which I've since continued to believe I want and need, has never truly contributed to my contentment, rather it has been a means of controlling my fears by elimination.

Helen and Louisa have been in this room together for less than an hour, bringing with them an array of emotions I'm sure – one being fear, yet they seem to have settled into the situation. So it appears then that instinct is indeed a powerful force, complete with the ability to overcome and adapt.

It is also further proof that what I experienced growing up was without parallel to the concept of family that James, and now belatedly myself, will come to know. . . .

I study the second half of my sandwich and realise that it has provided me with much more than a simple meal this time. From now on going forwards, I will make it a point to choose ham and mustard whenever the opportunity arises. This time like most times I hadn't and was reminded in the end of how change isn't always such a bad thing after all.

As Helen and Louisa have already taught me in a very short time, and as has become evident over the course of this past month – unexpected changes can turn into extraordinary choices, choices which in parallel can bring about unexpected rewards.

Seeing Louisa reunited with her sister is one of them.


	17. Two

_'Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. 'DCI Banks' is the property of Left Bank Pictures, no copyright infringements or existing case spoilers are intended, I'm just borrowing a character or two._ _Reviews are always appreciated, thank you and happy reading. -DC_

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Seventeen – "Two"**

The look on James' face is a priceless mixture of sleep, surprise and wonderment as he sits there looking up at the three of us.

I'm starting to feel a bit guilty about this whole thing, but Martin had insisted on this 'personal research experiment' of his, observing his son's initial reaction and facial expressions upon awakening to 'two' of me, and I have to admit that I've been a bit curious myself.

So remaining mum, Helen and I had watched from the window lounge as Martin woke him, picked him up from the cot and sat him down on the floor between us on his train play mat that we'd brought with. He'd slept for about an hour and a half, which is plenty this late in the day if we want him to go to sleep tonight in his new surroundings.

Though social, James has clearly inherited Martin's shyness, but with that also comes the ability to stay calm and think things through – in other words the exact opposite of me. . . . It's quite fascinating to see him sitting there simply taking it all in, eyes big as saucers and mouth open, when he just as easily could be crying at the top of his lungs. He's as calm as he was after the now infamous milk mishap, only more puzzled than surprised this time 'round I reckon.

When he finally decides to stand himself up I'm of course hoping he'll come to me and not Helen, 'cause I know I'll honestly be quite upset if he gets it wrong. Especially since he sort of appears to have been thinking this through – well, for a fifteen-month old anyways. . ._ but then he is Martin's son._

Once on his feet and steady he gives us both a thorough once-over before shyly, but determinedly, retreating to the safety of his daddy's arms, burying into his chest and clutching at his shirt.

_And Martin is practically beaming. _

Grabbing my iPad I manage to secure a snap before the spell is broken, another one for my growing family collection.

" – Erm . . . right, then of course there's option number three. Not what I expected."

Nodding, my emotions are getting the best of me again, but happy tears this time – _for Martin_.

"Louisa, what's wrong?" His voice is tender, but worried, and I hurry to reassure him.

"Nothing, absolutely nothing! I'm just . . . happy for you, for _us_, all of us, this – to be here now, you know . . ."

I'm flailing my arms about forgetting I've got the iPad still in my grasp and I almost take out poor Helen who evades her face at the last minute.

"I just, just . . . everything I think, it's a bit overwhelming is all, I'm sorry."

Helen wordlessly takes my iPad from me and setting it down clasps my hand between both of hers, which surprises me and grounds me at once.

Having now heard my voice James turns around and locks eyes with me before reaching out wanting to be picked up, which of course I do. He's cautiously studying Helen from the safety of my lap and seems to relax a bit once when she starts speaking, probably recognising her voice as different from mine as well.

"This is your Auntie Helen, James, can you say hello?"

"Hello James, you're a very clever little boy, I can tell."

She snags an apple wedge from the table and shows it to him before eating it, then gets another.

"This apple tastes very good James, do you like apples? My boys used to love apples, I will keep this one for you right here."

He's clearly thinking about the apple and can't take his eyes off of it where Helen has set it down on a piece of sandwich paper by her side. Eventually he determines the apple to be worth encountering this familiar stranger and climbs across into her lap after some additional encouragement from me, but mostly of his own accord.

I get up and go sit by Martin on the bed, marvelling at what I'm seeing – James chewing at the apple looking at me and Martin, and Helen chewing on another piece of apple looking at James.

"Like I mentioned to Louisa earlier, he really does have quite a few characteristics in common with my James. His father's blond locks not one of them, obviously."

My sister talking to Martin seems to bring him back 'round from wherever his mind's been.

"Well, technically they can be considered half brothers, so it's not that unexpected for them to express similar phenotypes."

"Half brothers?" I can't wrap my mind around it, but I guess it does make sense . . . sort of.

"Mm, yes. Good to know should I ever come across a murder victim or perp involving twins and their offspring, but I prefer to inform my boys they have a cousin, thank you."

I sense the two of them could spar for hours . . . neither one likely to concede to another, _a lot alike indeed._

"Well, yes. They _are_ cousins, however on a biological level also comparable to siblings sharing one parent due to the – "

" – He _really_ likes you, Helen", I interact to diffuse a potential discussion that would take away from James getting to know his new relative.

"Actually he's taking to you very quickly. Let me get a wipe for his grubby hands before his growing confidence results in apple and dribble all over your nice clothes."

I wasn't quick enough as he had got his sticky hands into Helen's hair by the time I turned back 'round, grabbing hold of her perfect bun and pulling on it with all his might.

"Oh dear . . ."

She carefully untangles his hand, but by the looks of it the damage is already done.

"My youngest is seven, but I clearly remember this part of their exploration phase."

Continuing to explore and compare, her face is next it seems. Unlike me she's wearing earrings – pearls, and James is very intrigued by them. When she lets him know, kindly but firmly, that he's not to play with those he goes back to her hair, pulling yet another chunk of it away from the now not so neat chignon. . . .

"I'm so sorry Helen, I'd understand if you want to hand him back. He probably needs a nappy change anyways."

"We're just getting to know each other, aren't we James?"

It occurs to me that there's no loose strands of hair for him to grab onto, unlike what he is familiar with, and taking after his father he's probably trying to fix it – make it into something he knows, make it how he thinks it should be.

"I usually wear my hair in a ponytail, so he's probably trying to make that happen I'm afraid."

"I always wear it like this. But he's already partially succeeded, so I guess I can humour him this one time. I'll have to redo it now anyhow."

Pulling out a few pins and an elastic, her hair falls freely about her shoulders. It's wavy from the bun and she looks completely different, not as . . . harsh. Even the dark lipstick seems to mellow when her face is framed by the soft waves.

" – You're very pretty."

Both Martin and Helen turn to me at that, and as soon as the words leave my mouth I realise how that might have sounded a bit odd, considering.

"Well . . . you know. I was just noticing . . . with your hair down like that – it just makes you look very different, is all."

"Mm." Helen's now looking to the floor.

The room goes strangely quiet, nobody is saying anything other than James, who's very happily babbling away now that he's got her locks at his disposal. I'm not quite sure what happened really, but something did and I'm feeling uncomfortable for the first time since she's been here.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you . . . I wasn't thinking again, always speaking before thinking things through. Bad habit."

"No, it's okay."

Martin decides this is a good time to get James cleaned up and into a fresh nappy and for once his timing is spot on and I am grateful for the interruption. The situation has turned awkward and I find myself nibbling on my fingernails, another bad habit. . . . Glancing across to the window seat I notice Helen doing exactly the same thing.

"So . . . we share at least one bad habit then I see, I don't feel so bad now." I try to smile, but it feels forced.

She quickly folds her hands away into her lap looking cornered and uncomfortable – upset. Appearing to be gathering her strength, building her courage, she takes a deep breath before squaring her shoulders and seemingly going for it.

"Mother had long wavy hair, she was beautiful. I always wished-for her waves as a little girl, but of course now I know why I didn't have them. She'd braid my hair at night so it'd be wavy like hers, then tell me I was pretty."

Running her fingers through her hair she appears miles away.

"I haven't worn my hair down much since she died, I was eleven and with just my Father and I left it didn't seem practical. Never could bring myself to cut it, though."

I'm on my feet and by her side before I even realise it, putting my arm around her in somewhat of a half hug for the first time since our meeting. Spur of the moment I also decide to pull the scrunchy out of my own hair.

"There, now we're proper twins."

XxXxX

After a loaded lunch on many levels, we'd all felt the need to get outside for a bit and decided to go for a quiet stroll across the bridge to the harbour area and the park. It'd also give James a chance to get out of the buggy and walk off some energy after having been good as gold on our long drive this morning. And it was a chance for us adults to get some fresh air and clear our heads, lots of emotions swirling about today.

Despite Helen having neatly done up her hair again, James is quite taken with her in general and is showing off whenever possible. I find she seems very comfortable around him and will probably appreciate some time alone with her thoughts anyways, so I'm giving him free reins to wear himself and his Auntie out playing in the grass while Martin and I get a rare moment to ourselves on one of the lovely park benches.

"So . . . do you miss London, Martin?"

"London? Why do you ask?"

"Oh, I don't know. I guess this setting kind of reminds me of the city, do you miss it?"

"Um . . . no, I don't think so."

"If you say so . . ."

"I do."

I link my arm through Martin's and notice Helen looking at us from a little ways away. I smile back, still completely baffled by this whole thing, but extremely grateful and terrified at the same time. Hard to explain . . .

"You know, Martin, today is our two year anniversary."

"Our what?"

"Two years ago today you asked me to marry you, or have you forgotten?"

"Oh, yes I suppose it is. And no of course not, how could I forget, I . . . didn't think you'd say yes."

"So, you asked me 'cause you expected me to say no?"

"No, I asked you 'cause I hoped you'd say yes."

"I did say yes."

He's getting frustrated with me and and takes a deep breath before continuing.

"We _both_ did, Louisa . . . James Henry is living proof of that."

Discretely he takes my hand and looks at me, really looks at me, before reverting to observing Helen playing with the evidence, so to speak.

"I don't know how she does it, can you believe she's got four boys – _four_! Can you imagine?"

"God no."

"No . . . me neither. I always wanted lots of kids, but four _and_ a full time job? Two seems more manageable, somehow."

"Mm."

We sit there for a while enjoying the relative silence. Well, 'least he didn't say anything negative. _Better quit while I'm ahead though . . ._

"I should probably go out there and be a good Mum and sister, don't you think?"

"Hmm?"

_Definitely got him thinking, though._

XxXxX

Helen had ordered a medium-rare steak at dinner and I'd kept an eye on Martin hoping he wouldn't get sick, but he'd seemed genuinely unaffected which had surprised me. Not like she could've known about the blood thing and Martin most certainly wouldn't have said anything, but somehow it'd turned out just fine after all.

James had refused the carrots I'd given him, which he'll usually eat, yet he'd readily eaten the fancy baby carrots off of Helen's plate. _ 'Course he did – the ultimate stamp of approval of my newly acquired sibling I reckon. _

I'm actually feeling much the same way that he is as our first day together is drawing to a close. There've been a few bumps, 'course, but not bad ones really. Helen's a bit . . . standoffish and abrupt, but I think that's just how she is. _ Can't say I'm not used to that.._.

– And tomorrow is another day.

Martin, having made somewhat of a second attempt at a first impression, had actually approved of my suggestion that Helen and I split a treat for afters in honour of us reuniting after all these years. We'd gone for the plate of two delicate dark chocolate shells filled with berries – and I'd even managed to convince Martin to have a couple of the ones that had escaped the dusting of icing sugar while I tackled the chocolate.

"Martin, Louisa – this was good, but it's getting late and I'd better phone home, check on the boys."

"Yes, 'course. It's been a good day, Helen, I'm overwhelmed but grateful and I'm glad you suggested coming here – it was the right thing for sure. Breakfast in the morning?"

"Um . . . yes."

"About nine'ish?"

"Ahh, Louisa, why don't we make that 8 am sharp, if you concur Helen. We have to check out by 11 and if that train ride you are planning is at noon we will need the extra hour to assure we get there on time."

"I don't like being late, no excuse for it, so 8 am sounds perfect. Have a good night . . . and thanks."

"Right, yes. 'Nite Helen."

"Yes, good night. Mm."

Martin had insisted on paying for our dinner and after several initial protests Helen had finally admitted defeat and accepted the gesture, seems they are both equally stubborn when it comes to their principles.

By the time we made it back to our room it was after nine and James was bordering on being too tired to go to sleep so I skipped his bath and put him straight to bed – he'd had a big day as well as me today and tomorrow would be another busy day for him.

"Well, he's out like a light. Spending the day flirting and showing off will do that – all those emotions being fine-tuned through practise at an early age. Wonder where he gets that from?"

"Not from me."

"No, probably not . . . Does that mean you consider me the source then?"

"Well, I seem to remember _you_ coming to _my_ cottage, sitting across the table from me and telling me you were planning to seduce me."

"Mm, yes – I might've done. So, husband, with that in mind and this being our two year anniversary, what are _you_ planning on doing, hmm?"

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, I don't know, Martin . . . two years ago you seemed to know exactly what I meant."

"Two years ago I didn't have a sleeping son in the room with me."

"Key point being _sleeping_, Martin, and with the day he's had that won't change any time soon. You know that as well as I do."

"Louisa, he's in a mesh cot five feet away . . ."

". . . which is where these luxurious cotton towels come in handy." I drape one across the near side of the cot – not to protect James, who is and will be oblivious to the grown-ups in the room, but to mollify my squeamish Doctor.

"Where was I? Oh right, your plans for the evening?"

"None if you can't be quiet, which you can't. You'll end up waking him just from . . . "

" – I can be quiet."

"Highly unlikely." Poor Martin looks rather hesitant.

"Let me prove it to you, I might just surprise you like you've surprised me lately – which has been quite rewarding I might add."

"And if you don't?"

"Well then, Doctor, then I'd say you've got the wrong sister!"


	18. On Track

_Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. 'DCI Banks' is the property of Left Bank Pictures, no copyright infringements or existing case spoilers are intended, I'm just borrowing a character or two._ _Reviews are always appreciated, thank you and happy reading. _

_Thanks for kind reviews and input, it is always helpful! -DC_

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Eighteen – "On Track" **

By the time Louisa had finished her morning ritual – or lack thereof, we finally made it down to the hotel cafe for breakfast, twelve minutes past the hour. As I'd expected Helen was already seated at a table with a cup of coffee, glancing at her watch then us.

"Morning, late night was it?"

"Um . . . Louisa had problems with her hair this morning."

She'd tried to manipulate it into some complicated knot configuration like Helen's, but complained of not having the right tools and got all huffy. Unsuccessful she'd left it natural, which I find suits her better to begin with.

"Morning, Helen. Slept like a baby actually, the bed was comfortable – perfect really, and the room was nice and . . . _quiet_, despite Martin's concerns we might have some problems with noise. You?"

Sending Louisa a warning look only serves to earn me a wicked smile and through my peripheral vision I catch Helen rolling her eyes as well. _Great._

"Not a sound. Ready to order?"

"Oh, yes 'course. Martin, do you see a high chair 'round here somewhere?"

Returning with a chair for James I find the sisters chatting amiably with James still on Louisa's lap, yet clearly quite engaged in his interactions with Helen.

"Oh there you are, Martin. I've done placed our order, what took you so long? And why don't you put the chair 'round this side so James can spend some time with his favourite new Aunt."

"He only has one Aunt and I had the wait staff wipe down the chair with a sanitising solution, children's equipment is a magnet for bacteria and filth."

As I sit down the waiter arrives at our table with the requested meals and I'm horrified.

"Good God, Louisa, what on earth did you get? You're not seriously considering eating that, are you?"

"The Full Breakfast, 'course. I fancied it and it's not like I get to have one very often – besides, I've been quite . . . active this weekend and there's today to go yet. Not to worry, I got you your usual as well as a double espresso, figured you could use one this morning."

I feel the heat rise in my cheeks and really wish Louisa would stop needlessly drawing attention to things that aren't anybody else's concern.

"Have you completely lost your mind? Do you have any idea how much salt, fat and cholesterol is currently on your plate?"

"No, I don't, and frankly I couldn't care less at the moment. I'm here to enjoy this weekend and enjoying it I am!"

" – Louisa's not the only person in the world to eat a proper breakfast, you know. Not like I eat like this all of the time either. . . ."

Looking to Helen I identify a second plate of the same artery blocking substances.

". . . besides, the contents of this plate bear a striking resemblance to what's left after somebody's had their head blown off. So when I start my day scraping frontal lobe from my instep I also learn to appreciate the value of cereal in the mornings."

With that she loads her fork up with a heaping assortment of greasy eggs, sausages, beans and bacon and digs in.

"A soft-boiled egg and toast provide a healthy balance of carbohydrates and protein, whereas cereals and . . . _that_, do not. And I've been known to occasionally review surgical procedures in the mornings, and it doesn't bother me. For instance, the visual of draining a brain abscess will not interfere with a meal as long as you don't let it – mind over matter."

Louisa looks revolted, much as she had at home while I had in fact reviewed that particular video come to think of it.

" – Alright, thank you everybody . . . now I won't need any breakfast."

XxXxX

As Helen informed us she had already packed her things prior to coming down for breakfast, I suggested Louisa and James spend some time with her while I take care of our belongings. It will also be far more expedient for me to do the packing and tidying up by myself, so upon arriving back at was had been our home for the night Louisa gathered up the play mat, changing bag and handbag and walked James across to Helen's room. Once I finish removing our things here I'll get Helen's cases on our way out.

Seeing as we are headed for the Avon Valley Railway in Bitton, about 20 minutes away, Helen will be travelling along with us and we will then take her back to the Temple Meads station in time for her early evening return train to Leeds.

"Sorry about breakfast, Louisa, occupational hazard. My apologies."

"Oh, that's alright . . . no harm done, really. Your room here – is _just_ like ours only you've got two beds instead of one bigger one."

"I try to reserve twin-bed rooms when travelling, if practical, as it gives me a clean space for my bags and clothes. I prefer not to set them down in areas God knows what or whom has been."

"Right, sounds like something Martin would say, you two are quite a bit alike actually. And that's why we brought James' mat and toy train – he's pretty good at staying busy on it, like he is now, and we know it's clean as well. You travel a lot for work, then, do you? How do you manage it, balancing work and your family I mean? With four beautiful growing boys I reckon you must've your hands full."

"There's the odd conference, but mostly call-outs at all hours of the night. As my boss likes to say – serious crimes committed during anti-social hours should get an added sentence. It'll never happen of course. . . ."

"Right. . . yes, that would be – "

" – Mostly I rely on Michael and his mother to have my back with the boys, but I try not to miss breakfast and homework times if at all possible, routines are important."

"Yes, Martin is a stickler for routines as well."

"Anyways . . . we used to have an adequate minder when the boys were little, but once they'd all started school there was no longer a use for her. Luckily, this coincided with family illness on her end forcing her out of town, turned out her husband was terminally ill."

"Oh dear. . ."

"Mesothelioma. A lifetime having worked the power stations will do that to you, common knowledge. She still visits the boys occasionally, not having any of her own, but I had to take her off my list of available backups. Solved the problem of letting her go, though."

"Oh yes, I can imagine how that must've made it, um, easier for you. So . . . We just finally found a lovely minder ourselves, for James – a local girl, used to be one of my Teacher's Aides but she's now stayin' home with her own kids. I had my mum look after him for a little while, but she's not the most reliable and . . ."

"– So she's around, then, your mother?"

"Sorry Helen, I wasn't thinking . . . . No, she's not 'round – Spain is more her style. She'll show up every seven years or so when she feels like it and needs something, but she left dad and me when I was eleven for some Spanish lover – _Javier_. One day I got home from school and she was just . . . gone."

"Mm, unfortunate. And your dad?"

"Oh . . . um, Dartmoor Prison, again. Fraud, embezzlement – that kind of thing. Nothing violent . . . 'least not that I know of, can't trust him or any of his lot though. Growing up he was never 'round the house much and always gambling away what little we had and though it's taken me quite a while to realise it, it's fair to say I mostly raised myself really. Well, the villagers helped, 'course. You know what they say, it takes a village . . . I think that's why I'm still there, they're all my family of sorts. Portwenn will always be my home and it's where I want to raise my kids."

"Yes, I can imagine. Very different from my parents, I loved my childhood."

"Well, I actually was a pretty happy kid I think, it wasn't all bad . . . there was love. Just starting to become clear how now, as a parent myself, I see some of it from a different perspective."

"Mm."

"I want James to have both love _and_ stability, you know? You ever feel like you . . . like you've missed your moment?"

"No."

"Oh, well I have – did. Almost missed it permanently to where James wouldn't have had . . . all that. Like I said yesterday, it's complicated, but Martin and I are on the right track now and working on all that stuff."

"Good. You said _kids _earlier – James would do well with a sibling and you shouldn't wait too much longer at your age, not like you're getting any younger."

"Right. . . well, yeah. It's just that . . . I, I don't know that Martin, well . . . he's not, I don't think that he's – "

"– Louisa, Helen? Are you about ready to head out? I'll get your luggage." I knock firmly on Helen's room door, hoping they are prepared to go without any further delay.

As Helen unlocks the door for me I notice Louisa sitting on the bed with the cases looking rather . . . distracted.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah . . . yes, yes I'm fine. Just a lot to think about is all."

"Mm yes, well stop thinking until we're in the car. We should get under way if we want to have ample time to look around."

XxXxX

When we arrive at the train depot the old steam locomotive is already sitting on the track and I have to admit to being somewhat excited myself at the thought of travelling through time under steam power. The workings of these machines are as intricate as any old clock and and they have withstood the test of time by being carefully restored and maintained by a number of the volunteers who contribute to this old railway's heritage.

How Louisa came to suggest this outing I'm not entirely certain, but she has clearly researched every last part of it down to the five-star environmental health rating of the food services and the suitability of the venue for small children and adults alike. Taking James Henry with me we head over in the general direction of what looks to be the ticket office, temporarily leaving the sisters to their own devices.

"Thank you for agreeing to this Helen, I'm sure another train ride is the last thing you'd planned for this weekend but like I told Martin I believe it to be a very short loop. Just seemed perfect for James with us being this close to it and they're supposed to have great food with wonderful homemade cakes and a nice little gift shop to boot. Something a bit different from a cramped city bistro."

"I agree. By the looks of it I'd say James isn't the only one anxious to get underway."

"Yes, I noticed that. It does seem as if Martin is quite excited, doesn't it? They're already at the office getting our tickets, usually I have to drag him places to get him to do anything and even then he mostly goes along with it to please me, not 'cause he really wants to."

"When you mentioned this yesterday I did my own research. The train travels three miles each way from here at Bitton station to Oldland Commons and Avon Riverside on either end respectively – so not a loop. The tickets allow one to ride either combination as many times as one likes with each double-back leg of the journey around 25 and 30 minutes respectively."

"Oh, you have done your homework. No going 'round and 'round in circles then, that's good – seems I do that enough as it is. And it's perfect for James, he'll probably be up for at least a couple of those shorter trips I would say and we're not pressed for time, so –"

" – Why don't you let Martin have this first ride with him, Louisa, just father and son. Give them some time alone to just be boys, they'll enjoy it."

"Really? Well, okay. . . if you really think so."

"I do. We all need saving from ourselves, don't we? Trust me."

When we return with the tickets Louisa has decided she wants some bonding time with Helen, so James and I set out on the Oldland Station trip just the two of us. Per my quick perusing in the ticket queue the more scenic landscapes will be when heading in the other direction from Bitton, towards Avon Valley, so this is a perfect opportunity to just enjoy James and the train itself.

"What do you think, James, are we ready to have some fun?"

As the train whistle signals our departure and the steam is building, Helen and Louisa wave us off from the platform in unified motion.

_Not only a sibling, but an identical twin – who would have thought?_

"You know, James, if not for you, your mother would not have been standing here today with her sister looking, dare I say – happy? I know you didn't kick her on purpose, and don't do it again, but if you hadn't done so she would likely never have found your Aunt Helen. And because of you, your mother and I got second and third chances at making things right when we'd both been too scared the first time around."

I recall all the near misses we've had and feel an instant wave of anxiety coming over me, which just as quickly abates as I pick James up from exploring the opposite seat and place him onto my lap.

_James Henry Ellingham . . . the best decision I never made._

"If not for your mother we would not be seated here now, together on this train ride, enjoying ourselves. Did you know that?"

_No, you probably can't know that, I didn't recognise the journey I was on for the longest time either . . and I had years to figure it out._

"And we _are_ learning to have fun, aren't we James? _I_ am learning. You're showing me how, as is your mother, and it makes me very fortunate. On my own I was never very good at it, nor was there really a reason to be . . ."

I stand him up on my thighs and let him feel the steam-filled air and smells from the coal-burning engine as they waft through the open top part of the window. There's no sensation quite like it and one of the few positive memories I have retained from _my_ childhood. As for James I'm hoping to make it one of many.

"Do you think I've learned enough to do it all over again, James, and do it right this time? Am I ready now, have I got what it takes, hmm?"

We're alone in this carriage, so my shared soliloquy with my son is allowed to reach its natural conclusion.

"Your mother is hoping that I am – desperately wanting me to be, but she's too frightened of my opinion on the matter to actually say so . . . which is entirely my fault. I haven't really given her any indications of contemplating a sibling for you and I'm as surprised by the revelation that I am as she likely will be."

And maybe that's as good as it's going to get? I always feel the need to know that I am capable of what is being asked of me prior to deciding on an issue, but perhaps this is one of those times when that simply isn't an option?

_Or perhaps making the decision is what renders us capable in the first place?_

Having reached the end of our existing track the locomotive runs round us to reverse direction, putting us back on track for our onwards journey. I realise that with James' help I have just gone through those exact motions myself, metaphorically speaking at least.

The railway brochure had promised us 'a trip with a difference – into our past'. And now, having seemingly reached my decision, the difference this trip has made may also potentially extend into our future.

_Only time will tell . . ._

The guard blows his whistle again and the slow and steady motion of the engine's pistons gets us under way, gaining momentum with each reciprocating movement and sending us ever closer to home and our future – like clockwork.

"Whether ready or not, James, it's full steam ahead from here and onwards – our family is waiting."


	19. Directions

_Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. 'DCI Banks' is the property of Left Bank Pictures, no copyright infringements or existing case spoilers are intended, I'm just borrowing a character or two._ _Reviews are always appreciated, thank you and happy reading. _

_My apologies for the tardy update . . . life got really busy all of a sudden. Good busy, but busy still! -DC_

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Nineteen – "Directions" **

Louisa and I spent a good amount of our time in the gift shop while Dr. Ellingham and the lad were riding the train. She'd got some Thomas the Tank Engine toys, and a DVD on the reconstruction of a locomotive for the good Doctor, before we ended up outside to await their return in a patio-like area.

My mirror image was talking non-stop, going on about a recent home renovation of theirs that had come about because of therapy or some such and that as a result they actually had a television set up now – which is _why_ she had got the DVD in the first place, as the good Doctor needn't watch it on his laptop anymore and as such it would be something they could enjoy _together_. I inhaled deeply while nodding all the same, realising I'd probably nailed it when labelling us mirror images – the same, yet mirror opposites.

_It about seems to fit._

Yet as soon as the train whistle could be heard nearing, the bags containing said DVD, along with the numerous toys, were unceremoniously flung in my lap as Louisa ran out onto the platform in the hope of getting some snaps upon approach.

So . . . deciding to be a good sister, as such, I gather her bags up and stride on over and onto the wooden structure to make sure she doesn't get run over by the train in her haste. A clear mental image of a motor manslaughter case from years ago, involving a train which signalling network had been tampered with, comes to mind. Yet this current scenario would have me personally involved and the resulting image is leaving a surprisingly foul taste in my mouth.

"Oh Helen! I was going to get some photos but decided on filming instead, do you think you can try and get some snaps . . . maybe, if you don't mind?"

I nod silently, not wanting my voice sounding in the middle of her chaotic last-minute recording.

While the Doctor is busy demanding Louisa put the iPad away, I manage a couple of decent snaps before he catches on and shields his face, as would I have done if subjected to such nonsense.

"Good God, what is this – the Royal Train?"

"– How was it, Martin, did he enjoy it?"

"Umm, yes – we both did."

He hands the boy off to Louisa before continuing on.

"This carriage is empty so far so we might as well all get back on right here, this next leg of the journey is supposedly quite scenic . . ."

He somehow appears distracted and focussed at once as he boards, practically shoving his wife and son onto the train with a sense of urgency whilst looking to me over his shoulder all the same.

". . . if that sort of thing interests you."

I take the three steps in two and follow suit._ He'd just needed some space to think . . . I know how that works. _

As he expediently makes his way to the end of the carriage, I jump at the opportunity to interfere with this upcoming journey's 'signalling' if you will, and pull Louisa aside.

"Let me take James for a bit, hmm? I miss my boys at this age. We used to go on the Middleton Railway all the time . . . but now it's all hockey, friends and play dates on the weekends. Besides, I reckon your other man here wants your attention."

"What, Martin? How do you mean?"

"Excited boy on train wanting to explore the next leg of the journey with you?"

"Oh right, yes – the scenery and . . . everything."

Insisting we all deserve a window seat, the lad and I seat ourselves in the family section directly opposite the aisle from his parents, with Louisa and I both in the forward facing seats giving me an advantageous angle for candidly observing the good Doctor who is facing her. With the steam building and the train slowly gaining momentum I'm expecting something of that sort from my seemingly ever-exuberant sister.

Though Dr. Ellingham may be enjoying what he is seeing, it mainly involves stolen glances at his wife when he thinks she isn't looking. If this had been an investigation I would frankly be questioning the status and legitimacy of their relationship, and newly-weds would not have been my first guess, nor my second. I don't necessarily understand what they each see in the other, but different as they may seem there must be something of substance there. From my brief observations this weekend I'd label them an odd fit, but I think they might be good for each other. Louisa did mention they are working on things, so perhaps that explains part of it.

_Not that my own life is much different, Michael is in many ways a lot like Louisa and we're as opposite as they are. Boss had got that one right. . . ._

She hadn't got as far as explaining the hold-up on the child front earlier, but watching this silent game of looks happening across the way I'm surprised to even be sitting here with a nephew in my lap. This old train even rolls faster than those two and upon approaching the Avon Riverside end point I simply can't hold my tongue any longer.

"That's a beautiful stretch of nature out there, isn't it? James has been focussed on the steam from the locomotive the entire ride here, standing in my lap and grabbing on to the window, so I doubt he noticed much else. How 'bout you Martin?"

"Hmm . . . ?"

"Like father, like son then. Why don't you take James outside and ask the driver if you can ride along in the locomotive for the run round? They do driver experience classes on a regular basis, so I'm sure they're not strangers to such a request and would accommodate you no problem."

"Oh . . . I really wouldn't want to interfere . . ."

"– You would make this little lad's day and I'm sure they'd be honoured. I used to do it with my boys all the time on the Middleton Railway in Leeds and they always seemed proud to show off their machines – boys will be boys after all."

"– Helen, that's a great idea! James would absolutely love it, Martin, and it's only for a few minutes. You'll do that for him, won't you?"

"Oh. No, I couldn't poss . . ."

"– Of course, if you'd rather _me_ go enquire _for_ you I'd have no problem with that."

_Am I usually this disagreeable, argumentative? I have been accused of being . . . difficult and disconnected at times. _

"Yes, well thank you Helen, but that won't be necessary."

"– And I could get a picture through the window of you two as you pass by, Martin, or a video even. Nobody would see it so I wouldn't be embarrassing you this time."

I mentally shake my head at Louisa, no wonder he's a bit guarded around her – she just never lets up. . . .

Having the both of us staring him down at the same time must be quite intimidating and after opening and closing his mouth a few times over he finally gives in only to grab James off my lap and stride on out to try his luck at locomotion.

"He'll thank me later."

"Yeah . . . pretty clever that, Helen, guilting him into something you know he'll love to do anyways."

"Sometimes it's better to be direct, Louisa. So, you were about to fill me in on the status quo of a sibling for James earlier, care to elaborate?"

"Umm, here is no status really . . . well, it's complicated."

"So you've said. Complicated how?"

"Well, we might not have got married two years ago, but I got pregnant anyways, so . . . there's that. Then I fled the village after, feeling embarrassed and upset and . . . heartbroken. I hadn't known I was pregnant then and by the time I learnt of it I was in London, on my own, in a bedsit . . . and still . . . well, heartbroken. Happy for the new life growing in me, 'course, but sad its father wasn't around."

She starts nibbling on her lip and I realise I do the exact same thing when I'm nervous.

"It was exactly two years ago yesterday, actually, that Martin proposed the first time and . . . well, you know . . . then James came along that following summer and sort of brought us back together again."

"And? Seems like an opportune time to try again then, based on time of year anyways – clearly it worked last time. My children were all born in the autumn, three years apart, so that they will always be amongst the oldest in their year groups in school."

"Ah, very sensible . . . yes. I reckon James will be one of the youngest then, being born July 14. For me that was actually pretty good timing, though, being Head Teacher and all – with the summer holidays starting' round then. James wasn't . . . planned, obviously, but if he hadn't happened I don't even know what my life would be like now. I'd still be in love with Martin I reckon, even if shouldn't – I know that much. And sad, I'd be very sad probably . . . . wanting kids and all that."

"Well, you want another one now. So what's the problem, does Martin see it differently?"

"I . . . don't really know. Well, thing is he . . . I came back to the village six months pregnant, out of the blue really, especially for Martin. I hadn't told him about the pregnancy and . . . well, neither one of us reacted or behaved very well in the three months that followed my return. It wasn't until the day James was born . . . in a pub out on the moor, that we sort of called it even."

"A pub? I don't like pubs and can't imagine giving birth in one."

"Well, that's complicated as well and no, it wasn't planned neither obviously."

"I see."

"So . . . the subject of children and pregnancy has always been a sore one and, truth be told, I haven't _actually_ told Martin I want a sibling for James, not in so many words anyways, so I can't really blame him. I guess I want him to just _know_ that I do, but . . . Martin isn't very perceptive as to matters of the heart, not exactly a hearts and flowers kind of guy, you know?"

"So he doesn't know?"

"Well . . . my instinct tries to steer him in the right direction any chance I get, hoping he'll catch on, but I don't know how I'd cope if I asked him directly and he straight up refused to even consider it. I'd be devastated I think – I know, which is why I'm currently stuck in this holding pattern of hoping he'll figure it out on his own. The not knowing is still better than potentially being turned down."

"Well, at this rate you'll both be too old by the time either of you figure it out, and how can you be so sure he's not considering it? He's not God you know, you can't rely on _him_ to follow _your_ instincts while at the same time admitting he doesn't really possess any of his own. That's very high-handed of you, Louisa."

"Oh is it?"

I think I've hit a nerve and realise the need to explain myself.

"Yes it is. I'm telling you this as your sister – as _friends_. I haven't got many, because in order to be friends with someone I have to know I can be honest with them and they will be with me no matter what. So you should probably decide if you can cope with that."

She looks exactly as I feel when I'm put on the spot – uncomfortable and cornered.

"Look, if your husband and I are even a little bit alike, as you seem to think we are, then I will tell you that he probably isn't as clueless about this as you may think. He just doesn't know which direction to go either, I don't know that he understands how much he values you. And how about how much you value him, you do know he's besotted with you? Talk to him, Louisa."

"Right, yeah . . . alright – I will."

"Good."

"High-handed, really?"

"Mm."

"You know, you're talking to me as if I'm your little sister and . . . maybe that's not such a bad thing."

I can't quite interpret her look, which is an odd feeling – like looking in the mirror yet not knowing what I'm thinking.

"Do you think that I might be – the younger one I mean? I wonder if we'll ever truly know those kind of things, but I reckon not. I'm just going to assume that you are my big sister and . . . well, I think I kind of like having one looking out for me – especially a fierce police detective, so thank you for that."

"Mm, you're probably right. And I reckon I can learn a thing or two from a personable Head Teacher."

And with that we'd made it through our first awkward stand-off and I'm starting to think that there might be hope for us in spite of our differences.

Louisa had indeed got the candid snap she wanted of her two boys driving the train, quite a decent one actually, and by the time we arrived back at Bitton Station we were all ripe for lunch. I grabbed my usual cheeseburger with onions and made sure to stare the good doctor down whilst ordering, daring him to say a word. Louisa approved of an egg bap for James, so I got him one and went to reserve us all a table out on the patio while the 'newly-weds' were trying to agree on whether the snack size or Sunday Roast would be their best choice.

"Don't know how you put up with it, lad, your parents can't agree on anything."

By the time they finally appeared at our table, the boy and I had all but finished our food and were busy looking at the train that had just pulled in again a few minutes ago.

"– Looks adequate, Doctor, so you decided on the Sunday Roast then I see."

"Mm, but the 2-course, not the 3-course. There is no need for dessert after a meal like this. The actual food looks nutritionally well thought out and it has the added benefit of allowing us to drive straight through on our way home."

"Mm, yes. Well you'll be pleased to know James ate most of his bap, so he should sleep the ride away by the time you get to that point. First, however, he's decided to show me the leg of the journey out Oldland way that I missed, so we'll be off then."

The whistle cuts through the air as we step onto the platform. Where Louisa is looking flustered and taken aback at my directions, the Doctor seems quite intrigued by it all.

_Good for him._

"Well, enjoy your meal."

The good Doctor gives me a brief nod before handing Louisa a serviette and unfolding his own across his lap.

"– Oh, and we should be back just in time for dessert. I'll have what you're having, Louisa – double portion, please, as I'm not planning on sharing."

Out of the corner of my eye I catch the Doctor's sudden movement – head whipping around, my demand for two puddings clearly having caught him off guard.

_Just as I knew he would, we'll get along just fine. _

"– Thank you!"

Stepping aboard for one last steam-powered train ride, my nephew graces me with a smile that leaves me in no doubt of his full acceptance of me – leaving me hopeful that eventually we will _all_ reach that point.

And it is undoubtedly his mother's smile.

XxX

To be continued...

A/N:

James Henry's smile here is the same one he gives his dad on the steps in front of the surgery as Louisa is about to leave for Spain. It melts my heart every time!


	20. Tomorrow

_Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. 'DCI Banks' is the property of Left Bank Pictures, no copyright infringements or existing case spoilers are intended, I'm just borrowing a character or two._ _Reviews are always appreciated, thank you and happy reading. _

_Dearest readers – again, my apologies for the tardy update. I've been given an unexpected opportunity to sit for a professional board exam I've been waiting to qualify for, so studying has taken over these last several weeks. I purposely left my study materials at work this weekend to update this story and try to catch up on some of yours (I need a study break and a DM fix!), the exam should be late July, so probably no more updates until after that... All the best, -DC_

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Twenty – "Tomorrow" **

So . . . by the time we finally sat down amongst the train depot crowds for our Sunday roast, I'd completely lost my nerve.

I'd lost my nerve, yet become nervy all the same - contradictions aplenty running through my mind _and_ body it seemed. My confidence had vanished along with Helen and James, but I think _her_ absence was the real reason for it. And maybe Martin's _presence_. With just the two of us here now this little, but not so insignificant . . . _thing_ . . . I'd meant to address, suddenly seemed less . . . appropriate? Likely? Conceivable?

_Conceivable, yeah good choice of word._

Without James here with us who are we really, Martin and I? We're always bickering, the smallest bump in the road often leading to a full-on row. That fact hasn't changed much despite all the progress we've made, but in all honesty Dr. Arscott hasn't got to that point with us yet neither. Too many other issues have popped up and events out of our control have served to interrupt our dialogue as well – seems to always be the case come to think of it.

Maybe now just isn't a good time after all. _Maybe never is a good time . . . _

I'm eying Martin from across our table as he's enjoying his meal in utter silence, seemingly unaware of the world 'round him. Looking at this man, my brilliant husband whom I do love dearly, I'm observing his precise and methodical approach even to dining, 'least when no James is around to make demands or fling food his way. . .

I can't help but feel that suggesting we bring another dependent, or _disturbance_, into our life probably won't be fair to Martin? As for me, well . . . I'll manage, I always have done – and we've James. James Henry Ellingham, who came from that love and not from our having to make a conscious decision.

_Certainly something to be said for beginner's luck. . . ._

As I'd told Helen, if not for James I don't know where my life would've been now. But I'd probably still have been in love with Martin, most likely unhappily so and from afar. And in a way I feel like . . . like just maybe that's still the case – at least a tiny bit, and without the baby here to distract me it's becoming that much clearer all of a sudden that there remains a distance between us, one that I'm struggling with.

Not so much physically, not anymore – 'least some things have improved, but we're not really connecting as . . . _friends_ at the rate I'd hoped for, that I long for. I still feel lonely a lot of the time . . . hopefully not the only reason I want another child? No, I've always wanted lots of kids, but two would be okay – perfect really. Least _I_ think so.

Maybe we simply haven't got what it takes to make such a life-altering decision? Perhaps we just aren't capable of agreeing and that's as good as it's going to get – end of discussion.

_A discussion which we've yet to start._ . . .

But then Helen and her husband have _four_ boys and she's managing just fine it sounds like. So what makes me think I won't be able to add _one_ more, that _we_ won't be able to – me and Martin?

Well for starters, unlike me, Helen seems very organised, so there's that. She also has a way of getting to the point and creating momentum, whereas I tend to be messy and to lolly-gag, not particularly desirable traits to some and ones that drive Martin absolutely mad. 'Tidy House, Tidy Mind' as he would say. But, those virtues of Helen's tend to mirror Martin's, so . . . is it _me_ then – am I the problem?

_Come to think of it, they would've made a right fine match. Capable of playing house all nice and neat I'm sure, not a thing out of place . . . just like Martin likes it, well – except for the four boys probably._

"So, you like Helen then?"

"She's fine and James seems to like her."

"Fine?"

"Mm, yes. You don't agree?"

"Well, she's my sister to start."

"Obviously – is that a problem?"

"What? No, 'course not!"

"Good."

"Right . . ."

"Louisa, you seem rather tense."

"Yes, well of course I'm tense! You've no idea what it's like to finally meet a sister you never knew existed until a few months ago, only to realise she's the much improved version of yourself who's got it all together in her life – a person I can _never_ hope to be."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, Helen 'course!"

"No, I mean . . . why would you want to be Helen? What's wrong with _you_?"

"Oh Martin . . ."

"I don't understand."

"You don't, do you. You _never_ do."

I realise I'm probably not being very fair to him, as I'm really not understanding my thoughts fully myself nor where they're coming from all of a sudden. I could no more be a Detective Inspector than Helen could be a Head Mistress – nor would I want to be. I love my job, brains and goo make me queasy and, well . . . helping kids _develop_ their brains make me happy. So . . . what's my problem then?

Having hardly touched my food at all, I've instead apparently been preoccupying myself with worrying a lone potato on my plate, pushing it 'round in circles aimlessly. For whatever reason I'm unable to take my eyes off the prodded spud until a salt shaker suddenly appears in front of me breaking the spell.

I can't help but smile a little at that.

"Louisa . . . can I say something?"

"Hm?"

"I think you're being unfair."

"Oh, why thank you."

"You've spent less than two full days with your sister so far and you've already decided she's perfect, whatever that means, and that you're not. It doesn't make sense."

"But she's _you_, Martin. She's everything you wished I'd be; organised, tidy, punctual . . . able to raise kids while working full-time. I seem to remember you telling my colleague that I didn't have the mental and physical capability of bringing up a small child while working full-time. Well, Helen's got four, so there you have it."

"Well, perhaps when I said that I was being . . . "

"Rude?"

"Upset."

"Upset?"

"Mm. And Helen didn't raise four kids on her own, did she?"

"No. Upset how?"

"That you didn't want me . . . there."

"Oh . . ."

"You haven't touched your food. It is important that you eat properly, Louisa, especially now."

"How do you mean?"

"Oh, um, just that . . . well, we have a long day ahead of us and . . . it seems a waste to leave perfectly healthy food uneaten, wouldn't you say?"

"Right . . . yes I suppose."

By the time I'd finally cleaned my plate the train could be heard approaching and with it would see the return of my sister with my son and soon the ending to a happy, but emotional, weekend. And that was that really, a missed opportunity for 'the Talk'.

_Probably for the best, though . . . and tomorrow is another day._

"I should go get Helen her dessert before she gets here. And I don't have to get anything really, Martin, if you don't want me to – it's okay."

"Erm, no that's . . . fine. They, um, have ice-cream sundaes judging by the tables over there, you've probably had enough chocolate-laden confections for a while – both of you. And _you_ would do well with the extra calcium, building blocks for . . . I mean, in the future it's . . . preferable to, um, cakes and the like."

"If you say so. You do realise that if I eat ice-cream, so will James. I'm just sayin'."

"No he won't, not unless you feed it to him."

"Martin!"

"What?"

I can only shake my head at that, he's so clueless at times.

Though the minute I lay eyes on Helen making her way towards us, I realise that the ice-cream sharing likely won't be a problem.

" – He fell asleep about eight minutes ago." She nods to James who's draped over his Aunt's shoulder, out like a light and . . . drooling. In her best conspiratorial voice she tries to gain insight into what she may have missed, like the Detective she is.

"How was your dinner, _productive_ perhaps?"

I try to engage Martin in the conversation in order to steer Helen away from the big proverbial elephant on the sidelines, as my dear husband has yet to spot it.

"Well, um, dinner was good – wasn't it Martin?"

"Yes, yes it was. Well thought out and adequately cooked, mm. Hand me James, will you Helen."

"Actually, let me have him for a bit. Sleeping or not, I've hardly seen him all day and I've missed him."

"Right-o. Oh, um, Helen, you have . . . saliva . . . erm, on your shoulder. From James I assume."

"Oh dear . . . let me get you a wipe, Helen. Martin, the ice-cream – could you?"

"Yes. Excuse me, I'll . . . be back with it."

"My handbag over there has some wet wipes Helen, for your jacket. I'm really sorry."

"It's alright, I'll have it dry-cleaned when I get home along with the rest of my clothing from this weekend."

"Yes 'course, I'm . . . really sorry – again."

"So did you talk to him?"

"Um, well . . . no, I – "

" – Why not?"

"Just . . . maybe now isn't such a good time, you know?"

"To talk or to have another child?"

"Both . . . neither, oh I don't know. Maybe _never_ will be a better time."

"If you think so."

"You're not going to convince me I'm making a mistake by putting it off?"

"No. I don't think you know what you want, Louisa. One minute you speak of _children_, the next you're saying it's not a good idea. Your only mistake is over-complicating this by not communicating these thoughts to your husband. But I've already told you that and I don't like repeating myself, its a waste of my time. Martin's the one you should be talking with, one way or another he will have your answer – you're not going to conceive by yourself you know."

"Um no, not likely."

" – Biologically impossible actually and don't get me stared on religion."

"Right yes, thank you for clarifying that Helen."

Now I feel reprimanded as well as stupid – bloody brilliant. . . . But she's right and I know it – I'm just too nervous about an unfavourable outcome still to bring it up I suppose.

_Oh why can't you just know what it is that I want, Martin . . . please, just this one time?_

" – Ice-cream. I got plain vanilla for you both, it was that or chocolate."

"Thank you Martin, just what I was thinking . . . ."

_Tomorrow is indeed another day._

XxX

I'd hoped to give Helen a sisterly hug before sending her on her way on the real train back to Leeds. Well, actually I'd thought I'd do so when first meeting yesterday, but it just hadn't worked out that way. I'd also meant to ask her about my uncle, her 'dad' – meeting him is something that would be helpful for me I think, if he'd be agreeable to seeing me that is.

However, as we neared the Temple Meads station in Bristol a taxi cab flew by us rudely in a traffic circle sounding his horn before cutting us off, which of course lead Martin to respond in kind – predictably causing his now very grumpy son to wake up. To make matters worse, Martin was in the middle of dispensing medical advise for Helen's youngest son, MJ, who I'm learning uses an inhaler, and as such had to now raise his voice to be heard above James' whinging making James cry even louder and Martin practically shouting.

Thus our arrival at the station was just a matter of getting Helen's case out of the boot at the drop-off point as fast as possible rather than going to the car-park, as our original plan had been to see her off at the platform. So no hug, no parting promises of meeting up again or any of the typical exchanges shared when seeing somebody off.

None of that. . . .

Instead I was left feeling empty and insecure as Martin sped away, as if Helen had been ripped away from me a second time – only this time 'round I was very much aware of the fact. We'd had such a good first meeting, really, and an enjoyable weekend to boot, but these last few hours had been rather stressful and left me sad and confused about life and the future.

The abrupt goodbye hadn't done a bit to lift my spirits neither.

The thought of two and a half hours in the car with a grumpy husband and screaming baby was all it took the flood-gates to open. James eventually cried himself back to sleep before I got my wayward emotions under control, so now I'd alerted Martin to my woes as well – just what I _hadn't_ wanted to do.

"Louisa, why are you crying?"

"I'm not crying, I'm fine. Why don't you turn on some of your classical music and forget about me back here for a bit, I'm fine – I'll be fine Martin. Just a lot to take in is all."

"You'll see her again you know."

"I know."

Martin didn't turn on any music, but there was a silent acceptance of my circumstances for a good while until suddenly my mobile sounded off, causing me to fish it out of my handbag in a hurry to attend to it so as not to wake James a second time.

_Louisa, tomorrow is another day. - H._

XxXxX

To be Continued...

_*Helen's mention of religion does in no way reflect the author's view, one way or the other – it's simply a quip to a very "Helen-y" monologue from 'DCI Banks' where she less-than-eloquently expresses her views as they related to a specific event in her life. ;)_


	21. Shifting Gear

_Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. 'DCI Banks' is the property of Left Bank Pictures, no copyright infringements or existing case spoilers are intended, I'm just borrowing a character or two._ _Reviews are always appreciated, thank you and happy reading. _

_Just a short chapter to wish a Happy Fourth of July to those who celebrate and a great weekend to the rest of you! I had an extra day off this weekend, but now back to studying, the 17th is coming up fast... -DC_

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Twenty One – "Shifting Gear" **

Louisa appeared to have a difficult time settling back into our normal routine after our weekend meeting with Helen Morton in Bristol. Emotionally she seemed up one minute and down the next, though mostly down as far as I could see and her desk at home had papers piled even higher than usual.

Our Monday meeting with Dr. Arscott had shed little light on this, other than her suggestion of Louisa simply needing time to digest her new role of little sister. Yes, _little_ sister. Somehow Louisa has come to the conclusion that she is the younger of the two – by mere minutes, obviously, if that. When asked how she had determined this to be the case she'd simply shrugged, but it became clear after some gentle verbal prodding that Helen's manner and personality conveyed a sense of authority which, to my wife, seemed to suggest Helen was the older of the pair.

Fortunately for everyone involved she also appears quite content with this situation, as she expressed gratitude with the idea of finally having met her sibling and spoke quite animatedly when referring to conversations had with her 'big sister' Helen.

That enthusiasm had faded quickly, however, when I'd asked Dr. Arscott for her opinion on Louisa's moodiness and the possible correlation with her meeting her sister. This had resulted in Dr. Arscott inquiring further about the topics of those sisterly conversations and whether or not they may still be weighing on Louisa's mind, at which time Louisa had turned on _me_ and become angry.

_'Why do you always assume, Martin, that I'm to blame when emotions are involved, hm? Maybe it's you who should consider where you stand.'_

"_I . . . wasn't, I'm not. I'm simply trying to understand what's got you so down, you seemed to enjoy yourself this weekend. As a matter of fact I thought we all did, but something must be to blame.'_

Dr. Arscott appeared to be ticking her boxes and jotting down sentence after sentence and I was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with having that type of heated conversation there, in her presence, and for once Louisa and I seemed to be on the same page.

_'No, that's not what I meant. Oh . . . I don't know exactly what I meant or why I'm feeling this way, okay? Just a lot to think over is all, it's nothing – can we please talk about this later?'_

And that had fortunately been the end of it, at least until we were in the car on our way home. Something she'd said during our exchange had caught my attention and I was determined to inquire about it, at the risk of encountering my wife's wrath.

_'Louisa, what did you mean when you said I should consider where I stand? Where I stand in relation to what exactly?'_

She'd released a long and exaggerated breath, clearly not pleased by being put on the spot again, even with just the two of us present.

_'Can we please just . . . talk about this later? I'm very tired and I just want to get home, feed James and go to bed.'_

_'Mm yes, I guess we'll have to.'_

At least this confirmed my thoughts that the 'nothing' was indeed 'something', not that it left me any wiser. But she _had_ seemed tired.

I was secretly hoping her upcoming urinalysis and blood tests would give me a pointer, but that wouldn't be until later in the week with the results on Friday at the earliest. And even if I were to add on a panel or two, I wouldn't really expect to see any remarkable changes. I've been submitting the required specimens to her team over at the Truro Hospital every Thursday since her incident, as well as performed the standard monitoring tests at the surgery, saving us the weekly trips, and so far they've all been predictably unremarkable.

This Thursday will be the last week of this routine for us, as next Thursday signifies her last major check-up over at Truro after which time, given favourable results, relatively speaking, she should more or less be back to normal. We'll still have to monitor her _sarcoidosis_ of course, but if everything else seems in order I will feel the time is right to broach the subject of possibly trying for another child, something that's been on my mind constantly since my revelation this past weekend.

Hopefully that will brighten her mood.

XxXxX

The front door slamming signified the arrival of Morwenna, who should have been here more than 15 minutes ago. Drawing blood, and from my wife at that, is not amongst my favourite ways of starting my day, so Morwenna's tardiness was particularly ill-timed on this morning.

"You're late!"

"Sorry Doc, I . . . I had a little problem. It's a one-off, promise, it won't happen again."

"You see that it doesn't, you should be here _before_ the patients get here, not joining the throng of imbeciles healthy enough to push my door down first thing."

"Right, like I said . . . just a little problem."

"Medical problem?"

"Um, well . . ."

Before I could get an answer out of my dishevelled receptionist, the surgery phone rang and placing the receiver between her ear and shoulder she simultaneously attempted to carry on a conversation and part with her lousy excuse for a jacket. I would have to remember to ask her about her problem later, as well as talk to her about that horrible phone-habit, one I'd also caught Louisa practising at times. That behaviour is certain to bring about sore muscles in the neck, even headaches, if carried out on a regular basis.

My morning had been relatively uneventful until I was summoned to the harbour for an emergency just as I was getting ready for lunch. Louisa should be on her way from the school shortly as we were still upholding our newly incorporated lunch routine. Since the incident I'd been preparing our lunch everyday as it had seemed silly for Louisa to head down to the village for our twice weekly deli sandwiches when she was working from home while healing. I've also felt more comfortable knowing that she's getting proper nutrition to assure her recovery is progressing properly.

Once at the harbour I encountered one of the local fishermen, the asthmatic, whose hand had got caught in a lobster pot. His gear had shifted during off-loading, resulting in two amputated fingers – kept in-situ by his heavy rubber gloves. Though he'd managed to put the fingers on ice, taking me quite by surprise, the blunt surfaces of the pot had resulted in an injury more resembling a crush-injury, where the distal phalanges three and four had separated at the proximal inter-phalangeal joints by brute force rather than a sharp and clean cut, as was evident by the lack of intense haemorrhaging. A clean cut with a sharp knife would have been preferable.

The odds of reattachment were poor in my opinion but the ambulance technicians had insisted the victim's iced appendices go along for the ride. Either outcome would see the man off his boat for months to come and in my surgery for wound care. Another example of carelessness or circumstances quickly altering one's future despite having all the precautionary measures in place.

I'd seen Louisa briefly in passing and told her lunch was not yet prepared and not to wait for me, as it would be unlikely I would make it back to the surgery in time for us to take our meal together. As she'd have to be back at the school soon enough anyway she had decided to grab a sandwich from the market instead and return to her office.

The turn of events had done little to improve upon my mood and by the time I stepped into the surgery I was hungry, irritable and missing my wife.

"Morwenna? What are you doing in my consulting room, why have you taken over my desk?"

"Oh, god. Oh god, oh god, oh god. . . no, no, no."

"What? Why are you here?"

"Doc! You're back early. . . ."

"What are you doing in here?"

"I, um . . . like I said before I . . . might have a little problem, well a huge one, really. Thing is . . . I'd been thinking these last few days that I might've got myself pregnant. Well . . . not by myself, obviously, but – "

"Yes I get the idea, thank you."

"Well it seems I just might be, you know, _pregnant_, unless I done did your test here all wrong. Never seen one before and – "

" – Where did you get this from?"

The sight of the urine specimen container sitting on my desk with the lid off and a positive pregnancy test on a latex glove directly beside it, causes my blood pressure to rise and my pulse to quicken.

"Well, your supply cabinet 'course, along with the test thingy. . ."

"No you didn't."

"Well yeah I did, along with one of them sticks."

"NO, you DIDN'T!"

"How do you mean? I think I oughta know, Doc – I was the one riflin' through your doctorin' cupboards."

"See this, the label?"

"It's blank, yeah I seen it. Look, I know I'm supposed to label it right away, Doc, but I – "

"Not that, THIS – it has _Truro Treliske Hospital_ on it, not this surgery."

"Oh yeah, you're right – it does, don't it? Then how come I done got it from your stash in the cupboard?"

"You DIDN'T, therefore this is NOT your sample." 

"Wah? But it said I was preggers. So I may NOT be then, Doc? That would be . . . that would be really brilliant right now, ace actually! So what done happened to _my_ sample then?"

I point to the container sitting on the edge of the sink over by the cupboards, still capped.

"Oh right, I must've sat it down over there when lookin' for those stick thingies, been a little distracted this mornin'. . . Sorry Doc, guess I'll need another one to do a do-over then, if that's alright with you?"

"Morwenna, just go away."

"But I don't wanna go to Mrs. T's . . . and to have to pay for it. I can, though, once I get paid tomorrow, promise, or I can schedule an appointment with you, you know like a _regular_ person. Just now, you know, I'm . . . kinda broke at the minute and anxious and I needed to know and you weren't here and – "

" – Shut up and go away. NOW."

"Alright, alright, no need to fly off the handle, Doc, I'm the one who should be doin' that don't ya think? But wait . . . if my sample's over there by the sink still, then who's really preggers then?"

"NOT your concern, now get out!"

My future has just shifted into high gear.

XxX

_To be continued . . ._


	22. Seconds

_Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. 'DCI Banks' is the property of Left Bank Pictures, no copyright infringements or existing case spoilers are intended, I'm just borrowing a character or two._

_The horrid exam is finally over with, hopefully for good, and I am so relieved! A longish chapter this time to make up for being away. Operating on zero sleep here, so if there are any glaring mistakes that's probably why... Reviews are always appreciated, thank you and happy reading. -DC_

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Twenty Two – "Seconds" **

The subtle lulling tick-tock sound at the wee edge of my consciousness suddenly connects in real-time with the steadily ticking clock on my office wall. My eyes focussing in on its large, silver-rimmed face soon translates into this day having finally made it past the four o'clock mark.

_Strange though, how I'd actually heard the clock ticking away, I never have done before. . . ._

Normally I'd be too busy to notice the time, but today it seemed to have dragged its feet . . . as have I. Tired and not feeling so great, I must've subconsciously been counting the seconds till I'd be home – home with my family.

What was it Pippa had once told me, back when James Henry was just born?

_'Home to feed the family. I envy you – only one, you don't know how lucky you are!' _

And I _am_ lucky, I just . . . I don't know, I think I always envisioned having a second kid so that my first one wouldn't be growing up an only child. Reckon both Martin and I could've benefited from a sibling.

Well, I do have one now, though – the world does work in mysterious ways sometimes.

Just then Pippa poked her head through my cracked door to see if I was ready to head on home 'to Dr. Ellingham', so I switched the computer off and grabbed my handbag and satchel. Then I took one last look at the picture on my desk, and it made me smile once more. It was one I took of James and his Daddy having a tête-à-tête at Ruth's farm. James was using Martin's ears for leverage, their noses were touching and they'd only had eyes for each other. I'd just brought it in with me this morning, never having shown it to Martin. He'd no idea I had a snap of that tender moment, and probably wouldn't be pleased to learn I'd framed it for my desk here at the school neither . . . but it's my favourite one of my two men, my little family, and it's a keeper.

And I _am_ missing 'Dr. Ellingham'. I didn't really get to see him at lunch today and up until just this week I'd worked from home for two months after my incident, seeing him all day, every 'd been getting on my nerves then, of course, fretting over me and tending to my every need.

And now? Well . . . turns out I still need him.

_Funny how one tends to see things more clearly once they're no longer directly in view. . . ._

Mike Chubb had got hurt whilst stacking pots off his boat earlier in the day and Martin had been called out to tend to him, meaning our lunch date had got pushed aside. I'd actually been a bit excited to go fetch something from the market again, but once inside nothing there had really appealed to me. Martin's cooking might be on the bland side most of the time but right then that's exactly what I'd fancied and I'd found myself feeling a bit guilty for having thought otherwise, if only for a split second.

In the end though I'd ended up with my usual fare, knowing all too well how Martin feels about me skipping meals. Yet somehow I hadn't even made it halfway through my ciabatta before the eaten and uneaten parts both ended up in the bin in my office.

_The prawns must've been off. _

So all I wanted right now, really, was to go fetch James, cook all three of us an early bland supper then curl up under the throw on the sofa with my husband whilst watching our son play on the rug. I wouldn't even mind for Martin to read his medical journals, so long as my head would be allowed to rest safely in his lap whilst he did so. I'm feeling spent and . . . a little needy, and he'll always be my rock on those days.

_I bet Helen never feels needy, she kinda seems a rock as well. . . ._

'Course there's wanting and needing, then there's _doing_, and with today being Thursday and late day at the surgery we won't be eating supper until seven at the earliest. And if Martin didn't make up for his missed lunch sometime this afternoon he'll likely be less than his usual cheerful self to boot. Though I can't blame him really, he never has been one to eat much in the mornings so he'll have been running mostly on empty all day – a very long day at that.

Maybe I'll stop by the fish sellers and pick up some monkfish for him, I'll have plenty of time to cook everything just the way he likes it. Yeah that's exactly what I'll do, I think he'll like that.

Hopefully that'll brighten his day some.

James Henry had been all smiles when I got him from Hana's, which had instantly brightened _my_ day no doubt and I'll forever be in awe when looking at my little blond-headed boy. If Martin and I ever doubt our ability to truly accomplish something great together, our son is all the proof we need – we outdid ourselves with him.

By the time we'd popped by the green grocers for some fresh asparagus and the market for some nappies, we had to get a move on to make it over to the fish sellers. And after some time of haggling with the fishmonger over which 'isch' to get, James was rather excited at having picked out his first fish and had made it quite clear that I needn't even think about lowering him back into his buggy as that was out of the question, his seat now reserved for the 'isch'. Pointing to his new and sturdy shoes we'd got him in Wadebridge not so long ago he did have a point and just like his father would've, he'd made a logical argument in an already compelling case. So what could I do but set him down on the ground and let him negotiate the uphill at his own speed?

So for James Henry things were now looking up, quite literally.

We must've been quite a sight, the two of us, making our way on up Roscarrock Hill. Me walking at a snail's pace whilst pushing a blanketed and newspaper-clad monkfish in a buggy and my miniature version of the village doctor putting one foot in front of the other by my side, determined to make it home by way of his two feet.

Finally squeezing our way through the kitchen back door, James headed straight for the sofa and was out like a light with his upper body on the seat part and his feet still on the floor. I got a quick snap with my iPad before slipping his little shoes off and properly laying him out on the cushions, covering him with the throw and propping some pillows along the front as well lest he roll off it. . . .

Not great timing for a nap, but I'll wake him when his 'isch' is ready – maybe that'll be just enough to avoid a complete meltdown later on.

I'd salted the fish fillets and left them to draw and the asparagus had been washed, and just _barely_ had their stalks trimmed, and were sitting in a metal colander in the sink waiting to be steamed last minute. I'd just got the potatoes ready for the cooker when I noticed Martin in the doorway casually observing me.

He was standing there with a look of . . . adoration, perhaps? Good that, maybe he hadn't noticed the generous amount of salt I'd added to the spuds – brings them to a boil quicker and I've found I won't have to add much later that way, which makes life 'round here a lot easier.

"Well, hello there husband. How long have you been standing there, don't you still have a few patients left to see?"

"Um, yes. Where's James Henry?"

I nod towards the sofa, at which point he looks at our son like he'd gazed at me then walks over to check on him before again returning his full attention my way.

"Louisa, I . . ."

"Yes?"

"I'm going to need another urine sample."

"Oh."

Certainly not what I'd expected him to say, but then I've learnt over time not to be surprised at anything he says, really.

"Um, how come? I . . . left one in the fridge this morning, like I always have done?"

"Yes. And I'd just pulled it out to label it and place it in the surgery refrigerator with your blood sample when I got called away to the harbour. It sat out on my desk out of temperature that entire time. The courier comes by at eight on Thursdays, so we're fine – lucky, really. Mm."

"Right. I'll . . . see to it next time I've got to, you know . . . have a wee."

"Good. If you drink a full glass of water now it will be within the hour. Oh, and I'll collect it from the refrigerator, don't give it to Morwenna."

"Okay . . . I'll have it right here then."

With that he slipped out into the hallway and back to his patients – his _other_ patients.

Though strictly speaking I'm not his patient. We'd just had as many of the tests and things done here as possible every week, my doctors in Truro have been doing the actual readings and such. Guess being married to a doctor has certain benefits, it would've been an awful lot of driving for us, on top of going out to Little Petherick to see Dr. A.

_Dr. A. . . . _

We're only seeing her on Mondays now, and _together only_, so it's not like we can bring up our worries about each other without the other one knowing – which, according to Dr. A., was part of the reason she'd agreed to trying the once weekly schedule. Martin and I had suggested it after my hospital stay, as there were just too many changes in our lives then to make two or three visits per week practical. And so far it seems to be working okay for us.

Well, I'd almost bit Martin's head off earlier this week in front of Dr. A., and on our way home, and he was just showing concern – for _me_. I still feel bad about that. . . .

Helen's supposed to be telling her boys about me this weekend, so maybe Sunday evening I'll call her for a chat. Ask her how it went, what they think about it all and . . . what _she_ thinks about it all – about me, now that's she had a week to digest meeting her little sister.

_Hopefully she still likes me – at least a little, enough._ . . .

Maybe I'll even tell her about my less-than-stellar behaviour this week, it may calm me a bit and lead me onto a better path. Though to be fair she'd made it perfectly clear where she stands on the issue that's probably most to blame for my edginess of late . . . so no new sisterly advice to be had on that front I reckon.

_Still, it'll be nice talking with her and hearing her voice again . . . I find that I miss having her around._

I got my iPad off the table and sent her the snap I'd just taken of James, she'll appreciate that.

As usual Martin had been right in his medical predictions and I'd just pulled the potatoes aside when nature called. The fish had gone in the oven less than a minute ago so it should be ready in about ten. Picking James up off the sofa I headed upstairs, grateful for our newly enclosed stairs sparing me the village eyes on my back. Still half asleep I put him in his cot and grabbed a sample container before heading for the toilet to get my second sample of the day. Never a dull moment lately 'round here.

When releasing me after my incident, the hospital in Truro had sent me home with a pre-filled stack of paper forms and sample-baggies, a tray of vials and a bag of ten sample containers. This was the second-to-last container in the bag, time flies . . . Hopefully the last sample I'd have to give as well, 'least for this round. Thursday, a week from now, should be my final appointment, knock on wood, and I'll be glad to be back to my old self again.

I binned the bag and put the lone leftover container in the medicine cabinet. Who knows, one of us may need it at some point in the future and leaving it in the chest of drawers seemed silly now – not like space is aplenty in this cottage to begin with and it'll surely get lost in my things otherwise.

Sample now in hand I'd about three minutes to get James' nappy changed before having to tend to the fish. Thankfully he'd seemed to have picked up where he left off and didn't appear to be grumpy – 'least not yet.

Stepping down into the sitting room the timer in the kitchen went off just as I pulled some of James' toys out from under the stairs. So far this evening had gone a lot better than my morning had done, which at least was something.

_'Course I jinxed it by speaking too soon._

Pulling the baked monkfish out of the oven, the hot fishy air hit my face like a pungent heatwave from hell and I just barely made it to the sink where I promptly threw up.

Not only was this the second time today, but this time I'd thrown up all over the lovely asparagus James Henry and I'd picked out, then instinctively wiped my mouth . . . with the oven-glove I now realised I seemed to be wearing.

And that did it.

I felt the tears coming and there wasn't a thing in this world I could do to stop it from happening. It was like a faucet really, one whose slow drip over the course of a week had suddenly turned into an all-out leak. A _major_ leak where something had finally broken, seemingly for no reason . . . which somehow made it all even worse.

Sliding down to the floor I found myself sobbing – I was outright sobbing in my own kitchen with my back propped against the dishwasher and my arms hugging my knees. Somehow, above my hiccuping blubs, I heard James starting to cry as well for he was probably worried for his Mum. I tried getting my wits about me long enough to get up and go to him, but I was dizzy and he was too fast.

In trying to make his way to me from the sitting room I watched him stumble on the step up to the kitchen and fall, missing a chair by barely a hair before continuing at a crawl, full-speed from there and into my lap, unfazed by his mishap and without missing so much as a beat.

And that's how Martin found us.

We were on the floor, both crying – mutually upsetting, yet comforting, the other and completely oblivious to our surroundings. That is, until I felt Martin's arm around me and saw him seated on the linoleum with us, leaning against the sink cupboard.

My husband was sitting on our dirty kitchen floor, in his pristine suit, holding us. Comforting us as we continued to sob, snotty noses no doubt ruining his suit all the while. He seemed to be giving us both a subtle once-over, to make sure we weren't physically hurt, but just like his son he seemed unfazed by the situation and stayed like that until we were all cried out.

"What happened, are you okay?"

I still didn't trust my voice and nodded to let him know I eventually would be.

"Why don't we go sit down for a bit, let James finish up with his toys."

I nodded again as he helped me up whilst clutching James on his arm.

" – 'isch'!"

James looked up at his daddy and pointed excitedly to the cooker where, thankfully, I'd managed to safely set the remainder of our dinner down.

"That's right, James, but the fish will keep."

And it would, a few more minutes wouldn't cause it any harm at this point, it needed to rest anyways.

Taking a large gulp of water from the glass Martin brought me instantly made me feel more human.

"Martin, I'm . . . sorry."

"For what?"

"I . . . don't really know."

"No, I guess not."

We were sitting on the sofa watching James play. I'd folded my legs up under me and curled into my husband, who'd covered me with the throw the minute we sat down – and there wasn't a BMJ in sight.

"This really is nice you know Martin, thank you. Don't know what's come over me, I reckon there's a first time for everything. . . ."

"Mm, yes. And sometimes there are seconds – we need to talk, Louisa."

XxX

_To be continued. . ._


	23. Present

_Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. 'DCI Banks' is the property of Left Bank Pictures, no copyright infringements or existing case spoilers are intended, I'm just borrowing a character or two._

_Another long chapter for you, hope you enjoy! Thanks for the reviews, they are always appreciated - happy reading. -DC_

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Twenty Three – "Present" **

My wife, my _pregnant_ wife, is sitting on the sofa with me observing our son playing with his new gaudy plastic locomotive. The engine is a bright blue monstrosity of a toy which, other than sharing the name of 'Thomas', bears little resemblance to Awdry's original idea. She had purchased it for him as a present from the Avon Railway gift shop this past Sunday while James and I had been out on our first steam powered train ride, courtesy of an authentic late 1950's restored Great Western locomotive.

Four days have passed since then and I'd assumed I would have at least until Louisa's appointment next week to contemplate how to present her with the prospect of another child. I've taken solace in thinking I would only have to casually suggest the possibility, confident she would then hang to my every word and steer the conversation in whatever direction she would see fit from there on.

That, quite literally, is no longer a possibility.

"Martin?"

Louisa's voice brings me right back to the present and I briefly ponder how many weeks her previous pregnancy had progressed prior to her realising her condition. _I should know. . . ._

"Mm?"

"You just said we need to talk. What about?"

"Um yes. How are you feeling, a bit better?"

"I reckon, just a bit nauseous still. Think the prawns have done it, the ciabatta I had for lunch didn't agree with me this time 'round I'm afraid."

"You've been sick since lunch?"

"Well . . . not sick, not exactly. Not since I threw it up anyway."

"You threw up at the school as well?"

"Like I said, Martin, the prawns must've been off. I got 'bout half way through it when . . . "

" – No. In spite of the undoubtedly questionable hygiene standards of whomever prepared your food items, food-poisoning wouldn't be instantaneous. There would be at least a thirty minute lag time even if some imbecile _had_ contaminated your food with the _Staphylococcus aureus_ bacteria due to neglecting to wash their hands, which, by the way, is the simplest of personal hygiene standards. If people in this village would just – "

" – YES Martin, thank you . . . I think I get it. So, you've a better suggestion then?"

"Right, yes."

_No time like the present. . . . _

"Louisa. When you were, um . . . pregnant with James Henry, were you sick frequently?"

"When I was pregnant? Well, a bit queasy in the beginning perhaps. You know, before I'd had any breakfast . . . that kind of thing."

"Did you throw up at all?"

"Just the first six weeks or thereabouts. Why, that's pretty common isn't it?"

"More common _starting_ around six weeks, but yes – not unheard of. It is due to changes in hormonal levels when – "

" – Wait, WHAT? Sorry, no, no – that can't be."

"It can."

"What are you saying, Martin? Are you saying that you think . . . that you think that I, that _we_ . . ."

"That there is a good chance that you are pregnant, yes I do."

"Pregnant? But . . . I've not missed a pill one, I'm pretty sure anyways . . . and the doctors, well they said it'd be fine and that the antibiotics I took while in hospital could be a concern, but nothing since I've been at home should've been . . . Pregnant, really?"

"Mm."

"How can you be so sure, I mean . . . oh god, no I can't be?"

"Is this . . . a _bad_ thing?"

Chills are going down my spine at that thought, have I completely misread her signals all this time? Is this child not wanted?

"What? Um, well . . . no, _I_ don't think it is – bad that is, if I am indeed, you know . . . though I don't see how I could be, how _we_ could be? Do _you_ think it's a bad thing, Martin?"

"No I don't."

"Oh. You _don't . . ._ really?"

"No, it's . . . good, mm. Fortuitous."

"_Fortuitous_?"

"Yes. I'd, um . . . I _have_ been thinking it over for . . . a while now, and I recently came to the conclusion that it would probably make you happy if we were to try for another child. At least that appears to be what you have been wanting to tell me . . . I think. I may have been mistaken of course, however – "

" – You're not mistaken, and it would make me _very_ happy. . . if we are actually pregnant. So you _did_ notice?"

"Well of course I noticed, Louisa, I'm not a complete moron!"

"No . . . Why didn't you say?"

"I was going to, after your appointment in Truro next week, but then I found out you're likely already pregnant and – "

" – You found out? How do you mean you _found_ out?"

God, this is where things can go horribly wrong if I'm not careful. Technically speaking Morwenna is my patient and as such I have to honour patient confidentiality. However, Louisa is my wife and most certainly deserves the truth regarding _her_ health, which is also my obligation – as a husband _and_ as a doctor.

"Louisa. There may have been a slight . . . _misunderstanding_ . . . regarding some samples in the surgery today and as such a . . . _routine_ pregnancy test that was performed may initially have been performed on your sample, rather than the intended sample, mm."

"Oh, I see – so that's why you needed my second sample. You don't sound very sure . . . "

"I am. And your sample _was_ left out of temperature while I attended the emergency . . . but it was also compromised due to the pregnancy test, yes."

"Mm. Does this . . . pregnancy . . . make_ you_ happy as well?"

"It does, yes."

"Yeah?"

"Mm."

"Pregnant . . . I just, I still don't understand how it could've just . . . _happened,_ again?"

"Erm, that may _partially_ be my fault."

" – Well I'd say, Martin!"

"No, I mean . . . your liver. When the liver is not functioning optimally it may negatively affect the synthesis of certain chemicals, like pharmaceuticals, much in the same manner that alcohol has a negative effect on the liver and as such is best avoided. The sarcoidosis, combined with everything else that was going on, could possibly have lowered the effectiveness of your, um, birth control tablets."

"And this is your fault _how_ exactly?"

"I didn't think of it when obviously I should have."

"Well, for what it's worth . . . I'm glad you didn't – if I am indeed pregnant."

_Well, that went better than I'd thought._

"Oh my god, Martin, I've been taking the tablets everyday – I'm still taking them! Will it harm the baby, _has_ it harmed the baby?"

"Highly unlikely, Louisa, especially if the hormone levels you've been receiving are low. Ectopic pregnancies are sometimes seen with continued use, but they are rare and it is still early days so you should be fine. However you will need to discontinue their use, obviously."

I'm trying to sound confident, though in reality there are a number of things that could go wrong. With Louisa's history, our combined age and so forth, there could be increased risks for both Louisa and the baby, hence why I'd planned on taking her upcoming appointment into consideration. But, it's done now and no sense in adding stress to her pregnancy, and I'll make sure she'll be scheduled for a scan as well when we go to Truro next week.

_And, normally, hormone levels tend not to surge as strongly during an ectopic pregnancy and Louisa's hormones most certainly appear to be produced at quite healthy levels, which is a good sign. . . ._

"Also – you being tired, moody, nauseous and sick is good. Mm."

_That should at least make her feel better._

"Oh is it? Since I think I know where you're going with that, I'll let it slide this time . . . but be very careful with what you say to a pregnant woman, Dr. Ellingham – you may just find yourself in a world of hurt when you least expect it."

She's got my face firmly between her hands and though not exactly _in_ my face, she's close to it. Thankfully she's also still smiling, so whatever it is I said this time must not have been too detrimental.

"Ah, you're joking."

"Hm . . . yes and no. I'll let you think that one over for yourself."

She studies me closely, my face . . . my eyes. I never know where to look when she does that, but have learned not to look away.

"Since there seems to be some uncertainty still, I suppose it makes sense do another test? I've already provided two samples today and three's a charm, right, and . . . "

She glances to James before rewarding me with a kiss, then lightly tapping my nose with her index finger.

"And I'd like for us to do it _right_ this time 'round, okay?"

"Well, I sort of assumed we would."

"If I finish this drink of water now, there should be just enough time to attempt supper, am I right? Can't promise you it will stay with me but I will at least try. The asparagus fell victim to my 'tired, moody, nauseous and sick' self, I'm afraid, but the potatoes should be fine as should your 'avourite isch', Daddy dearest."

James had in the end eaten more fish for supper than Louisa had, but at least what she did eat stayed with her this time, so after we'd finished up she'd taken him upstairs for his bath while I cleared away and cleaned the kitchen. We'd both put him down for the night and watched him go off before I'd gone to retrieve a pregnancy test from my consulting room.

_And I'm no doubt going to be a father a second time._

Louisa had wanted me to be part of the whole experience, and as the test strips I keep for surgery use are more sensitive than the handout sticks, Louisa decided she'd 'rather wee in a pot' and bring it out for me to use the strip.

Three minutes had never seemed as long when with a patient, however sitting upstairs on the bed with my wife, the minute hand appeared to have come to a standstill . . . absolutely ridiculous. But eventually there had been no doubt and the wonderment on Louisa's face only served to confirm it.

I'd added on both qualitative and quantitative hCG test requests to Louisa's blood sample earlier, so we should have a better idea tomorrow of just how pregnant she is, as that seems to be up for debate. She insists that she'd 'never quite got back on track from her warfarin days of heavy periods' and have had a couple of irregular periods since, despite taking birth control like clockwork.

I feel, however, that what she considered to be her last period was likely implantation bleeding and if so the foetal age should be close to four weeks by now. This would put her at about six weeks gestational age, concurring nicely with the symptoms I've observed.

_Of course, I can't compare her symptoms this time around with her last pregnancy, whereas Louisa can. . . ._

"So . . . should I be planning a joint baby shower with Morwenna then?"

"A what?"

"Presents, food, drink . . . that sort of thing?"

"I see. A bit early still, is it not?"

"I know it is, Martin."

"Oh, right. Why Morwenna?"

"Because _you_ wouldn't have made a mistake in the surgery like that, my dear Doctor. Morwenna would though . . . 'specially these days. You _have_ noticed that her and Al are becoming kind of serious, haven't you?"

"Serious? She's a kid, Louisa."

"She most certainly is not, Martin, nor is Al – as much as Bert would like to still think so. Must be hard, though, watching your kids grow up and become adults . . . I can't even think that far with James Henry, and most definitely not with our new 'Sprout'."

"Mm, I suppose you are right. . . ."

"So, I _will_ be planning a shower for two?"

" – Technically a sprout is a plant Louisa."

"I know that Martin, so . . . will I be planning a shower on my own for our little 'Isch' then, or should I count Morwenna in?"

"Louisa . . . you know I can't discuss my patients."

"Well . . . _I'm_ only talking about a baby shower, so . . . ?"

When she's like this there's no stopping her, I've learned that much over the years.

"Not that I'm an expert on baby showers, Louisa, or even know when or what one is, but I will say that I think you will do perfectly fine with the planning _on your own_ when the time comes. Or, you can always ask Bert again."

"Ahh, well that's a good thing I reckon – 'least for the time being, and I didn't _ask_ Bert, he wanted to do that for me. And it was a very kind thing to do, Martin."

"Mm, if you think so. Our little _fish_, Louisa . . . you can't come up with something better?"

"Well, if 'Sprout' isn't acceptable then 'Isch' will have to do. I kinda like it better anyways and James Henry can say it as well. And, _and_ – nobody in the village will have a clue none what we're talkin' 'bout, as everybody talks fish 'round here you know."

She does have a valid point.

"Besides, I think you've proven at this point that your little swimmers are indeed, well . . . _great_ swimmers, wouldn't you say?"

"Right. We should probably get some sleep, it's been a long day."

It's still relatively early, but once the lights switch off the room falls into complete darkness and I find the silence a welcome break from a day that has been full of surprises. I have a lot of digesting to do, a lot of thinking, and I've always seen things more clearly in the dark.

"Martin . . . ?"

"Hm?"

"Last time, after I learnt about James Henry . . . I was all alone in my bedsit and I wanted to come home – to you."

She turns onto her side and searches for my right hand, taking it and placing it over her still flat abdomen.

"That night I held my hand over my stomach, just like this, and I talked with you – well, sorta. I named it 'My Martin' then and I told 'My Martin' all about you every night before going to sleep. It made it . . . more real, somehow. Gave me a connection."

I can tell she's struggling with her recollections by the timbre of her voice._ I wish I'd known. . . ._

"I'm sorry, Martin. I'm so very sorry for not coming home sooner. I'm sorry you missed out; even the tired, moody, nauseous and sick parts – all of it. I'm glad I eventually found my way back home . . . and that we've got this second chance. And I love you."

She pulls on me, pleading with me to turn over, to face her. I'm grateful for the blackness of the room as I'm blinking excessively to counteract the tears threatening to fill my eyes.

"I never stopped, you know . . . loving you."

A gentle, loving kiss lands on my lips.

"And this time I'm not alone. I've got James Henry _and_ my Martin to talk with and to talk _to_ our little 'Isch'."

"Yes you do. And you've got Helen."

She abruptly sits up.

"Helen, oh my god – I need to tell Helen!"

I get a quick peck on the head before she reaches for her bedside table and fumbles for her mobile in the dark, unsuccessfully.

"Martin. . . . can you ring up my mobile, I can't find it."

Up until this point I've always written off my female patients 'with child' as being stupid and nonsensical when referring to their 'pregnancy brain' and similar imagined ailments resulting from their condition. However, I'm certainly not imagining Louisa's frequent memory lapses of late, nor would I ever call my wife 'stupid' as she is anything but, so . . . perhaps there may be some actual truth to that descriptive expression after all. _Frightening thought._

And, if my calculations and suspicions are right, then I will have roughly seven and a half more months to study this phenomenon, up-close and personal.

I tell Louisa to stay put, as there's no sense in us both getting up to look for it. _ And she'd probably forget what she was looking for. . . ._ Using the speed dial function on my mobile I follow the muted tones of Louisa's phone to the innards of our medicine cabinet and, having thought long and hard about what she'd said earlier today about pregnant women, I don't ask why on earth she would have placed her mobile in there, rather I dutifully hand it over.

"Erm, isn't it a bit late to call Helen?"

"Well, not really, it's just half nine. But I'm not calling her anyways, I'm sending her a text message."

"Ah, I see. Good."

As she taps away on the bright digital keys, the display lights up her face to the exclusion of everything else around her and it reminds me of the beacon Dr. Arscott is always urging us to look for. Louisa appears to be glowing from within as well, and I'd had something to do with it this time. Getting back under the covers I feel strangely comforted by that thought.

"Good night, Louisa, don't stay up too late. Your body will require more sleep from now on."

"Mm, yeah I know . . . good night, Martin."

_'Helen ~ _

_You won't believe this, especially_

_in light of my struggles with this _

_decision lately and how to go _

_about it, but as it turns out . . . _

_I'M ALREADY PREGNANT _

_and you were right – Martin _

_is actually happy about it!_

_~ Louisa'_

_. . . _

_'Thanks 4 brill snap of JH. R u _

_tired, moody, nauseous &amp; sick yet?'_

_. . ._

_'Yes, I just started all that I'm afraid . . .'_

_. . ._

_'GOOD, then congrats u _

_2 on ur little present. Now _

_go get some sleep! - H'_

XxX

_To be continued . . ._


	24. Gemini

_Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. 'DCI Banks' is the property of Left Bank Pictures, no copyright infringements or existing case spoilers are intended, I'm just borrowing a character or two._

_Thanks for the reviews and kind words, they are appreciated and encourage me to keep on going! Happy reading. -DC_

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Twenty Four – "Gemini" **

Martin had booked my antenatal scan for after the already scheduled Thursday check-up we'd planned for, which means I've had a whole week to fret about it. He'd assured me that Dr. Rosevear is one of the best in all of Cornwall, and in an unexpected gesture even mentioned that she's a mother which he thought I'd appreciate. Nothing was said about Edith, thank goodness, but I feel reassured knowing my doctor will be another woman, and a mum at that.

I've wanted to call Helen up to chat about it . . . calm my nerves, get some twin-sisterly advice, as she's done all this baby stuff four times to my one, but as it turns out she's had her own worries this past week. Her dad, well _uncle_ really. . . our uncle, has been sick for a while it seems. I'd rung her up on Sunday excited to ask about the boys' learning about me, but instead I'd ended up learning my dad's older brother's got cancer . . . she'd never said.

I'm glad I know now, though, and we've scheduled for me to travel up north a month from now to visit with them and meet him for the first . . . and likely last time. I reckon I'll see Helen's husband and boys as well, but she didn't bring it up so I didn't ask – she seemed a bit . . . distant and I'd felt somewhat of an outsider not having known about my uncle and all until now, and practically stumbling across the information by chance. With the situation being as it is I've decided to ask him in person when I see him whether or not he'd want dad to know. Whatever he decides I'll respect his decision.

When I'd told Martin about it we'd got in a huge row. He wasn't happy I'd decided to go off so far away where I'm not feeling well, nor did he approve of my plan to do it on my own. I'd explained that this is something I need to do alone, without having to worry about James Henry and, well . . . Martin, though I'd not told him that last part. Our compromise had been that rather than have Martin take me to Exeter St. David station for me to ride the train to Leeds, which would've meant at least six and a half hours in all, he insisted on me flying out of Newquay to Manchester and for Helen to fetch me there, which would be about four hours shorter in total travel time.

And to be completely honest, I hadn't been looking forward to two such long travels in the space of a weekend . . . it's bound to be an emotional weekend all on its own as it is. Not that I'll admit that to Martin, but I'm grateful he'd stood his ground and stepped in. I also think it'll be good for Martin to have James Henry on his own for a few days – my two relaxed men without the neurotic mum in the house.

_At least I hope they'll enjoy it. . . .they'll have to get used to that when this little one comes along demanding its mum every minute of the day._

I'd been so anxiously awaiting my antenatal during my regular doctor's visit that I'd had a hard time focussing on what was said, but luckily that's right up Martin's alley and he can explain it all to me later. For the time being I'm more than happy to just know that all is as well as could be expected and that I'm considered to be 'as healthy as I was before it happened', in spite of the sarcoidosis, and that none if it should negatively impact me or the baby during this pregnancy, so long as we keep track of my blood values.

So now that I'm 'back to normal' again that's one box ticked. And just in time for our next big journey which, according to Martin last time I tried it . . . makes me 'abnormal'. Good job I know about what to be expecting this time 'round, including from Martin.

_Of course he'd been rather angry with me at the time . . . though I think it was more a sense of despair than anger, really. Couldn't blame him really neither._

With James Henry I hadn't had my first scan until well into week 13, and alone . . . so I was beyond excited for this one. Nervous, but excited all the same and this time around Martin would be there with me, like it should've been. He'd explained to me over the weekend that this would be considered an early scan and that he'd understand if I'd want my privacy.

I'd practically jumped all over him before he could get another word out edgewise and let him know I would have none of it, end of discussion. Because he _will_ be there with me and I know that he'll want to see everything both as a medical professional and as a father, he'd been deeply hurt by my decision not to have him be my doctor last time. And _I_ want him to see everything both as a doctor and as my husband.

He's already missed out once, so I'm only that much more determined to make sure he doesn't miss a thing this go'round.

Except maybe . . ._ this part_.

As soon as the nurse handed me the paper gown and explained that Dr. Rosevear would be in to see us in a few minutes, it dawned on me what Martin had meant with his offer of privacy.

This wasn't to be the fairy-tale I'd pictured, where a slightly shy Martin would lovingly help me roll my top on up over my still flat stomach and hold my hand as the 'magic-wand' would glide across my skin looking for our little one to appear out of the shadows.

_No, this will be an altogether different wand. . . ._

"Oh." _Brilliant Louisa. . . ._

Somehow I'd lost my ability to think and speak in coherent sentences all of a sudden.

"Is something the matter, do you want me to get the nurse?"

I pulled the curtain across, leaving Martin on the other side whilst I changed into this less-than magical gown. Not that he hasn't seen all of me a time or two. I'd actually rather him see all of me instead of like this . . . but, the important thing is we're seeing our baby today, our little 'Isch'.

Least I hope we are. My nerves are starting to get the best of me and I'm feeling guilty for even thinking of myself and this lousy gown right now when we still don't know for sure that everything is fine. . . .

"Louisa, are you okay?"

"Um, yes – I'm good, it's fine really. I just wasn't expecting . . . this, you know, I was thinking of my scans back before . . . like a _regular_ antenatal scan. But this is good I reckon, better actually and it makes perfect sense, it being this early and all . . . I can see that, really. Of course it does, we'll have a clearer scan this way then, right, and all of those kinda . . . good and important things, yeah? We'll still have a picture after though, won't we Martin?"

As if _that_ was really what worried me the most.

I'm blathering – nervous and . . . _embarrassed_. Which is stupid of me, making it even more embarrassing because I shouldn't be embarrassed.

"Yes, exactly. This way the transducer will only have to send sound waves through your cervix rather than through the substantial amount of fat surrounding your abdomen, fat which would block out much of the signal due to its thickness and thus making the imaging less accurate during this early stage of foetal development. Quite possibly we'd not even– "

I fling the curtain aside, the hell with modesty.

" – Are you calling me fat again?"

"What? No of course not, what do you mean?"

"You did, you just said I was fat, actually with 'a substantial amount of fat' around my stomach."

"No I didn't, I was referring to the abdominal adipose tissue which is _naturally_ more pronounced in women than in men and through which the sound waves of a transducer would have to travel were you to receive an abdominal scan."

Oh, yeah that does makes sense. I know I should say something, but I feel . . . stupid.

"Louisa . . . The baby is going to be very low in your pelvis and extremely small at this point, barely the size of your umbi–, um, _navel._ So doesn't it makes sense, then, that going through _any_ amount of . . . stomach tissue . . . would be, um, a substantial obstacle?"

I _am_ being stupid and Martin is being sweet, very sweet. Closing the gap between us I hug him, needing to feel him, solid and warm – safe.

" – You two decent in there?"

Standing here leaning on my husband the knock on the door means Dr. Rosevear is ready. And _I'm_ ready to get this scan underway before I completely lose my mind – and nerve. _We're_ all ready I reckon, ready as we'll ever be.

Martin's eyes are glued to the screen and mine are glued to Martin's. His face is completely focussed, leaning over me on the couch trying to get a better view of the image of our baby, an image that has yet to form. I'm waiting for his facial features to change to tell me when Dr. Rosevear has found what she's looking for. Martin's as nervous as I am, fists clenched at his sides . . . opening and closing. I take hold of one with both my hands, hoping to soothe and be soothed at the same time, and that's when I notice his grip change.

His hand relaxes in mine and his expression softens, he blinks a couple of times and looks to me briefly, before again looking to the screen – and now I see it as well.

There is our little 'Isch'. An isch that looks to me to be all heart, really – a blinking beacon on the screen, a tiny stationary Pac-Man. I tell Martin this, but of course he doesn't have the faintest idea what I'm talking 'bout, Dr. Rosevear does though. Our little Isch is showing it off proudly, as if to let its parents know how big and smart its got to have this 'life' thing down pat already after only a few weeks.

A life with a little heart that's beating all on its own because its parents' hearts couldn't bear to be apart for too long, needing to feel and hear the beat of the other.

"Can we . . . is it possible to hear it as well?"

I'm asking Dr. Rosevear, but as my eyes are back on Martin's he confirms and nods to her to turn the sound on.

He'd heard James' heart beat once during my pregnancy, when I'd been worried my little one had been too quiet and Joan had insisted on bringing me by the surgery. But Isch sounds different, slower? Maybe it's this machine, but it's louder as well - powerful rhythmic whooshing sounds from the screen, it reminds me of something? Sort of like . . . like the . . .

" – Train!"

"What?"

"Isch's heart beat, it sounds like when that old locomotive steamed out of the station up in Bristol, with you and James. It does, it really does!

"Er, a bit yes. Yes it does."

"Strong then, yeah – good?"

I nod at the doctor, suddenly relieved and excited at once and make sure to look directly at her this time, and she's smiling back at me whilst nodding in agreement.

"Yes, your baby appears to have a sound heart beat Mrs. Ellingham and – "

" – Louisa."

"Well, Louisa, your little one here has a very strong heart that beats about 108 times per minute and wants to let you know it's growing well and is 10 millimetres big today, which is perfect. Isn't that so Dr. Ellingham?"

"Um yes, well within the normal parameters, mm."

I can tell Martin is trying to be in his doctor mode, but those big and wondrous eyes and his hand now squeezing mine tells me he's as awed and humbled by this experience as I am – and relieved.

Relieved not only because we're seeing a healthy baby, but also because we are seeing _a_ healthy baby. I'd been teasing him this past week about how I felt different from last time and how it probably meant we were having twins, thinking there'd be some weight behind my argument with me being a twin and all. Of course Martin, being Martin, had quickly discredited my belief by explaining how identical twins aren't genetically predisposed to having twins, whereas there's some proof that fraternal twins are – due to their tendencies to hyper-ovulate. So much for me one-upping my doctor husband.

"So, with our measurements here today paired with the blood results we have from six days ago, I'd say you are . . . about seven weeks and two days pregnant, give or take a day or five, putting your expected delivery date around . . . June 6th. Sound about right to you?"

She looks to the both of us and Martin's ears are turning beet red, poor man – definitely not in doctor mode anymore. So if that really means more like five weeks since I _actually_ got pregnant, then that would have been around the time when we. . . OH. Yes, that could very well have been it! Quite sure of it, actually . . . must've been. Now I feel my cheeks burning a bit as well as I nod frantically in agreement whilst trying not to look at Martin, for I'm fairly sure he's reached the same conclusion.

"Um, yeah – I believe that's what Martin reckoned as well, isn't it Martin?"

"Yes."

"Right, good then – that's settled."

"The estimate may change slightly as we progress and get your blood test results from today, but the various developments this early on in a pregnancy are fairly specific and pretty good indicators as to the gestation age."

"Yes, makes sense that. Oh, and can we have a picture printed you think, if it isn't too complicated? Shame we can't print out the sound, though, that would've been fun to have and for our son to listen to as well. . . ."

"I've had fathers-to-be recording the scans to video, believe it or not, it is not at all uncommon these days. Technology has come so far, most people seem to have easy access to such devices."

" – Martin, the iPad, in my handbag. Get it!"

"What? Oh . . . no, I couldn't possibly – "

" – Yes, yes you can, and you will. Hurry!"

"I don't know how to work the bloody thing, Louisa."

"Well I do, so fetch it for me please."

I wasn't about to let the opportunity go by, and our doctor had said it was pretty common, so . . .

" – And you can learn?"

Our mum doctor is kind enough to let me video a minute or so with the sound on and thanks to Helen our little Isch will soon be safely in the cloud, so to speak, as well. And I sure feel like my head's in the clouds, only it isn't – it's better, because we've got proof now that this little one is real.

_Martin and I have have created another little heart._

XxX

"So, looks like we're having a twin after all then, Martin."

"WHAT?"

"June 6th . . . our Isch should turn out to be born a Gemini – in the sign of the Twins!"

"Oh for God's sake Louisa . . . is _this_ how it's going to be for the next several months going forwards?"

_To be continued . . ._


	25. Forwards

_Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. 'DCI Banks' is the property of Left Bank Pictures, no copyright infringements or existing case spoilers are intended, I'm just borrowing a character or two._

_Thanks for the reviews, they are much valued. Happy reading, -DC_

_A long chapter in honour of last night's blue moon – and you know what they say about the powers of a full moon!_

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Twenty Five – "Forwards" **

"So, looks like we're having a twin after all then, Martin."

"WHAT?"

"June 6th . . . our Isch should turn out to be born a Gemini – in the sign of the Twins!"

"Oh for God's sake Louisa . . . is _this_ how it's going to be for the next several months going forwards?"

We're in the lift on our way down from the antenatal appointment in Truro, and Louisa is relentless. Likely experiencing an emotional high from seeing and hearing our offspring on top of her already surging hormones. . . a synergistic effect of proportions.

The Zodiac and the chakras, astrology and spiritual nonsense – all absolute hogwash instilled in Louisa early on, spewed by a mother whose brain was likely compromised by partaking of her numerous herbal concoctions.

Louisa had even tried to convince me last week that she thought we were pregnant with twins, based on her having found Helen and thus, as a twin herself, possibly being genetically predisposed. Of course, not surprisingly, her medical deductions were wrong and I'd told her as much, expediently putting that theory to rest.

Yet I had been relieved to get confirmation of the fact that we are indeed expecting only one child. _Of course I would never admit that to Louisa._

Her ploy weeks previously, however, _had_ been successful on her part . . . no doubt on a level above and beyond what either of us could have imagined or expected at the time.

When she'd tried to get a rise out of me using my own words against me, she had . . . well . . . she had quite literally achieved just that, her feminine guile disguised under the pretence of knowledge-mongering or some such imagined concept. . . .

_And I had fallen for her . . . hook, line and sinker._

"Thank you for coming with me, Martin, and for finding Dr. Rosevear."

"Hm . . . ?"

"Dr. Rosevear. She seems kind and knowledgeable, I liked her right away. And today went well and was nice, really nice and I'm so relieved and happy right now and I just want to hug on you – but you're driving. . . ."

"Um, yes. Everything turned out as we had hoped, for the _both_ of you. I am relieved as well."

"And . . .?"

"And what?"

"And . . . happy?"

"Yes, and happy."

"Good. I can't believe our little one has a heart beat already. Taking after its daddy, so clever early on, I'm proud I get to be its mum!"

"That has nothing to do with being clever Louisa, it's all preprogrammed through its DNA. There's no evidence as of yet that it will have any intelligence whatsoever."

"Martin . . ."

"As a matter of fact, your next scan is when the majority of those tests will be done and we will then have a better idea as to its viability."

"I see."

"Also, if – "

"Martin, shut up."

"Ahm, yes."

"Thank you. I'm feeling happy and I'm relieved at seeing our little Isch and I'd rather not you spoil it."

"Right. I'm sorry . . . I didn't mean – "

" – I know you didn't Martin, so let's celebrate having had a good first scan and start counting down the days until June, alright?"

"Mm, yes. Louisa, I um . . . about that . . . your EDD I mean. Do you think that . . . _this_ . . . likely resulted from – "

" – My EDD?"

"Your expected date of delivery. Um, do you think that . . . well, are we in _agreement_ rather, that our somewhat . . . _intense_ relations that resulted from me being brazenly . . . duped . . . by you when simply trying to clarify your medical question, _as you requested_ _by the way_, well do you agree that's likely to be when – "

"OH yeah . . . I don't doubt it for a second. And _'brazenly duped'_, is that what a well played seduction is called these days Martin? Honestly I'm surprised we _aren't_ expecting twins, judging by our, well – _your_, um . . . admirable efforts and . . . grand finale that night."

"Twins would have nothing to do with my – "

" – Alright, Doctor, I was joking. You had everything to do with this _one_ Isch though, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes, right."

XxX

Poor Martin, always bothered by the birds and the bees when discussed outside of the strictly medical concept – but _coitus_ is just such a disturbing word. . . . Though in practice he seems to have got quite a broad definition of the concept and surprisingly few reservations these days, so I'm not complaining.

There's a comfortable silence as we're rolling ever closer to home and I imagine we're both busy just . . . thinking on the events of the day, taking it all in. I find my eyes getting heavy as I look through the window to the clouds, thinking of our Isch and that special night.

I'd been shamelessly haggling with Martin, and not over fish neither, though I guess in the end an 'isch' is what I'd come away with. . . .

_'But Martin . . .'_

_'No, absolutely not. Not until you've been cleared by your team.'_

_This sounded like a broken record, first the collar bone and now this getting in the way of me getting what I want . . . and need._

_'I'm fine, pain-free. Really I am.'_

_'Your coeliac plexus may no longer alert you to your injury, that doesn't mean it's not there, Louisa. Because it will be, for a while.'_

_'My what?'_

_'The coeliac plexus – the _solar_ plexus, what made you aware of James' kick, what made you feel like you'd had the breath knocked out of you – what literally left you breathless. And it's only been a little over four weeks, Louisa., your liver will still be vulnerable to any form of blow or impact._

_'Almost five actually, tomorrow.'_

_Which means it's been more than six weeks since we'd last . . . well, it's been too long for my liking. I don't have Martin's self-discipline, restraint and patience, not even close. There are ways, Martin just won't think outside the box nor have any part of me re-injuring myself – always black and white with him. . . ._

_'Hm, well it's not going to happen, I'm sorry, Louisa. End of discussion.'_

_He'd turned his back on me then, to show me in no uncertain terms that he wasn't to be persuaded, I reckoned. Though all that told me, really, was that he must've felt as if he _could_ be persuaded . . . for Martin always sleeps on his back, never on his side. He'll have to turn back over at some point, or . . ._

_Oh I'll take your breath away Dear Doctor, just you wait . . ._

Time to switch tactics.

_'So . . . do you mean my solar plexus is damaged then, Martin? Mum used to always tell me all about the chakras and their powers . . . that'd be a shame really.'_

Hook . . .

_'The 'what' powers? No, Louisa, I'm referring to the sympathetic nervous system, not the imaginary focus points of some cross-eyed snake-charmer. Good night.'_

Line . . .

_'Well, _are_ they then?'_

_'Are the '_what_', what?'_

_'My sympathy nerves, are they damaged then?'_

_I could tell he was getting frustrated with me, but that was okay – I was feeling plenty _frustrated_ myself right then. . . ._

_He turned back over to look at me before settling down on his back with a huff._

_'Sympathetic nerves, and no Louisa they're not damaged.'_

And Sinker.

_'Then what ever do you mean? Explain it to me, please.'_

"Mmmartenn, phleash . . ."

"Louisa, you're dreaming."

"Hmm, wah . . . ?"

"We're almost to the school and we need to get James Henry from the minder."

"Wah? Oh right, yes – her name is Hana you know . . . "

"Yes, right."

"And you, dear daddy, just interrupted some very pleasant-to-be thoughts of mine."

"Yes, well . . . it was just a dream, you can pick it up later."

"Was it? See, I thought I remembered that about five weeks ago I was having trouble with my nervous sympathies or whatnot, so I went . . . _fishing . . . _for an anatomy lesson – for you to explain it all to me. You must've been very thorough, 'cause somehow we actually ended up with an Isch. You care to explain _that_ dream to me, Dr. Ellingham, or shall we pick it up later?"

"So not a dream then."

"Not according to this lovely picture."

I pull the print of baby Ellingham out from my handbag and give it to him along with a rather passionate kiss. We've turned into the empty school car park as we normally do if fetching James Henry in the car and at half five not even Mr. Coley is around.

"We'll be back in a jiff, got a few things from the School to drop off for Hana anyways, so you stay put this time, okay?"

XxX

I look at the ultrasonography printout and marvel at its existence. Not even six weeks ago this image was all but a pipe dream of Louisa's and I hadn't even dared to take on the subject.

Yet somehow the subject in question took us both on and surprised us.

That night Louisa had been especially interested in night-time activities, despite our having previously discussed how her incident would demand she shy away from rough play with James Henry and . . . _others_.

She had kept on pushing me relentlessly, not taking no for an answer and making me testy – if she surmises my withholding from her as easy, she is sorely mistaken. But I was not to be the cause of any recurring injuries should we get carried away. I'm not the self-diciplined and restrained person I used to be, that all took flight on the very day we did – a chance meeting that would change the course of my life permanently.

No, I _do_ have my point of no return, as is perfectly normal, and once pushed past its mark I cannot be trusted to stop, which is both frightening and altogether exhilarating. . . .

_'Explain it to me, please. Martin, please . . .'_

_'Explain _what_ exactly? You're not making any sense.'_

_'Well, the solar plexus of course. Tell me what it is, show me where it is.'_

I think I probably suspected foul play, or should I say _unfair_ play . . . _play_ at the very least, at this point, sensing that this was turning into something far more than an innocent lecture. Our bedroom had been fairly dark, with only the bluish light from a full moon casting shadows about, so 'showing' Louisa anything would clearly require alternate methods. But I was powerless – _weak_, having made myself resist her for entirely too long and as such my defence mechanisms had been rapidly crumbling.

However, as long as I would stick with the strictly medical inquiry aspects of her demands I should be in the clear.

_'Erm, well the coeliac plexus, also known as the solar plexus, is a broad term for the sympathetic ganglia and nerve structures radiating outwardly from a point central to the epigastric zone of the abdomen, that is; on the coronal plane.'_

_She sits up on her knees, turns to face me and pulls the duvet down past my torso as her right hand begins to roam across my pyjama-clad chest._

_'Whereabouts is the epiatric zone of the abdomen?'_

_I grab her hand intending to stop its wandering ways, but instead she captures mine and brings it to the corresponding area on her own much smaller body._

_'And the coronal plane, show me Martin?'_

_'The _epigastric_ zone . . . is centred approximately . . .'_

_I lower my hand away from her chest in order to try to regain control over my breathing._

_'. . . approximately two widths of your hand above your umbilicus . . .'_

_Looking down at herself in the faint moonlight she's feigning ignorance._

_'. . . and the coronal plane . . . is a line that runs directly down the . . . middle . . . of your body.'_

_'I see. But I'm afraid I __can't _really_ see my navel through this top though . . . so I had better take it off then, yeah?'_

_Having swiftly pulled her top over her head she places my right palm back across her now bare breasts and I can feel her heart beating away wildly, which is extremely arousing. Her hair appears slightly dishevelled and her cheeks flushed against the low light._

_'Hm, much better – yeah I can see it now. Can't see yours though, can I?'_

_Divesting me of my button down jacket in a similar manner, she half-heartedly stacks her delicate feminine hands across the surface of my bare skin, seemingly exploring and measuring._

_'No, no – no this won't do, my hands are too small . . . I can't find the right spot. I can't find _your_ solar plexus. And why's it called solar anyways, Martin, is it because of the warmth that spreads from it? I can feel it you know, as I'm sure do you.'_

_'The nerves radiate . . . outwardly . . . from the central . . . plexus, thus mimicking the rays of the . . . sun.'_

_She begins to kiss my chest, all the while running her fingers in tickling and teasing motions outwards and I'm rapidly approaching my point of no return._

_' – Louisa, stop!' _

_Heaving for my breath I manage to halt her progression, as she slowly pulls her lips away from my chest to look up at me._

_'We can't . . . Louisa, I'm sorry.'_

_'Yes we can, we'll just have to be careful.'_

_'No, any type of pressure or accidental . . . bumps . . . to your abdomen can potentially cause problems.'_

_'Mm, maybe . . . well, you'll just have to control yourself then won't you? Keep from bumping me too hard I mean, and focus on asserting pressure . . . elsewhere, yeah?'_

_I'm powerless and she knows it. Pulling the duvet away completely she sits astride me and places both her hands, palms down, directly over my plexus in question._

_'The solar plexus chakra represents . . .'_

_She's back to kissing me ever so gently, running her tongue downward along my coronal plane._

_' . . . power, confidence and . . . control – willpower, and is the third chakra. Do you still think my solar plexus is damaged, doctor, do you find those qualities lacking in me?'_

_'I said it _wasn't _damaged.'_

_'Ah right, yes . . . I suppose you did say that. How 'bout yours, though, how is _your_ willpower faring this very minute, Martin?'_

_It's not and I wisely choose not to answer._

_'Mm, yes, I thought as much. Your energy flow is rather concentrated towards your _second_ chakra, the one responsible for creativity, procreation and . . . sexual healing. And . . . '_

_Awkwardly she moves one shapely leg in a circular fashion to partially free herself of her knickers before settling back down to nibble her way down my midline to my shorts._

_' . . . and, that's really all that I know about chakras I'm afraid.'_

_Lifting the waistband and pulling it down, she works to remove my shorts and pyjama bottoms entirely._

_'Though as far as energy flow goes . . . we seem to have come upon a particularly tense area, where the flow seems to be all . . . bottled up.'_

_My wife looks me confidently in the eye as she lowers herself onto me and it has now become purely a battle of wills. I reach for her to pull her to me and she smiles and shakes her head, instead bringing my hands down to her knees and away from her vulnerable midsection. Leaning back she unwittingly presents her breasts to me and I sit up to taste them, to kiss her, hugging her to me. Kissing me back wantonly she again shakes her head and pushes me back down into my pillows, placing my hands onto the wooden slats above my head. _

_I cannot allow myself to lose control, because I know in no uncertain terms that I will pull her down to me, possibly forcefully, needing to feel her against me, to feel her closeness. _

_I always do, with Louisa it appears . . . instinctual._

_And the only way I'm going to keep any modicum of control over this is if I don't move. _

At all.

_Keeping my hands still I hold on to the slats determinedly and worry I may even break them as my grip tightens in response to Louisa's smooth, rolling motions. I admire seeing her like this – lost to her own pleasures with an ability to freely let go, while I am simultaneously fighting to stay in control. _

_It's extremely erotic and has never before felt quite this intense. _

_She's enjoying egging me on and I'm enjoying the challenge of resisting her, it's become an even power-play. And as her movements get more frantic and she reaches her crescendo I close my eyes and bite my tongue, fighting every nerve fibre in my body that is begging me to let go along with her. _

_Louisa finally sinks down onto my chest and despite the slightly metallic taste in my mouth, I've persevered. _

_Her eyes are satiated, yet alight, as her lips lazily graze my left nipple while seeking a path to my heart. I feel myself involuntarily responding to her and I know she can feel it as well. Quickly looking up at me with fiery eyes she slides off and reaches up to kiss me while pulling both pillows from under my head at once, causing me to fall back abruptly onto the mattress, baffled._

_Without taking her eyes off me she reaches for her own set as well. Her expression remains intense as she bunches the large haphazard ball of bedding to her front, leaning over it on her knees and elbows, hugging it tightly while intently looking back at me._

_'Love me Martin, please – let go, for me?'_

_And clutched as firmly as I can manage along her warm and graceful back, my face tucked safely into her neck, I finally give in and surrender._

_We both do. _

_A shared feeling of breathlessness that had nothing – and everything – to do with the solar plexus._

XxX

As the car door opens directly behind me I jump in my seat, clutching the picture of my permanent memory of that night. A night when I had proven to myself that I _could_ remain in control after all, and was even rewarded for it – a step forwards as far as trust is concerned.

A trust from which came a great gift, one over which I'd had seemingly little to no control, a gift very much like the one smiling at me right now as his lovely mother carefully straps him into his car seat.

Like James Henry, this decision had been made for Louisa and I at a time when we had seemed unable to make the right decisions for ourselves, lacking that trust and unable to move forwards.

A decision now made for us by . . . chance, perhaps?

. . .

The Zodiac and the chakras, astrology and spiritual nonsense . . .

That's really all that we know about it I'm afraid.

And we're okay with that, it's fine.

Yes, good actually.

Mm.

_To be continued . . ._


	26. Simon Says

_Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. 'DCI Banks' is the property of Left Bank Pictures, no copyright infringements or existing case spoilers are intended, I'm just borrowing a character or two._

_Thanks for the reviews, they are always appreciated and happy reading. -DC_

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Twenty Six – "Simon Says" **

"Hello, I'm Louisa – Louisa Ellingham, and you . . . you . . . look a lot like dad."

"Now then, and you a lot like Helen. But you must've known that was coming. Ben Glasson, but that's old news by now of course – do come in. If you're waiting on Helen to ask you'll grow roots I'm afraid, she's never been the hostess type."

"Oh, right – yes, thank you."

Considering Helen had already bulldozed by the both of us as soon as the door lock had released, that was an understatement. I hadn't known we'd be staying here tonight, so I hope Mr. Glasson will like me . . . enough. And I hope I won't be sick all the time, or worse, that _he'll_ be sick. But I reckon Helen will know what to do or who to phone in case of an emergency.

" – Louisa?"

Speaking of . . . as Helen comes bounding down the stairs.

"Yeah, I'm here. Should I bring my suitcase?"

"I'll get it."

She grabs my case and motions for me to follow.

"This was my room. Linens are clean and there are fresh towels in the hall bathroom. I've lined the bins in both rooms should you have use for them."

"Oh . . . yes, that's very . . . um, thank you for that."

"Not a problem. I'll be here at eight for breakfast, Dad gets up early but if you need anything before then just phone me, alright?"

"Phone you? Wait, what? You're not . . . you're not staying here with me – us?"

"I've got to get back to the boys, Michael . . . you know. I will see you in the morning."

"Right, tell them I said hello and . . . ." _a good night from me_. Which of course she won't be doing anyways.

She'd gone before I'd even managed that last part and I watch from her old bedroom window upstairs as she hurries into her car and speeds away.

Now what? I gotta phone Martin and let him know where I am and give him the number for here, just in case . . . and he's not gonna be pleased Helen's not with me.

" – Glasson, you up there?"

Right, pull yourself together Louisa . . .

"Yeah, be right down, just give me a minute."

I have to wee, again . . . 'fore I do anything else, like . . . appear.

"Well, so . . . here we are then . . . thirty nine years and a bit later."

I'm feeling awkward as can be taking the last few steps down into the sitting area, like I'm making some grand entrance into a world unknown where I'm to be on display for comparison . . . or something. The space smells a bit of stale cigarettes, but my sense of smell has remained heightened and I'm guessing he doesn't light up anymore, 'least I don't see any ashtrays or anything like that 'round. Just ingrained in the house at this point I reckon, the ceiling's a bit stained as well.

"You look radiant, glowing, if I may say so. How far gone are you, nine or ten weeks or thereabouts?"

"Oh, um eleven actually. Good eye, or did Helen tell you?"

"Nah, she's gone done it four times now and I learnt a bit more each go'round – and you _do_ look like her, can't help but repeat myself. Leave it to Terry to spawn two such lovely young ladies."

I smile at that, he even sounds a bit like dad really, only older and . . . wiser.

_Obviously_.

"It's not your fault you know."

I'm not quite sure what he's referring to really. My pregnancy? Dad? The twin debacle? His illness . . . my visit? No, couldn't be that really could it?"

"Sorry, I can tell you're befuddled. I didn't mean your little'un, luv."

He smiles wistful-like and I wonder if he thinks he'll be 'round to see the Isch . . . probably not.

"No, Helen's behaviour today is what I mean – it's got nothing to do with you, I need you to know that. She's angry with me. She's angry with the cancer and that I'm not doing anything about it to her liking."

"Oh, I see. I'm . . . sorry. Um, does she have a long drive home? It's coming down in sheets now, the roads may be bad and if she's . . . upset?"

"Nah, she's down north-side of Leeds, a way-bit south of here, 'bout 20 minutes. She'll be alright, always is. Could drive that road in her sleep, she could, and often does I reckon. Too stubborn for her own good."

"Yeah . . . sounds familiar."

"Bet it does, eh?"

We both mull that over for a bit, before it just feels a tad too quiet.

"Here I'm bashing Helen's manners, having done left mine at the door. You must be tired and famished, it's almost half six. How's food agreeing with you these days – care to give it a try?"

"Oh, yes, quite actually . . . peckish and knackered I mean. So far so good today, I'd better not jinx it though, you know – changes in a flash it does."

"Well, knowing Terry you either love or hate Beans on Toast at this point, so which is it? I'm having a fairly good day so could do with a bite or two myself. The larder has other stuffs – just not as plentiful as she used to be, been cleaning her out . . . you know."

"No, Beans on Toast sounds just like what this little one ordered, thank you."

At least he's trying to make light of the situation . . . dire as it is, I admire him for that.

"Here, have a lie-down whilst I whip those beans up, catch a few minutes of shut-eye. It's more comfortable than it looks, even Helen has been known to be dead to the world on this old settee."

He gets up from his place in the middle and pulls an old blanket off the armrest.

"Oh, thank you. I may do that actually, if you're sure I can't be of help in the kitchen? Um, I really should call my husband first, though. Let him know I'm here, give him your number and so on . . . you know. He might worry, especially now with the baby. Though honestly he's probably busy this very minute trying to make our little one, James, eat his supper rather than paint the table with it. . . . _and_ his daddy possibly."

I miss James terribly, but had made an agreement with myself before I left not to fuss with Martin over him like I probably would've, I need to signal my faith in him as a father, 'specially now with the Isch only half a year or so away.

"They'll be fine for a bit, call him once you've got some sustenance in you, and some charge. Gotta rest up more often these days, Glasson, 'least you should, and you've been travelling a ways today to boot."

"I suppose you're right, just a few minutes then . . . remind me to call Martin though, yeah? I've become so forgetful lately. . . ."

"Sure will, luv."

XxX

The urge to wee brings me out of a comfortable slumber and in trying to get up my legs are caught in the blanket. Freeing myself I still can't swing my legs down to the floor and start to fret. As my eyes open I realise I'm not on our sofa and that this one's turned the other way 'round – where am I?

"Sleep alright, luv?"

I jump at the voice and follow it to the face of my uncle, Ben Glasson, Helen's dad, _well_. . . .

Right, it's Friday late and I'm in Harrogate – up north visiting my sister and sick uncle, and Helen had left us for home in Leeds.

"Yes actually, must've. Sorry, but what's the time?"

"Oh, it's a few spins past the half ten mark."

"WHAT! Oh God, Martin will have a fit. And I'm sorry, didn't mean to be out that long, you should have nudged me."

"Nonsense, you two needed your sleep. And don't you worry about your doctor neither. Him and I've had a good long talk, no time for chit-chat on our first go'round, but we've made up for it now."

Chit-chat, with _Martin_?

"Um, right. I really need a wee, back in a tick."

" – Shall I heat your beans then?"

"Oh, would you?"

I head for the stairs in a hurry, mainly 'cause I don't know my way 'round to look for another toilet.

" – And thank you!"

XxX

"So see, that's why I made the choice to forgo the treatment offered. The cancer's in a place in my brain that renders it inoperable. It's very aggressive and in a nutshell the equally aggressive treatment would only buy me a few more months at best, only I'd be constantly sick from it. I don't want that. I've had a good life and I want to keep it that way as long as I can without unnecessarily muddying the waters. I'll run out of water soon enough as it is, I know that, but until I do I'd like to keep swimming forwards, not exhausting myself with treading water in bog-land while slowly drowning."

My tears are freely flowing by now and I try to dab my face with the serviette he'd brought in earlier with my plate of supper – long since eaten now and thankfully staying with me.

"Helen, well . . . Helen either can't or won't accept that, I'm not sure which it is or that she even knows herself. Cancer took her mum from us as well, you know. Helen was only eleven at the time and never could forgive that – it changed her, hardened her up."

I can only nod, she'd mentioned her mum during our weekend, after James messed up her hair and made her pull all the pins out . . . she'd struggled with it then as well, it had been clear to see.

"When Martin called me four months ago to tell me about you, asking our family health history and so forth, well I thought I was healthy as a horse – always have been and even more so since quittin' smoking a decade ago."

Shaking his head he looks to me, looks me in the eye.

"He was frantic you know, your doctor. . . . You were in hospital and I think he felt a sense of hopelessness, unable to help you in any way."

I bet he did. . . . Poor Martin doesn't like feeling helpless at the best of times and with _me_ being the one he felt he couldn't help.

_I can only imagine his despair. _

"So we only spoke very briefly at the time, as he was driving back to be with you for a test or something like that and was rushing. As soon as I'd passed along Helen's contact details we'd rung off. Wasn't till later that night I'd thought of the headaches that had been popping up more frequently. I considered calling your Martin back, to mention it, but didn't really think anything of it as far as a family illness goes, you know. They were _just_ headaches after all. I did schedule to see my GP the week after though and, well . . . now here we are."

"So . . . Helen _knew_ about it when meeting with us in Bristol in October, then? Why didn't she say, why _hasn't _she said? What if I hadn't found out and would never have got the chance to meet with you?"

"I'd already decided to contact you when Helen told me she'd talked with you. This is all very hard for her and she's not as tough as she thinks she is, as she wants everybody to believe. Helen doesn't always make the best decisions unfortunately, you'll learn that about her . . . but she means well. She's very independent, tends to keep things bottled up, muddle on through."

Nodding I'm thinking again how that sounds familiar . . . so much like Martin in many ways really, and to some extent me as well.

"After Nell, her mum, died it was just the two of us through thick and thin. I could do no wrong in her eyes and she wanted to follow in my footsteps, the military – all that."

He takes a break and throws back half a previously untouched stout ale, before pressing on.

"It all changed on her sixteenth birthday. . . . My fault really, but I thought she was ready. Knowing she'd find out about her real birth parents when going through the motions with the military, I'd decided to tell her myself up front – another thing I thought we'd go through together, you know?"

He finishes the beer and shakes his head.

"I was wrong."

I'm giving him time, thinking he just needs to gather his thoughts, but when nothing more is forthcoming I can't help but wonder why and what that's all about.

"How . . . do you mean _wrong_, what happened?"

"She_ wasn't_ ready, my little Helen wasn't ready. All she thought she knew, and had known, suddenly fell to pieces for her and now she had _nobody_ to talk to – after all it had basically only been us two for five years, she never has been any good at making friends."

Tears are making their way down his solemn face and he's either oblivious or isn't bothered.

"That year we'd a particularly rough winter and wet spring so as soon as we'd a couple of weeks of proper summer I'd brought in a roofer to come work on a bad leak that had sprung up with the winds. Nice enough bloke, did good work you know, but still a big burly craftsman – tattoos and all that."

I wonder what roofing's got to do with it all, but he's clearly distraught so I reckon it'll tie in eventually.

"So for Helen's sixteenth birthday what should have been a happy day, celebrating her growing up and me letting her know how proud I was of her, well it turned into a horrid day. Instead of reassurances and pats on the back I'd broken her heart and shattered her trust in me _and_ in her late mum."

He looks at his knotted hands and shakes his head.

"It lost me my little girl. The next morning saw her gone, her room empty. Left was a letter that said that she'd always love me but that she couldn't stay with me anymore. She'd gone away to Leeds with Simon and for me to leave her be, that it was for the best and that she'd see me around. And that was it, I didn't see her nor hear from her for six months."

"Simon . . .?"

I'm still not following.

"The roofer. Simon the 28-year-old big and burly roofer with tattoos, a gaff in Leeds and . . . my girl, my little broken-hearted Helen."

_Oh no . . ._

_My_ sixteenth birthday . . . so that _exact_ same day . . . had been spent with Danny, unwrapping and _legally_ admiring our respective birthday suits_. _But that's as far as it'd gone and we were the same age _and_ had known each other our entire lives. I can't even begin to imagine how lost and confused Helen must have been.

I really can't think of anything to say that'll make it better, but usually a hug can go a long ways and he welcomes one with open arms, just like dad always did.

_The times he was there at least._

"This . . . this bloody cancer is kind of the same thing all over again. She feels I'm letting her down without even trying, like I didn't learn from last time. And rather than giving me a chance to explain myself and my reasoning, she's running from me again."

_Sounds familiar once more. . . ._

"Luckily his time there's no Simon to follow blindly and she's got family now to lean on, including you and your doctor . . . "

_I'm not so sure Helen is going to listen to _me_ though._

" . . . and hopefully she'll have a listen to what Martin says."

_Martin, _my_ Martin?_

" – I'm counting on him.'

_To be continued . . ._


	27. Rise Above

_Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. 'DCI Banks' is the property of Left Bank Pictures, no copyright infringements or existing case spoilers are intended, I'm just borrowing a character or two._

_Thanks for the reviews, they are always appreciated and happy reading._

_\- I PASSED my exam! The relief is palpable, celebrating with another chapter. Happy weekend everyone. -DC_

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Twenty Seven – "Rise Above" **

The house is dead quiet, unusually so for this hour as I let myself in at half six in the morning. I'd not slept well and decided it useless to lie around waiting on the day to start, one is better off simply rising and moving it along. Dad rarely sleeps past six anyways, at least he didn't used to . . . before becoming ill.

Radio 4 should've been sounding by now, but I guess with Louisa visiting he may have forgone it, though I'd expect to see him over by the kitchen table with his coffee perusing today's copy of The Yorkshire Post. However, seeing as the paper's still on the floor in front of me that clearly won't be the case. I pick it up and toss it on the bureau.

"Dad . . . ?"

Nothing. He shouldn't be sick, not this suddenly . . . _not yet anyway_. If he'd taken something for the headaches it could've knocked him out, but he would never have done that with Louisa here.

Never.

I realise that in my haste to leave last night I'd not inquired as to his state of health, so _had_ he been in pain my leaving would have sealed that fate regardless.

_Pretty rubbish of me, like I'm sixteen again. . . . _

Heading upstairs I hear him snoring before I even see him. Good, he does not appear to be under distress.

Down the hall in my old room I spot Louisa through the half-open door, lightly snoring as well. I notice she's tucked the curtain-end on the near-side in behind the pillows, just as I'd always done it. The greenish glare from the street lamp comes through the gap right there at night and hits you square in the face.

Guess not much has changed in twenty-some odd years really.

_Only . . . everything._

Can't help but wonder where I'd have been today had I not got out of my bed for good that one morning, early – very early, with Simon sitting down below in his van waiting. Probably a Senior Intelligence Analyst with the RAF and married to one, with two kids, predictable working hours and organised demands.

Bored?

_Likely. _

Fewer regrets?

_Possibly._

_Well, as far as Dad goes anyways. . . ._

It had been a rash decision on my part, not wanting to leave but not knowing how to stay on either. . . .

Closing the door I head back downstairs and decide it best to leave my Dad and sister up above to rise at their own accord.

Whirling through the house yesterday, to make sure the basics were in order for Louisa to stay here, a few things had caught my attention. And as a result I now find myself stocking the larder with what odds and ends I'd fetched from home. It's getting sparse . . . Dad probably hasn't done the food shop in quite a while by the looks of it.

_If only he'd listen._

It's too brisk for the terrace really, and the old weathered teak chairs still look damp from the rain, but I need some air and I've got a craving for calming my nerves. The phone call from Dr. Ellingham last night had been unexpected, on both our parts I think, and at times uncomfortable.

_But then the truth often is . . . one way or another._

" – Are you . . . okay?"

I startle as the sliding door snaps shut, much as I'd done when Dad had caught me out here as a teenager. Having been lost in thought I'd not noticed my sister's approach.

"I'm fine. Get back inside, Louisa, it's cool out here and you're in your pyjamas."

"Oh yeah, I guess I am. . . ."

Without protest she heads back in. I'm still a bit miffed she'd made Martin phone me, obviously out of concern, but . . . _why_? I've never liked surprises, well-meaning or not.

I am glad he _had_ phoned me, though, and that we talked. He didn't lecture me, just . . . explained a few things, offering me a different perspective regarding Dad as well as some physician's insight on the matter.

_He'd also asked me to keep an eye on Louisa, said she tends to overdo things. Sounds familiar._

" – Didn't know you're a smoker, Helen, you never said."

_And she's back. . . ._

"Why would I? And I'm not, well . . . at least not anymore. Dad and I gave it up ten years ago. Though old habits die hard, isn't that what they say?"

Blowing the smoke away from my pregnant sister as best I can, I stub my fag out on the wet flagstone and look up at her in the early morning light.

"You look pathetic Louisa."

"Yeah, I know. So . . . care to talk about it, whatever is bothering you I mean?"

She'd donned Dad's flat cap and scarf, a clumpy brown pair of those sheepskin boots everyone's got these days, and wrapped tightly around her pink flannel sleepwear is the old knit blanket off the settee.

_Mum's knit blanket. . . . _

"No, I don't. You shouldn't have made him talk to me you know. I appreciate the thought, but not your place really."

"How do you mean, what's not my place?"

"You had Martin phone me last night."

"No I didn't."

"Well, he doesn't strike me as the type to just ring somebody up for a chat, Louisa."

"He's not. So I'm sure he must've had a very good reason for doing so, but that's got nothing to do with me. Actually, I seem to be the only one _not_ having spoken with my husband last night."

_Ah._

" . . . Dad."

"Yeah. I fell asleep on the sofa early evening, and I reckon he rang Martin to let him know. Said they'd talked for a bit."

She hugs the blanket closer around her, gathering warmth . . . _wisdom_.

"Helen . . . your dad, well . . . he's . . . worried about you, you know, about . . . leaving you behind. About _you_ leaving him behind. Might not be my place to talk about it, you're right, but _you_ need to. He's not my dad, and I'm 'just' your little sister, but . . . you _will_ talk to him!"

Fiery, just like Mum had been. I wonder if . . . _our_ . . .Mother is impassioned as well?

I always wished for that, the ability to express my feelings that freely, even at work I find it stressful.

_Some people don't find that as easy as others. . . ._

My now rather animated little sister takes a deep breath, looks me dead in the eye, as if daring me to challenge her, then quickly releases a loud huff before getting to her feet and turning for the door.

" – Mum knit that blanket for me, when she knew she was dying. . . ."

Turning around Louisa looks to me before sitting back down.

"Oh . . . I'm sorry, Helen, I . . . didn't know."

"No, it's okay – it did exactly what it was supposed to . . . and kept you warm as well."

Not surprisingly she looks at me confused.

"Using up every last yard of yarn she'd accumulated over the years, from all her different knitting projects, Mum was 'tying up loose ends' as she put it. Starting and completing her final task – her very first done completely on a whim and not to a pattern. Said she didn't need it, that she'd know it'd be done once out of yarn . . . and time."

I reach over and grab hold of a frazzled blue corner hanging off Louisa's knee.

"The uniform dark blue yarn of the crimped fringe, around the edge, is from her favourite heavy jumper that she'd unravelled . . . denoting her always have her arms around me, or so she figured I suppose – she wasn't always rational. Promised me that whatever thoughts I'd have or decisions I'd make in life whilst wrapped in it would be the right ones."

_And that day I'd left the blanket behind just as I'd done Dad. . . ._

I get up to head back inside and wait for my double to follow suit.

"Mum must have had you in mind as well, Louisa, because you are right about Dad – and I _will_ talk to him, 'right?"

XxX

My poor uncle Glasson had started breakfast for us by the time Helen and I made our way back in the house and the wafting smell of eggs instantly made my stomach rise and sent me running up the stairs for the toilet. I'd been fine up until that point . . . _and so had my uncle's borrowed tweed cap_.

"Oh God . . ."

Helen must've followed me and once again I'd proven myself as 'the clumsy little sister'.

"Not a problem, you'll be fine."

"Yeah well . . . wish I could say the same for your dad's hat. _'Sorry I dropped your hat in the loo then covered it with stomach juice, it won't happen agai –'_"

But 'course it did. . . .

"Oof . . . so I reckon that's a total loss then? I just feel so rotten."

"Hm. Hydrochloric acid isn't good for wool . . ."

"No, I imagine it's not . . . not so great for me neither."

" . . . but it'll be fine, as will you once you clean up. Take a shower, Louisa."

_'Yes, Miss' _. . . ever the practical one my big sister.

With that Helen heads back downstairs whilst I do as I'm told, taking my time under the soothing spray and hoping my stomach and the smell both will have settled by the time I finally attempt some form of breakfast – we've got to eat something the Isch and me to grow big.

Well Isch anyways, I'd rather not explode if I can help it and don't even want to think what Martin will have to say as I get bigger. . . . He's already given me a list of foods I'm not to eat, 'course that has to do with our safety I reckon. Soft cheeses have been the hardest one, I miss my Brie and cranberry. Of course he hasn't dared bring up the forbidden subject of my Chocolate Digestives, but has made sure to inform me repeatedly that chocolate in general contains caffeine. As if I didn't know that.

_A little bit on a biscuit won't do any harm, besides – I've cut back on my morning tea, so there._

Leaving the cold water running, I place the rather sad looking wool hat to take a beating in the shower whilst I dry off and get something other than pyjamas on . . . I'll never look as neat as Helen, but I should at least try to look like I've made somewhat of an effort.

I wonder if she keeps a hair dryer here, can't see her dad ever needing one, but Helen's hair is long like mine and I sure could use one this very minute. Stepping into the hall and over to the stairs I'm about to call out downstairs for her when I hear what sounds like serious chatter coming from the sitting room, stopping me at the last moment.

" – _Helen NO, that's NOT true. It was NOT your fault, do you understand?"_

"_Well, I shouldn't have . . . I'm sorry about that."_

"_Your Mum . . . she wanted to tell you before she died, while both of us were still here for you. I wouldn't let her, told her you weren't ready, convinced her of it. But that was all bollocks, Helen. I'm the one who wasn't ready, I was scared . . . so scared, selfishly worrying I'd lose not only Nell, but you as well. I couldn't let her do it. By the time I admitted to myself that she was right, it was too late – we'd lost her."_

"_Dad . . . don't."_

"_No, I need for you to hear this, Helen – it was ALL my fault. And after a while, with just the two of us, I even started believing that maybe it'd be alright, that I could get away with not telling you any of it . . . until you started talking of the military. Then I knew I'd no choice. But you'd needed your Mum there, every girl needs her mother, and I'd spoilt that for you. I'd denied you her advise when you'd have needed it the most, and for that I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry, Helen – please forgive me?"_

Helen's crying now, and honestly so am I at this point . . . silently as I can manage, I'm feeling a bit like an intruder. I can hear her, just like she'd wept for her mum that day in Bristol and I desperately want to run on down and give her a comforting hug, but they need to finish this conversation.

_It's been too long coming. _

Maybe some day she'll learn to lean on me. Until then I hope to teach her to rise above her insecurities and accept a hug once in a while, like I'd taught Martin . . . he seems better for it. He's even learnt that there doesn't always have to be a reason, that a hug can be just because.

And actually that's key, which is something _I've_ learnt from Martin. Having a reason to need one often makes him feel weak and insecure, but when I hug on him for no particular reason whatsoever he seems all the more receptive. I'll have to keep that in mind with Helen as well.

_They're a lot alike those two. . . ._

Also an embrace is a good catch-all anytime when words just won't come, and she did say she could probably learn a thing or two from a Head Teacher. That'll be one of them if I have my way.

And I usually do.

"_This time around, Helen, I know with conviction that what I'm doing is for the best, that it's right – for the both of us. Quality over quantity, right – we've learnt from all of this, haven't we? If you truly want me to start the treatment I will do it, for you, but –"_

" – _No Dad, I don't want that. And I'll never be ready, but I _will_ be here for you and . . . I want _you_ to be as well, till the very last stroke. 'Rise Above The Rest', right Dad?"_

"_Rise Above The Rest, Helen."_

XxX

_To be continued . . ._

A/N: 'Rise Above The Rest' is a motto for the RAF – The Royal Air Force.


	28. Life

_Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. 'DCI Banks' is the property of Left Bank Pictures, no copyright infringements or existing case spoilers are intended, I'm just borrowing a character or two._

_A/N: The partial definition of 'life,' as written below, came from the Oxford dictionary._

_Thanks for the reviews, they are always appreciated and happy reading. -DC_

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Twenty Eight – "Life"**

* * *

**life**

_noun_ | /lʌɪf/

: ...the capacity for growth, reproduction, functional activity, and continual change preceding death.

* * *

I watch my two girls, for they both feel like my girls, as they sit on my settee going through my old photo albums. So different, yet so much alike. Turns out Louisa as well ended up growing up without a mother to guide her in life – they'd both learnt to do without since the age of eleven.

Helen lost her mum to death.

Louisa lost her mum to life.

_It's an odd world we live in._

"This is absolutely lovely, Uncle G and everything is so organised. Lots and lots of pictures, all in albums by year with hand-written commentary. You'll treasure this forever, Helen."

"Mm, I haven't looked at these for decades. . . ."

"Really, not even with your boys? You should show them, let them see their mum, let them in on the silly clothing of the seventies."

"Why?"

"Because that's what people do, Helen."

"Oh."

" – Besides, it'll be fun!"

As a matter of fact my daughter hasn't looked at these albums since before she left home, not once.

We used to look at them all the time. Helen and her mum would curl up on the settee with a saucer-full of chocolate biscuits, then Nell would tell her stories about each one, stories too long for my brief written commentary. I'd pretend not to listen, but enjoyed every minute of it.

Sadly, the only snap Helen's boys have seen of their mum as a young girl is one of her taken on her tenth birthday. It hangs on the wall above their kitchen table, lost amongst the numerous snaps of the boys and Michael's family.

_Quite deliberate on her part I reckon, Helen never does anything by mistake . . . even if it may turn out to be one in the end._

"You're lucky you know, Helen. There are hardly any pictures around from my childhood, Mum and Dad didn't have a camera. And there are even fewer pictures from Martin's life. I'm collecting them and trying to put an album together for James Henry, you know, of his parents. So far the ones I've got show that he's indeed his father's son, doesn't really look like me at all . . . 'cept for my smile maybe a bit. But that's probably just because Martin doesn't smile in any of them."

"Well, Glasson, better you believe that the little'un you're working on right now will take after its mum this time, probably look just like you, lucky little babe."

My Cornwall girl rewards me with a true Glasson smile, one I don't see nearly enough these days. . . .

Helen used to smile like that – quite a lot when her mum was still around, and still occasionally since then, especially as each of the boys came along. My daughter loves her boys, lives for her boys, works hard for her boys.

_Sometimes she works too hard I think, they don't see their mum very much. . . ._

Fortunately they've got their dad around. Michael started working from home once my youngest grandson, MJ, started in school and there was no longer a need for Florence, their full time minder. Though Michael did see a need for _a_ full time presence in is sons' lives, I'll give him credit for that. He had the ability to make the needed changes to his life to make that happen, whereas Helen did not.

Although, in all honesty . . . I find it unlikely she would ever have done so, even if she could have. Helen would never have been happy as a housewife, even hough parenting is a full time endevour. It would've have killed her spirit, she loves her detective job and she's good at it and she feels she can do both equally well.

_Maybe, maybe not – I know Helen would have done better had her mum been around longer . . . and boys need their mum as well._

Florence truly raised Helen's boys like they were her own, she never did have children herself but makes up for it in spades by her bottomless love for those four. She's also become a close friend and confidante to me of late. Having nursed her dying husband through the last stages of lung cancer a couple of years ago, I reckon she views brain cancer as just a different rage of the same beast.

We're learning together and I'm eternally grateful for her, another dear soul I'm worried about leaving behind . . . she's got nobody left in life and seems to live solely for her ever more rare visits with the boys. Her husband's illness coincided with her last days as Helen's child minder, so now she's all alone struggling on a basic state pension with only the odd minding job here and there to give her life meaning.

_Her spirit seems somewhat absent as well these days, just like Helen's. . . ._

But Helen's smile had faded long before my illness came about and I'll probably never learn why that was, what was going on in her life. At least I suspected what the matter was this time around and thanks to Dr. Ellingham she'd finally agreed to talk about it – we'd finally talked.

I would never have phoned the doctor to ask for advice normally, but I had to let him know Louisa was fine, safe here in Harrogate with me and napping on the settee. I'd promised to remind her to phone him, but she was so soundly asleep and I hadn't wanted to wake her. And like she'd said, he needed to have the number for here, just in case, and I could provide him with that.

Yet once I had the doctor on the other end it occurred to me that actually Dr. Ellingham himself was the one who'd phoned _me_ first. He'd phoned me four months ago, back when Louisa was ill, in desperation, a stranger out of the blue asking for our medical information, worried for his wife.

Well, this time we _weren't_ strangers, not really, and _I_ was the one who was desperate and worried for my girl, who also happens to be his wife's twin sister. So it seemed only fair, then, that he return the favour.

Thankfully Dr. Ellingham had recognised this as well and I'd only to air my concern 'fore he got what I was after. It also gave me a chance to explain why Helen had left Louisa here with me, like she had, and returned home herself.

I think both Louisa and her husband had likely assumed Louisa would be staying with Helen and her family in Leeds, but I'll leave Helen to explain that for herself – not my place.

A true professional that Dr. Ellingham, like he was talking to a patient but cognisant of the fact that we are connected now through the girls. Short and to the point, but without talking down to me. I appreciated that and I think it made him feel like he was doing something, not only for Helen and I, but for Louisa as well..

_One life affecting the other._

Dr. Ellingham was the one suggesting he'd phone Helen, for all of our sakes, said he felt he'd an inkling as to what the problem, and more importantly, the _solution,_ may be.

I didn't ask, he didn't say – confidence and confidentiality hand-in-hand. I can respect and understand that.

_Appears Louisa and Helen both have found their complete opposite in their chosen life parters – another way in which they're very much alike._

" – That's very kind of you Uncle G, to suggest this little one will look just like me I mean. I'd be happy with another healthy handsome little man like my James, although I'll admit it'd be intriguing to see a mini-me."

"Hmm? Sorry, Glasson – wool-gathering I'm afraid, this talk of babies and smiles sent me on down the old memory lane and right back again at the speed of life."

"James Henry . . . we were just talking about how much he looks like Martin, not me. Though I _was_ three months old already in my first picture, from the christening that the village put on, so hard to say if he looked like me when I was just born. He could've I reckon, though even the villagers said he looked like Martin from day one – literally, and he really does. He's a handsome little man."

"Helen, you've seen'im and his dad. No Glasson traits at all in the lad?"

"He does look just like his father, but he also reminds me of _my_ James so some Glasson genes must have persisted. Has Louisa's smile, though, I'll have to concur."

"Well he's a lucky lad then, ain't he, you two sisters have a lovely smile. . . . You got any of them snaps with you, Glasson, of your lad and your doctor I mean?"

"Hm, 'fraid not, Uncle G, not really . . . oh, but I do have my iPad and it's got lots and lots, right Helen?"

"They're in the Cloud, Dad, I'm sure Louisa won't mind you downloading a set."

"No 'course not, you can do that?"

"Well, you'll have to give him your login information, Louisa."

_That's my Helen, always the practical one._

"Can we still look at them later, Uncle G? I'll admit to being proud of my little family – I'm lucky to have them in my life, was a point there were I thought I wouldn't have. . . ."

"Of course, luv, I expect full commentary and no less."

"Great then, soon as we're done here I'll go fetch the iPad, it's plugged in up in Helen's room."

The girls have now arrived at the last album, which is really one of the earliest ones, the one from 1971 – Helen's first year. It's the red padded vinyl one Nell had picked out because she liked how it felt soft yet sturdy at the same time and had a special 'placeholder' for a photo on the very front. Quickly grabbing the album, Helen opens it to the first page and hands it to her sister.

"Oh I can't believe how little you were, Helen, much smaller than James when he was just born. All because of having to share your space with me I reckon. I must've been about the same size as you then."

"You girls were the same size, yes. As a matter of fact we couldn't tell you apart by just looking at you."

Louisa looks to Helen and then at me.

"Right, you couldn't tell us apart by looking at us, but I cried a lot I think is what Dad had told Martin. . . ."

I realise she must not really have spoken with her dad, my younger brother, since learning the truth. Can't blame her, though I'm grateful the truth found its way. Hard to say if I'd have had the guts to inform Helen she has a sister myself, though maybe I would've once learning I'm dying. I can't really say and I'm not going to waste my energy pondering it over.

_We've found each other now. . . life brought us together, and that's all that matters._

"I don't know that you cried _a lot_, Glasson, but yes you did protest a bit when put back down, you craved human contact it seemed. Helen, however, never made a sound one – so that set you apart, yes."

I look at them both and though nearly identical to the naked eye it's clear that certain traits are already formed at birth, characteristics that persist and grow with us throughout life, but that we don't entirely grow out of.

"Well, sounds like not that much has changed then, right Helen? I'm still the rather chatty sister I suppose, you probably wish for me to shut up most of the time. And you're more quiet than me, really not saying very much at all, but when you do you speak your mind – just like my Martin."

Helen actually smiles at that, so Louisa must've hit the nail on the head.

Hopefully her sister's sunniness will continue to prove contagious over time for Helen, bringing some of that family spirit back in her life . . . bringing family back in her life.

_Wish I could be here to see it. . . ._

And _spirited_ certainly describes Louisa were she's sitting on the settee with Helen having just gone through her sister's first album. Closing it up she notices the snap on the front.

" – Oh look an actual picture of you on the front, that's brilliant, just brilliant! I should do that with James Henry's as well, his is just a regular album, you know. . . boring."

Louisa turns towards Helen and lowers her voice, as if to share something special only a sister or a fellow mum could possibly understand.

"I'd seen those 'soft' baby-friendly cloth albums in an advert, you know, the cute ones they make these days that baby can handle himself, but Martin absolutely refused, said they look ridiculous. . . ."

" – Good for him, they _do_ look ridiculous and a baby would crease the snaps."

Louisa had been correct about Helen speaking her mind, and she'd just been reminded of it.

"Well yeah . . . I suppose you're both right, Helen. He also pointed out that if I insisted on putting one together at all it should be a proper traditional one. But I think one like yours, with 'Baby's First Photo' on the front, would be acceptable, even for Martin. I really like the idea, well done Uncle G."

" – Well I can't claim credit for that, I'm afraid. Nell got that one, insisted it'd stand out from all the rest, just like our baby girl did."

I look to my daughter, but she looks away – any talk of her mum quickly dismissed.

"Do you mind if I use my iPad later to take a few photos of these albums, especially this very first picture of Helen on the front? It'll kinda be like a replacement for not having one of my own, you know. And since nobody could tell us apart anyways it'll be a right good one to compare to. Is that alright?"

"Please do, luv, but if you take it out of its sleeve you might – "

" – Oh I won't need to take it out, Uncle G. I can get a picture of it just as it is – kinda pretty with it framed in an oval like that anyways, and you won't have to worry about me accidentally damaging it neither."

"And that's all good thinking, Glasson. But as I was trying to say, if you take it out . . . you may find that you don't _need_ to create a replacement for your own first snap."

"Dad, you're not making sense. What Louisa means is that – "

My very literal daughter steps in to clarify, as always.

" – I know what she means, Helen. But take your snap out, and you'll _both_ see what _I _mean."

_It hasn't seen daylight in 39 years, so I certainly hope it _isn't_ damaged. . . ._

As my daughter's long fingers unshakably slide her own 'placeholder' snap out of the front slip-in, the innocent faces of two sleepy newborns with knit cotton hats and booties, nose-to-nose in a Moses basket, come into view behind it. Well preserved but for the telltale orange tint of age.

"_That's_ your first snap in life – both of you."

XxX

_To be continued..._


	29. Time

_Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. 'DCI Banks' is the property of Left Bank Pictures, no copyright infringements or existing case spoilers are intended, I'm just borrowing a character or two._

_Thanks for the reviews, they are always appreciated and happy reading. -DC_

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Twenty Nine – "Time"**

"Martin, please, just five minutes of your time?"

"_No, absolutely not Louisa."_

"But I miss James and I want uncle G to see him, he really wants to see him, isn't that right Uncle G?"

"I do yes, but not if – "

" – See, it'd mean a lot to us Martin."

"_It is just not something I had planned for today, Louisa, and you know how I'm not very comfortable with – "_

A residual wave of nausea hits me and I'm reminded of our latest project.

" – Well, I would like to see my son, is that a problem? I hadn't _planned_ on pushing your son into this world in some pub in the middle of nowhere neither, and I sure as hell wasn't very _comfortable_ doing it. But I did it anyways, now didn't I, hmm? So along those lines this really shouldn't be a problem for you Martin, am I right?"

"_Yes, right. . . . just tell me what I need to do."_

"Here, Helen can tell you how to set it all up."

I hand my mobile to my sister knowing she can walk Martin through the whole Skype thing much better than I'd be able to. James has never seen me on a computer screen, so I hope it goes well. Helen set up the FaceTime thing on my iPad when we were in Bristol, Skype as well, but we've yet to try it as she hasn't found the right time to tell her boys about me yet.

"Yes, no I agree Dr. Ellingham. But you'll be doing us all a favour really, it's all she's been talking about since she got this idea half hour ago . . . ."

"_Mm yes, my wife can be like that. Um Helen, did you sort it . . . rather, did you have a chance to talk things through, with your father I mean, you know . . . ?"_

"Yes, mm – it was . . . adequately resolved."

"_Mm, good. That's good."_

"Right."

"_And . . . how is Louisa? Eating well, staying hydrated – resting up sufficiently?"_

"Appears so, yes. Did you google 'Skype' and navigate to their homepage?"

"_Yes, got that. Um, and has she been sick at all, any nausea or vomiting that you've noticed?"_

"Hm, not really as far as I know, but yes to the latter. Does that answer your questions?"

"_Ah, yes . . . thank you. It's normal, you know – the vomiting, and should start to taper in another week or so, as week twelve is usually when – " _

" – Right, been there a time or four as you may recall, doctor, and I advised the subject accordingly, it's really just an inconvenience more then anything. Um, shall we continue?"

"_Right, yes and . . . thank you for advising her, mm. She's more likely to listen to you, by far."_

"Oh . . .yes, I suppose that could be true, hadn't really thought about that aspect. Now, set up a new Skype profile and once you've done that find Louisa by her email address and make contact. That's it. She's logged on and ready to talk with you on her iPad."

"_Right, I should be able to do that."_

"Yes, so I would hope."

"_. . . Ah, there you are. Well that was a quick and relatively painless process, nothing like my initial botched attempts at making contact with you in person, now was it? _Over_ the air rather than _in_ the air I suppose is the way for me to make overtures in the future to avoid misunderstandings. Oh, and you are too close to the screen, Louisa, not quite in focus." _

"Mm, I see – good to know. And just for your reference, Dr. Ellingham, this is just like video conferencing. We can _all_ see you _and_ hear you, and likewise. Gottit?"

"_Oh God . . . Helen. Yes, think I got that now. Thank you."_

" – Hello James! Have you been a good boy for your daddy today?"

"_Mm yes, yes he has. Look, can we move this along, it's getting late. Here he is, Mr. Glasson, now you've seen him."_

My husband is literally holding our son straight out in front of him, practically sending him into the computer camera by the looks of it.

_James looks happy though, giggling at his father's antics._

"Martin . . ."

My uncle is laughing in the background now as well, though I see nothing funny about my husband's behaviour.

"_Oh now look what you've done! Fingerprints _all over_ my screen. No, no – NOT the keys, James Henry. No you may not, young man."_

"Um, Uncle G, can I officially introduce you to my . . . husband?"

"Well, you'll have to. She won't – and two peas in a pod those two by the sound of it."

I'm not clear as to whether his comparison is meant for Martin and James or Martin and Helen, though I reckon either would fit in this case as my uncle looks over his shoulder at my sister. She appears as clueless as Martin does when it comes to the social nicety of mutual introductions.

"Martin, this is Ben Glasson, Dad's brother. Uncle G, Martin Ellingham – _Doctor_ Ellingham, my husband. But you've spoken several times already, so . . . well, just wanted to introduce you is all."

"_Mm, yes. Um, hello." _

Martin's at least acknowledging my request, which is progress, as he peeks around James who from our viewpoint still appears about twice the size of his daddy. A daddy who is looking quite handsome I must admit . . . and he's being awfully good for doing this for me – all of it. I'll have to reward him properly once I get home.

_His birthday's coming up in two weeks as well._

"Can you say hello to your Uncle G, James?"

"_Oh for God's sake, Louisa, he's not going to recognise people on a computer screen, especially when he doesn't know who they are."_

"Now then good doctor, don't be so sure – he looks like a right clever lad. He may not know who _I_ am, but he seems _very_ interested in who's behind me, isn't that right, James Henry? No, he's not looking at my old mug, that's for sure."

Uncle G is right, James seems to have discovered my sister, which is impressive as she's yet to say a word, thus not letting him know she's not me . . . like had happened in Bristol. This is very exciting.

" – Helen, oh I think he remembers you, look at him! See, he's looking at me and then at you and then the both of us, so I think he knows I'm me and you're you – well, you know what I mean . . . that we're not each other. Like in the hotel that day, remember, when you first met him?"

I nod at Helen hoping she'll agree with me, so far she's only staring at me blankly."

"But that day he'd heard both our voices before deciding we are two different people, and then once he'd figured we sound different it's like he'd discovered you as he has now, but today you've not said a word, know what I mean? Oh look, now he's reaching for you, wants you to pick him up! I really think he remembers his Auntie H, don't you agree Helen, don't you think he remembers you?"

Helen looks back at me with a rather odd expression.

"He seems less confused than you, that's for sure."

Hm, well I truly believe he recognises Helen and it's got him very excited indeed, to the exasperation of Martin. My dear husband looks less than impressed with his son's wriggling arms and legs, legs that just knocked the prescription pad off his father's desk and then . . .

. . . _nothing?_

" – What just happened, did my husband hang up on me?"

"No, I think your son did," my sister and her dad both chime in at exactly the same time.

"Oh . . . right."

Just then my mobile rings. _Martin_.

"_Are you happy now that our son has vandalised my office and destroyed my laptop?"_

"I'm sure it's not that bad, Martin."

"_Oh, you're sure, are you?"_

He sounds a bit stressed, but not angry, well not really_._

"_Look, I need to get our supper ready . . . how are you feeling?"_

"Good, great actually. Haven't been sick since before breakfast and we've had a really good afternoon. And I'd planned to show you a very special picture we found, before your son so rudely cut us off, but now I can't. . . and I really wanted for you to see it."

"_Um, perhaps you could take a picture of the photo with your iPad and email it to me? Or no, wait don't do that, I don't want to have to restart my computer until I have put James to bed for the night. Send it to my mobile, as one of those MMS picture messages, then I'll look at it during supper, providing it has come through."_

"You sure?"

"_Um, yes."_

"Thank you Martin, for being such a great daddy – James looked so happy, so relaxed . . . well, until I had him wound up in less than five minutes time 'course."

"_Yes, the, um . . . Newton woman had told Ruth the same thing when she picked him up early this afternoon, said he'd been unusually calm all morning. And as you know I promised Aunt a better fish supper tonight for picking him up from the woman, so I really need to get the fish started."_

"Her name is Hana, Martin . . . and yes, I remember. I'm jealous, you know, that Ruth gets to have dinner with such a handsome date."

" – _Louisa! She's my Aunt for goodness sake."_

"I know she is Martin, and that makes you less handsome in my eyes how exactly? I'm teasing you, that was actually meant as a compliment you know, I really miss you . . . and James."

"_Ah, right. Louisa, I really need to go . . . "_

"Right. I love you Martin, thanks for being you, you're really good at it actually. I'll see you two handsomest of boys at the airport tomorrow then?"

"_That's not even a word you know. And yes, we'll be at Newquay at 5:50 sharp . . . we look forward to seeing you as well, mm. Bye."_

He rings off before I can say anything more. _Bye then Martin. . . ._

"Your lad is the spitting image of his dad, Glasson, really is."

"Told you Uncle G."

" – And I want to meet him."

"Meet him?"

I doubt Martin would want to spend that much time on the road with James, not to mention have me travelling again so soon.

"Yes, I'd like to meet him, while I still can, and also your doctor of course. Can that be arranged, Glasson?"

"Oh, um yes – I don't see why not."

"Good. Helen, can we make a trek down Cornwall way to visit with Martin and Louisa and their handsome lad, are you going to be able to . . . manage it, with Michael?"

"Um yes, I'll . . . think of something Dad."

"And maybe you could ask your guv for a couple of days off work, yeah? It needs to be soon, whilst I still have more good days than bad . . . whilst I've still got some life in me, and it's a long drive both ways."

"Oh we'd love to have you Uncle G – anytime, and a long weekend would be best."

If he feels he can manage the trip, then all the better. Will keep him busy as well and keep his mind off of . . . dying.

"Good, that's sorted then girls, maybe weekend after next? And whilst there I'll check in with Terry as well, need to have a word, make a few things clear to my dear brother before I shuffle off this mortal coil."

_Well, that ought to be an interesting visit, guess Helen will go with him?_

"We've got to go in your motor, Helen, flying is not an option anymore with the pressurisation and I'd rather not be stuck on a train should I get sick."

He looks to Helen for confirmation, clearly needing this to happen.

"That's fine, Dad, we'll make it happen, 'right?"

Of course the surgery won't do . . . but Al and Ruth would jump at the chance of 'real' test subjects, I'm sure, the farm's more or less ready and they're just waiting for their lodging permit to make it official.

"You'll probably be staying at Martin's Aunt Ruth's farm, if that's alright? It's a very nice B&amp;B in the making, they just finished renovating it. The surgery is very small, no spare room really there I'm afraid. But the farm's only a few minutes outside the village and maybe we'll come stay as well. I'll have to talk to Martin first, 'course, but we've stayed there before and really love it."

Which will also make the fact that there will be two of me around the village a little less obvious to the villagers, well . . . at least at first. Ought to prove interesting for sure when that all hits the village gossip. . . Bert will have a field day.

Yeah, Helen will no doubt fare better retreating to the privacy of the farm at the end of the day, though she'll need a distraction from the villagers. If we don't end up staying I could send her with James I reckon, or . . .

"Maybe you could bring Michael and the boys with you, Helen? Make it a family trip for all of you? It's a lovely farm and Portwenn is a very family-friendly little village. And if they fancy fishing at all, my friend Al could – "

" – No."

"Oh. Okay . . . um, why not?"

"Helen, luv, maybe you should – "

" – I said NO, 'right?"

She cuts her dad off and gets up, striding outside onto the cool dark terrace and lights a cigarette within seconds, pacing restlessly. I sense I just missed something big . . . whatever it is. And today'd gone so well up till this point. We'd almost been a happy family, or so I'd thought.

_However now it feels awkward and I'm just . . . sad all of a sudden, worried._

Uncle G looks sad as well, concerned. I should give him some space I reckon, could use a minute or two myself to be honest.

"I'll just go upstairs to my room, well _Helen's_ room, and . . . plug my iPad back in then, shall I?"

"No please Glasson, stay put, let Helen calm down and finish her smoke, give her some time. Again, this has got nothing to do with you, okay?'

"Right, if you say so. . . ."

"She's got nowhere to go now but back in here with us – her family, and she _needs_ to face up to things_. _She can't go on like this any longer, _I_ can't go along with this now, not beeing able to see it through. It should never have happened to begin with and it's gone too far as it is. In trying to help I'm afraid I've become an enabler and it's only made things worse."

He looks through the glass at Helen and I feel for him, he's clearly distressed, both with himself and for his daughter.

"I seem to have a knack for it, making things worse, but life's got a funny way of catching one up though don't it. . . ."

Here I thought _my_ family had problems, Mum, Dad . . . _Martin._

I guess we all do . . . and, well, this _is_ my family as well now, we're all in this together – whatever _this_ is.

As uncomfortable as I'm feeling right now I know Helen feels worse, like running – running far, far away. We're both good at that, cut from the same cloth. She's just finished her cigarette and is reaching for another, so I guess now's as good, _or as bad,_ a time as any to offer a shoulder to lean on. . . .

I fetch the old blanket off the sofa and open the sliding door, slowly. I don't want to scare her this time, she seems plenty unnerved already. _'An embrace is a good catch-all anytime when words just won't come.'_ Isn't that what I usually tell myself?

Before she manages to light up yet again I wrap her mum's blanket around her and walk us back through the door and on over to the sofa where we sit down.

Out of the corner of my eye I notice my uncle closing the door and walking through to the kitchen, giving us some space.

_I silently thank him._

Carefully I put my arms around the blanket, the blanket that's wrapped around my sister, and I hug her properly for the first time – without so much as a word to spoil it.

_Words will come in time._

In spite of herself she can't hold back the tears as they turn into a flood of emotions. And here, under the partial cover of her mum's knit blanket, she finally collapses into my shoulder, sobbing in earnest. We stay like that for a very long time . . . just the two of us, until eventually she calms a little, relaxes a little. Uncle G must've noticed and chooses this time to make his appearance, showing support the best way he knows how.

" – Vodka and tonic, for Helen. No ice or lemon. A ginger ale for you, luv. Hope that's alright."

"Oh, thank you. Yes, lovely."

My sister sits up straight and downs her entire mixed drink in one fell swoop. Rubbing at her eyes she then proceeds to stare at the worn shag carpet beneath our feet.

"I haven't told my kids about you, Louisa, because . . ."

She sobs weakly still.

". . . because I haven't told Michael about you."

_Oh . . ._

"And . . ."

Her dad offers her a tissue and she accepts it. First she just balls it up in a clenched fist, but then she wipes at her nose with it, making her voice unusually nasally as she continues on.

"And . . . Michael doesn't know about you because . . . because Michael doesn't know about _me._"

_. . . I see._

Though I don't 'see' I don't think, not really. They have _four_ children together and she's never once shared with him where she came from in life? She's known since she was sixteen, how can you . . . carry something like that?

Looking to me blankly she wraps the blanket completely around herself – finally accepting of her mother's embrace.

" – Michael doesn't know about me because . . . because he was never told."

My uncle now looks to me with guilt as well.

"He was _never_ told, I never _told_ him . . . and now it's too late, the time has passed."

She shakes her head, at herself, at life . . . at time?

"It's just too late, life's moved on Louisa. I missed my chance – and now the time has passed."

XxX

_To be continued . . ._


	30. Turnaround

_Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. 'DCI Banks' is the property of Left Bank Pictures, no copyright infringements or existing case spoilers are intended, I'm just borrowing a character or two._

_Thanks for the reviews, they are always appreciated and happy reading. -DC_

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Thirty – "Turnaround"**

_'Michael doesn't know about me because . . . because he was never told . . . I missed my chance – and now the time has passed.'_

My sister Helen had downed another vodka and tonic after that admission, and I can't help but think Uncle G had made it for her to make sure she'd stay here with us tonight. . . .

I honestly wouldn't want to trade places with Helen, to be in her shoes, because in a way she's right – how _would_ you go about telling your family the real story after all this time? The story isn't even the problem, not her fault she was given up, nor is there anything wrong with having been raised by your extended family. But hiding it all this time, from your own flesh and blood, well . . . that's harder to forgive.

_I wish Martin were here to tell me what to do, well – to listen anyway._

It's a little after ten and I'd excused myself for bed. I am knackered, no doubt about it, but I'd also wanted to give father and daughter some time to process this and maybe come up with a solution now that it was finally out in the open. Wish I could help, but I wouldn't know how or what to say, really, can't even imagine it.

Sounds like they've got News at Ten on downstairs and with my door closed I decide to phone Martin, if nothing else I need to hear his soothing voice in all this turmoil.

" – _Louisa? Is everything alright?"_

"Yeah, fine . . . it's fine, Martin. Well, I'm fine – been an eventful evening though . . ."

Explaining the events as best I can, I can't help but feel a little guilty. I mean, none of this would have come about if not for me. Then again, maybe it'll be a good thing in the end considering Uncle G's cancer and everything else, maybe this was somehow meant to happen all along.

"So . . . what should I tell her Martin?"

"_Well, tell her she can't drive home for starters."_

"Right, yes I believe she's staying the night, obviously. But I mean . . . what can we do? We've got to do something. You talked with her, didn't you?"

"Do? _We_ can't do anything, Louisa, it's not our place to interfere with the dynamics of Helen's immediate family."

"No, I know that Martin, I mean . . . what do you think I should tell her, _advise_ her to do? I can't just accept that she's decided to ignore the issue, not now that I know about it, its obviously bothering her – as it should."

"_Look, Louisa . . . it's late and you need your rest, the baby needs you to rest. Can we talk about this when you get back home tomorrow ?"_

"Yeah, I guess we'll have to, I can't think of anything right now that I can do to make things better anyways. I just feel so useless, Martin, and guilty for the ruffling of feathers."

"_This is NOT your fault, Louisa and not everything in life has a satisfying solution. You're her twin, what would you have done if you found yourself in her shoes? Try to get some sleep and I will see you tomorrow."_

"Yeah, you're right . . . thank you for hearing me out, I'll see you boys tomorrow. Nite Martin, I miss you."

"_Mm yes, good night Louisa."_

Eventually the house falls silent and I can hear Uncle G snoring down the hall. I can't sleep though, too many things floating 'round in my head. . . .

_'You're her twin, what would you have done if you found yourself in her shoes?'_

Or . . . what would _Helen_ have done if she were in _my_ shoes?

_Thank you Martin!_

I grab the duvet, pillow and a packet of Chocolate Digestives and head for the stairs, time to turn things around.

XxX

I'd phoned Michael to let him know I'd need to stay the night here with Dad, that we were having an especially trying time with everything this evening. Not a lie, but not the whole truth either. _We_ mostly meant _me_ in this case, but Michael didn't ask and I didn't tell – as has become our usual pattern.

Not able to switch my mind off at all I'm desperate for a fag, but I'd dropped my last one on the terrace when Louisa fetched me earlier, so it's no doubt a soggy mess somewhere out there even if I were to locate it.

_It never rains but it pours . . . _

Can't even say how I got myself to this point in life, really, but Dr. Ellingham was right in his initial assessment – I _do _tend to ignore things hoping they'll just go away.

_Which of course they don't – they haunt me the minute I drift off._

So now I get to spend the night in purgatory on the settee, staring out into the dreary blackness till all hours and with little sleep in sight for a second day in a row.

" – Helen, are you sleeping?"

And . . . seems my sister's not asleep either and here she comes, bedding in tow and all.

"Yes."

Louisa suddenly stops and looks unsure of herself.

"Oh . . ."

Clearly she's got something on her mind.

"What are you doing here, Louisa. . . . ?"

"Well, um, I want to help."

"Help?"

" – With your family, Helen, help _you_. What are you going to do?"

"Who said I'm going to do anything, Louisa, the time has passed – already told you that."

"Well yeah, but . . . but that's just not good enough, is it?"

She _is_ persistent, I'll give her that.

_Like me._

"Look, Louisa. I appreciate your concern but I'm really not in need of a lesson tonight, 'right. I'm living one every day as it is."

"Oh, well that's a relief then 'cause I'm far too tired to lecture anybody these days . . . scoot, Helen."

"What?"

'Scoot, move your legs over. Not going to leave your pregnant sister standing here are you?"

"I was trying to sleep, you know. . . ."

"No you weren't, you were trying _not_ to sleep."

Louisa plops down on the settee with me and pulls an unopened packet of Chocolate Digestives out from her pillow case, tearing it open and helping herself to a handful of biscuits before passing me the rest.

" – Don't tell Martin. . . ."

"Mm."

"So, Helen . . . how did you and Michael meet, you know – get together?"

Sure didn't foresee that angle of attack and of course she waits until I have a mouthful of masticated wheat and chocolate before asking, so the question hangs between us for me to contemplate. Not that it's all that complicated.

"I'd lost a bet and was doing a bit of burlesque at a New Year's party, Michael was in attendance and liked what he saw."

Louisa expels a piece of her biscuit, not expecting that I suppose.

"Wow . . . okay, I wouldn't have said. That's how you met your husband, really?"

"No, that's how we got together, we met at the library."

"Oh . . . yes, right. And?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well, you know . . . quite a jump from the library to . . . _that_, wouldn't you say?"

"Not really. I spent a lot of time at the library as an entry level intelligence analyst, comes with the territory . . . research, you know. Michael is a couple of years younger than I and worked there part time while finishing up at uni. First one there and the last one to leave – and rather helpful. He seemed very intrigued with my line of work, always asking me about it, he found it exciting I suppose. Constantly intimating lunch as a great way to discuss it further, I eventually got sick of his pleas and agreed."

" – Intrigued by you _and_ your work, sounds like. So, you must've liked him as well then?"

"Not really, he was rather dull and very needy. I guess my life and tales trumped his experiences, I can't really say, but he gave me his number should I ever need anything when he wasn't there. Back then information wasn't as readily available as it is today, so that autumn, whenever I needed something for my intelligence gathering, he'd faithfully log on to the library from home or go find me the information I needed, night or day – Mr. Reliable himself."

_Seems a lifetime ago now. . . ._

Louisa seems to be expecting a continuation. I grab another biscuit, chewing on it for a while before elaborating further.

"Michael was very different from my previous boyfriends . . . predictable, dependable – I liked _that_ part about him, and he made me look good to my superiors. I was working my way up the career ladder and my turnaround time for research became quite impressive, I had Michael to thank for a lot of that. He understood and accepted the demands of my job, so I guess he'd grown on me by the time New Year's rolled around that year."

"So you invited him to your party? That was nice of you."

"Not my party, wasn't even supposed to be there – I don't do parties. Like I said I'd lost a bet."

"But Michael was there?"

"Yes . . . working as a waiter. Didn't see him until the very last minute of my dance number, and his presence threw me off. I was good at it, mind you – I never do anything halfway, so that wasn't the issue. I just hadn't expected to see a familiar face from my professional life in _that_ crowd, especially not someone like Michael."

"No, I imagine not . . . must've been quite a shock for you."

"Mm, I stuck around after and had him bring me drinks, quite a few actually and, well . . . later, once he'd finished up, we started the new year out right. Steven was born that September and, apart from the initial fireworks, my life's pretty much progressed in an ordinary, controlled fashion ever since."

Louisa studies me carefully before getting an odd gleeful expression on her face and I don't compute its origin until she makes the connection for me.

"So . . . you also got pregnant right away then, just like I did. Wow – I wouldn't have guessed that neither. Good job it didn't happen to us at the same _time_ as well, that would most _definitely_ have been the wrong man in my case . . . I can't picture anyone but Martin as the father of my kids and he was still very much in my future at that point."

"Mm, late start but worth the wait?"

"Well . . . yes, you could say that."

Louisa grabs mum's blanket again and puts it around the both of us.

"Look, Helen . . . now's the time to turn things 'round. You've carried your past on your shoulders since you met Michael because . . . well, I reckon just 'cause that's how it turned out back then, due to circumstances and what not. And if you're not ready to take it back quite that far, then don't."

"Wasn't planning on it, no."

"But . . . the rest of this crazy discovery came about because of me and my illness, so just go from there if you must. Start with Martin contacting your dad four months ago – I've had to."

She snags another biscuit and takes a bite.

"Mm'you know, just put yourself in my shoes if it helps – that should make it easier, even doable, yeah? But you've got to do something, Helen, both for your own sake and that of your boys' . . . they've a cousin now, soon-to-be cousins. And they've got a chattier and pushier version of their mum who's desperate to meet them. And . . ."

I can guess what's coming, I think.

" . . . And what, Louisa?"

"Not what, _who_ – they've a grandfather who I'm sure would love nothing more than to see us all together . . . just once, if it's the last thing he does."

That was indeed a low blow, but a well placed one and she's right. Even I can reason that.

"Christmas, Helen."

She looks around for something, and obviously not finding it heads off towards the kitchen.

_Christmas? _

Returning with a drink of water she again sits down next to me on the settee and picks up right where she left off.

"Helen, we've got five weeks time until Christmas, so let's try to make this a family one, yeah? I'll talk with Martin, but I'm sure we can find a way to come up here, we'll have to. It's our one chance – our _last_ chance, to make it right. Nothing major, just a get-together, you know? I should be feeling better with this pregnancy by then and that'll also give you some time to sort things with Michael and the boys, 'right?"

Little I can say or do to debunk that, much as I'd wish for it to just go away. . . .

"Right. Christmas then."

"Good, glad we got that sorted – I'm absolutely knackered."

I find Louisa's suggestion moderately palatable. To just let this play out the way it has for her – starting with recent events, has merit. I won't be lying, not really, more like omitting parts of the big picture. Besides, it won't change anything and it'll be for the best for everybody involved.

_It's not just about me anymore . . . like it was when I first met Michael._

Wonder what the boys will think of all this? I'd had every intention of telling them all when I got back from Bristol, but then Steven had got into trouble at school and the opportunity passed. . . .

Five weeks . . . I'll have to book the Ellinghams into a guest house, with the holidays rooms will fill up fast and with four boys we don't have guest space either and my room here at Dad's won't do for a family of three, almost four.

And I predict Dr. Ellingham will appreciate a guest house and the chance to get away from the demands of extended family for the night, some breathing room – I know it'd have been my preference.

_The promise of a B&amp;B outside the village is the only part of our upcoming trip to Cornwall that makes it seem even remotely manageable, but again . . . this isn't about me – Dad needs closure._

Sensing a weight against my side I realise Louisa's gone off, snoring lightly and sound asleep. Rearranging the pillow and duvet she'd brought down with her, I tuck her in on the settee. I leave a tall drink of water along with the opened packet of biscuits on the coffee table for her pregnancy nibbles, knowing she'll reach for it the minute she wakes.

She's showing already, so I can't help think that when we meet again, in a mere two weeks time, it's likely she'll no longer be able to hide the new family member growing inside her. Nor will she be able to hide the family member that grew along with, yet not _alongside,_ her for 39 years. Quite the surreal turnaround, both as far as time _and_ events go. . . .

_'It's an odd world we live in,' _as Dad likes to say.

I take Mum's blanket with me I head upstairs to my room to sleep – for the first time in 23 years.

XxX

It's the middle of the night when I suddenly wake, a sense of restlessness having overtaken me leaving me feeling unsettled. Louisa had got Helen to open up, but where Helen will go from here is anybody's guess. Like I'd told Louisa when she got here Friday; Helen doesn't always make the best decisions . . . and it worries me greatly that I won't be here to see her through.

As I pad on down the hall for the lavatory I realise I'm not hearing Louisa's soft snores as I had done last night, so I pop my head through the cracked door to verify that she's okay.

– _Helen_.

Instinct sends me down the stairs to look for Louisa, and thankfully she appears sound asleep on the settee. Somehow they've switched places since I retired.

The return of Helen's sister to our lives has proven to be a godsend and I make a mental note to tell Terry that he's done well with Louisa, in spite of my misgivings. Perhaps now is the time to forgive and forget . . . or in the very least _omit_. I'd voiced my doubts back then – quite forcefully at that, and I'd wanted both girls with me in order to secure their future _– _together. But judging by the remarkable person Louisa's become, my brother must've done something right . . . and now they've finally reunited as well.

_Though I suspect Louisa herself deserves most of the credit for how she's turned out – like Helen she seems driven._

Back above again I quietly make my way into Helen's room and sit my now ageing and fading body down in the well-worn rose-coloured armchair, taking care to first remove her carefully draped blazer. After we'd lost Nell I'd practically spent every evening for the first three years in this chair – tucked under the small brass standing lamp in the corner with a paperback of my choice. And Remarque's classic wartime book is still here on the shelf, along with many others, as if not a day one has passed since then.

I was a safe, but soundless, presence when Helen couldn't bear to be alone.

Then, after she'd gone away for Leeds, I'd come to spend the next three months in this very corner again – that time alone and in the dark.

– _At war only with myself. . . ._

Yet now a turnaround in the nick of time and a chance of peace amongst all this turmoil, thanks in part to the tenacity of Helen's new-found ally – her sister Louisa.

And this time around, sitting here in the refuge of my corner, I haven't the need for book nor light nor fight.

The war is over – I have my little girl back.

XxX

_To be continued . . ._

A/N: Remarque's classic wartime book, to which Ben is referring, is 'All Quiet on the Western Front.'


	31. Hazards

_Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. 'DCI Banks' is the property of Left Bank Pictures, no copyright infringements or existing case spoilers are intended, I'm just borrowing a character or two._

_Hello all, no I haven't forgotten about you and here's an extra long chapter. However, sometimes the 'options for communicating with one's readers on this site are less than adequate – not sufficiently optimized'. Sound like somebody we know? Happy season 7 and may it prove. . . 'satisfactory'. -DC_

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Thirty One – "Hazards"**

Louisa's second scan on Monday had gone well and Dr. Rosevear had personally called us today with the results of the combined test which showed a favourably low risk of genetic abnormalities. Of course those are the results we've been hoping for, especially considering our geriatric ages. So no additional antenatal tests will be conducted at this point in time, precluding the hazards and decisions associated with an amniocentesis.

Dr. Rosevear had also confirmed that Louisa was 12 weeks 2 days pregnant so that was perfectly in line with her findings from last time as well as, um . . . our own personal calculations.

We've now made it safely into the second trimester and it . . . shows.

" – Martin? Martin? MARTIN!"

As with most Thursday late-hour days at the surgery, our routine this evening has got us running behind schedule compared to our normal days. And, as is also often the case, these long days tend to lead to short tempers – my pregnant wife certainly no exception.

"Yes, Louisa . . ."

The ping of our ancient plumbing indicates she's just switched off the shower.

"Where's my towel, it's not where it usually is?"

"And where would that be?"

"On the back of the door or on the linen basket, or the chair maybe . . . sometimes."

"Yellow?"

" – Yes . . . I think."

"Mm, just a minute."

Her towel is on the floor and the fresh ones are all downstairs in the washing machine for a second go around – this time _with_ washing powder added. . . . My cotton dressing gown is clean, however, and it'll have to do for now.

I free the garment from its hanger and knock gently on the bathroom door.

Nothing.

"Louisa?"

I'm fairly certain the sounds coming through the wooden boards are compatible with . . . sobs?

" – Louisa, are you okay? I'm coming in."

She's standing in front of our mirror, uncovered and crying, with her hair dripping forming a puddle by her feet.

"What's wrong? Louisa . . . ?"

Grabbing the hand towel by the sink I cover the now slick spot on the floor before looking her over. Other than fuller breasts and a slight curve to her abdomen, which has just come about this week, I can't identify anything out of the ordinary. She's looked pregnant to those in the know for the last few weeks now, but the definite roundness is a recent development.

_And she looks stunning._

Carefully I drape my gown around her as she turns into me.

"I'm sorry, Martin . . . so very sorry."

"How do you mean?"

"I'm getting fat . . . it's starting, and sooner this time 'round it seems."

"What? No, you look perfectly normal."

"Perfectly NORMAL? You mean I'm _always_ fat like this, is that what you're sayin'?"

"You're not fat, you're pregnant and . . . I meant that it is normal to gain some weight during pregnancy, healthy even. Required actually. And maternity, um, suits you."

" – I've been sneaking a lot of biscuits, Martin . . . I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't, but I just can't help it."

"Mm, well um . . . perhaps cut back a bit then, as they're not contributing anything but empt –"

" – Empty calories, yeah I know Martin, that's why I'm sorry. I do know better it's just, it's just not always easy is all. . . ."

She grabs onto my shirt as if to balance herself while leaning back to peer up at me.

"I think you just called me beautiful. Do you really mean that or are you just saying that because you think it's what I'd want to hear?"

Admiring, and admired _by,_ this beautiful person looking to me for support, an intense sense of loss overtakes me. I missed out on this last time, all of this, and I'm finding myself at the culmination of a rush of thoughts and images – a sense of grief.

Concurrently I'm also reacting powerfully to what I am seeing, the indescribable events I can only cerebrally observe, yet know Louisa can and must constantly physically be feeling and reacting to, one way or another. My Louisa is changing, because of me. Our baby is growing within her, because of me, because of _us_.

_Love, certainly, but also . . . loss, pride _– _belonging?_

Of course I know all the medical happenings, but this . . . this state of conciousness is overwhelming, it is different. Explaining this in medical terms would be worthless, the terminology doesn't exist. No adequate terms have been coined to describe this sensation, the way I feel about my wife this very minute.

_This is entirely new._

"Martin?"

My mirrored reflection exposes a stupefied, geriatric father-to-be and I notice tears running down my face.

"Martin are you okay? Was it something I said?"

Unable to express myself properly through verbal means I just hug her tightly to me, before turning her back around towards the mirror once more – the gown partially open and my hands slung low across our baby and Louisa both.

"You're so very beautiful, Louisa, you know that? The Isch . . . James Henry, me – we thank you."

And I had thanked her, the best way I know how. And though it made for an even later night than it should have, our sleep that followed had been peaceful and restful – essential considering our upcoming weekend is likely to be hectic.

XxX

"So I'm leaving the school at one today, picking James up from Hana's and then coming back here for lunch then, right Martin?"

"Yes, that seems the best option. Did Helen indicate when they will be arriving?"

"She was getting Uncle G at six in the morning, so with a couple of stops along the way she was thinking around one or so. I got a text saying they'd departed at 6.04."

"Right, good timing on her part."

"Then James and I will ride out to the farm with them and you'll join us for dinner later, yeah?"

"That's the plan, yes."

After Louisa had returned from Yorkshire two weeks ago we had invited Aunt Ruth over for supper, both to discuss Helen and Mr. Glasson's visit, but also to share the news of Louisa's pregnancy. Other than her sister, Louisa and I had decided to keep it under wraps until we felt relatively certain things were progressing as they should.

These days that is becoming increasingly difficult to do and with Helen's visit this weekend, the village eyes will no doubt all be on Louisa. As my wife is more adept at dealing with the village cretins in an efficient manner, I've left it entirely up to her how she wants to go about sharing the news of her expanding family, be it her sister, the baby or both. Since the timing coincides with Portwenn Primary's monthly school newspaper, she'd decided to bury a short public notice in the body of some other trifle village gossip, and I'd given my perfunctory blessing.

It really shouldn't be necessary, as it is nobody's business but ours, but after years spent in this backwards backwater community I have come to understand the value of picking your battles; appease the masses ahead of time lest they accuse you of deception later.

So today being the last school day of November, the December paper will be going home with the students and the whole world will soon be aware of the Ellinghams' private matters once again. It's a no-win either way. . . .

_At least this time around we're adding to our family, not potentially dissolving it – I'll bow to whatever entity made that happen._

"Okay then Martin, I'm off – anxious for this weekend to get underway and excited for Uncle G to be able to come here. Well, more like grateful really. And it's a beautiful sunny day out, portraying our village at its finest and, _and_ . . . when I was little I was always told that if it's sunny on your birthday it means you've been good that year!"

_What absolute hogwash. . . ._

Louisa kisses me on the cheek before rushing out the kitchen door.

" – Must mean you've been a good boy then, Martin, gonna have to think of a suitable reward for you later, mm? I'll miss you, we'll see you at one."

With that she's gone and I can hear Morwenna unlocking the front door, my hectic day about to begin.

_Let's hope I can ward off the rain this weekend then . . . for everybody's sake._

XxX

"As much as I'd love to discuss the finer details of it all with you Louisa, neither of us have time for that."

"No. . ."

"How does Martin feel about it?"

"Well, Ruth, he doesn't exactly know yet."

"Right, well . . . I'll see what I can do, no promises."

"Oh, thank you."

"Go on now, you'll be late for school."

"Yeah."

The poor girl never lets anything slip by, and with this weekend already putting Al and I to the test, we will have our work cut out for us. Well, Al predominantly. This will be a good trial run for him, though my presence has been requested by both parties, Al _and_ Louisa.

I just hope she isn't stretching herself too thin – figuratively speaking of course. Certainly by the looks of her things are progressing quite well with the child, doubtful the village will leave her be for much longer. . . .

Frankly it surprises me that Mr. Large hasn't got a head start on the news. Al will of course know soon enough, but fortunately he has little in common with his disastrous father, including – and I'm counting on it, his business sense.

God knows my savings are in a gamble at this point, getting Joan's farm in shape has required a good deal more of me than I'd originally anticipated.

But, no – Al won't be compromising Martin and Louisa's news. Morwenna now, that is an entirely different matter and wherever Al is these days she won't be far removed. Actually the girl has proven herself quite helpful at times and is a few notches brighter than my initial assessment.

I _had_ told Al to get himself a girlfriend, so far be it for me to pass judgement. No, he could do worse than Morwenna and certainly seems to be more than a little besotted with her.

And with that in mind I'd not minced words when making it clear to the boy that this weekend would be all about our guests and that Morwenna would be expected to stay in Portwenn and Al on the farm catering to our guests. When I'd asked him if his mobile would need temporary safe-keeping he'd assured me business calls only would occur during business hours and that his mind would be solely on the matters on hand.

_Let's hope he stays true to his word this time. _

As far as his living arrangements are concerned Al's got the barn dwelling nearly completed and I'm just waiting for him to get his nerve up to ask my permission on a matter I've pretty well got figured out.

I may be old, but Morwenna lives but a stone's throw up the street from me and with my north-facing bedroom window frequently cracked a tad I'd have to be deaf to miss the high-pitched bleat of Al's old scooter coming and going at all hours.

_However, I'm not going to make it easy for him. As with everything else in life he'll have to work for it and prove himself to get what he wants. His blunder long ago is forgiven, yet not forgotten._

No sense flogging a dead horse, as they say, so lets revert to the heart of the matter – my nephew's family.

I hadn't been entirely surprised when Martin had summoned me to the Ellingham household last Tuesday for a 'family' supper, sensing my input was needed. After all, Louisa had just been away visiting with her father's brother, and her new-found sister, and god knows what all had come out of the woodwork as a result of that confrontation. From what little I'd heard of Terry, Louisa's expectations should have been quite low to begin with, but I was certain she had come home an emotional mess nonetheless.

Instead, I'd rather unexpectedly found _myself_ a bit of an emotional mess after returning home from our supper that night, fresh with the knowledge that another branch on the Ellingham tree was underway, so to speak. Not at all what I'd expected from our evening and quite a pleasant surprise this second time, I may add.

I'd felt proud of Martin for having somehow managed to turn his life around in a relatively short amount of time. And I'd felt a sense of kinship with the girl for having stuck with him through it all. I know it couldn't have been the easiest thing to do and even though I have the highest professional regard for Ann – Dr. Arscott, I have no doubts Louisa has had to make quite a few compromises and adjustments of her own to stay married to my nephew.

Outwardly I would never admit as much to Martin, but I am quite fond of little James, in moderation of course, and have no doubt I'll come to look to his sibling with equal wonder – as I know will Martin.

This time around I see in him a true sense of pride, whereas last time he was rather a man without direction, no knowledge of where he stood or where he was headed, causing them both a lot of heartache in the end.

I'm cautiously optimistic they've learned from their mistakes, however, and shouldn't now be teetering at every juncture. Hard-earned knowledge, but valuable nonetheless.

_At least this old lady hopes her observations to be correct – for all involved._

XxX

"Doc, you sure you're not just pullin' my leg?"

"What?"

"You're preggers? _Really_?"

"Obviously not . . . _Louisa_ is, and for goodness sake, Morwenna, keep your voice down!"

"Ain't nobody here but me and you, Doc, and I won't tell a soul nothin' 'bout it neither, and that's a promise."

"Mm, yes well . . . it'll be all over the village sooner than I'd like and I needed you to be aware."

"Some really excitin' days ahead then, Doc, you must be over the moon! When's she poppin'? I hadn't even noticed to tell you the truth, but then I've not seen her much since you done changed your walls 'round . . . so there's that."

"Good, that's had the desired effect then. And her _delivery date_ is at the beginning of June and it would behove you to up your medical terminology at least to that of an average layman's, you _do_ work in a surgery."

"Right, yeah. So . . . when I done messed my test up back a ways it was Louisa's I'd dropped a stick in? My god, I've been aware all this time and not known about it?"

"That would be impossible and . . . I can't discuss my patients with you unless absolutely necessary for their quality of care. You may leave now."

I give the Doc a real hug before I lose my nerve. Most wouldn't guess it just by looking at him, but I know him to be a fair person even if he does right mess things and people about, including his own wife. . . .

That time she'd packed James up for leaving still pops up in my mind sometimes when looking to the front door. But clearly they've come off the rowing a bit and do fun stuff now as well, must be . . . with a little'un on the way.

"Doc, I dunno what to say, but I'm jumpin' up and down for you and Mrs. E, it's a right cause for celebratin'! Did you tell your little'un yet?"

"Morwenna, shut up and go eat something disgusting at Bert's, or . . . wherever. Like I explained earlier I need extra time to prepare lunch today and since there should be _no_ patients scheduled until three o'clock you _also_ have the extra time off, are we clear?"

"Alright, no need for worryin', Doc. 'Fraid I've got nothin' to spare for Bert's though, and you know he ain't gonna give ya nothin' for a penny. . . ."

"Right. Ten pounds should suffice to keep you occupied, consider it advance pay. Now please leave."

Handing me a pound note of the orange kind he turns on his heels and disappears for the kitchen.

" – You gottit! Won't hear me complainin' none, cheers Doc!"

Ever since getting his life back on track and having me and Al help with fixing up the surgery, it seems Doc's come to trust me a wee bit more – like a lot. In them before days he'd never have told me about Louisa being preggers'n all, he'd not said a word to no one, just yelled at everyone after they'd found out.

But now it'll be up to me to keep a secret, which is pretty ace. Makes me feel special it does, like he sees me as a real grown-up. And this girl's grabbin' a grown-up meal for a change.

XxX

"Hello my love, not used to seein' you here without my Boy 'round your shoulder. If you're lookin' for'im you might as well turn 'round now, he's got no time for his poor old Dad these days and I've been told not to bother him none. And that's and order."

"You and me both then, eh Bert? Told me the same thing, got important business happenin' this weekend he does. No, I'm celebratin' some brill news and have been dreamin' of a hot meal and puddin' since . . . well since five minutes ago. So wha'ever you've got for a tenner, bring it!"

"Anything for you my love."

He snags the note and pockets it, before lowering his voice.

"Say, Morwenner . . . I can trust you to keep a secret, right?"

"Sure can, whatcha got cookin'?"

"Pippar, over at the school, ran me over my copies of the school paper this morning and seein' as I've a new advert in I got right to lookin' for it. Found somethin' even juicier than our chicken special, you'll never guess it none."

"_Really_ . . . well what's it then?"

"The Doc and Louiser are expectin' again. Says _right_ there, black on white, and ain't nobody seen it yet but me."

Well . . . _that_ didn't take long and the whole village will be buzzing soon now. Still, Doc had told _me_ first and it has me grinning like a fool still.

"Better not tell nobody then, Bert, you know the Doc will have a fit."

"Right, yes – it'll be our secret for now then, not a word from me none and you better keep mum. He should be grateful, he should – not like it's fair to leave it up to us to keep his life on the straight'n narrow, know what I mean?"

"True that . . ."

After pudding I head on up the last stone steps from the restaurant feeling stuffed as Louisa must do, though luckily not for the same reason – got that all figured, just a scare that had been.

About to head on home for a bit I notice the mum-to-be herself, standing on the patio out by the rubbish bin. Home for lunch I reckon, as has been her usual. And it's not like Louisa herself wouldn't know she's preggers, so I decide it's safe to congratulate her while I've got her in my sight for once. Of course I'll have to be a little quiet 'bout it still, you know – no yellin' it across the way or anything.

I'm not even halfway up the hill when what I'm seeing brings me to a dead stop, like in an instant, like I can feel my blood turning to ice quick as a flash.

I might not be a medical professional, nor be up on all the terminology of it all, but I _do_ know that smoking cigarettes when you're preggers isn't good, not good at all. One of our handouts at the surgery even has it pegged as a 'hazard to your baby', says so in big bold words – a _hazard_.

Everybody knows that, even me.

Fact is, the Doc don't even approve of it none to start with, never mind for pregnant mums. Especially his own wife I reckon.

What's she thinking, she should know better – around kids all day as well?

This isn't how it's supposed to go and I'm not really understanding what could've went wrong _this_ time 'round for it to happen like this – like what I'm seeing right this minute. For sure as I'm named after a virgin, that's Louisa sneaking a smoke on over by the hedge while talking on her mobile, and I couldn't wipe it from my mind none if I tried – no unseeing that I'm afraid.

_Nope, the damage is done._

Shaking like a leaf I get my own mobile out and ring Al up, but he's not answering. . .

No way I can keep _this_ a secret from the Doc. It wouldn't be fair to him, not at all, but I don't know what to say to Louisa neither. Sure don't think I can face her this very minute anyhow, I'm getting riled up. And there's no getting to the Doc without her knowing noway, so no matter how angry I'm feeling it'll have to wait.

And I've got a whole 'nother hour and a half before I've got to be back at the surgery for our afternoon patients and not a soul one I can talk to without betraying the Doc's trust. . . .

But this is _important_, very important, almost like it's my duty working in the medical profession and all. Like it's expected of me.

I've learnt to mind my own business around the Doc, but I can't just leave it be like nothing happened, this is _his_ business as well I say. And pretending I've not seen a thing and just going about my food shop or something just doesn't seem right neither.

_This grown-up thing isn't so fun after all._

_. . ._

Now what on earth do I do?

XxX

_To be continued . . ._


	32. Head-On

_Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. 'DCI Banks' is the property of Left Bank Pictures, no copyright infringements or existing case spoilers are intended, I'm just borrowing a character or two._

_Thanks for the reviews, they are always appreciated and happy reading. -DC_

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Thirty Two – "Head-On"**

Looking out the window from our bedroom upstairs, I see my sister down below on the patio talking on her mobile whilst smoking a cigarette. She'd told me she'd quit smoking for the most part ten years ago and only turns to one now when she's upset. She'd also told me she'd finally broached the subject of our 'familial discovery' with her husband and outlined the basics of this visit with him, though has yet to tell any of her kids.

Wonder if it's Michael she's talking with now? Hope not, or at least if it is I hope that's not why she's upset. . . .

Lunch earlier had been really good, both the food and the company – it had gone surprisingly well, actually. Martin had even remembered Helen's 'dietary preferences', as he'd pointed out, and had made sandwiches like the ones we'd all enjoyed in Bristol. It had impressed me, really, though I reckon it shouldn't have done. Martin's gesture makes me even more determined to get his birthday celebration just right later.

I'd thought about asking Helen for some input beyond what she's already agreed to do, but decided in the end Martin probably wouldn't like that very much, and I wouldn't want to spoil it neither.

Far as I can tell I've got everything here that I'll have use for, and just have to gather up what needs to come with us to Ruth's farm. All that's missing now is Martin and hopefully he'll stay in a good mood the rest of the day and through tonight.

_'Least that's how I'm hoping it'll go. . . ._

Pocketing her mobile, Helen steps on her cigarette end and sticks it in the dirt under the bushes by the bin, before heading back around for the kitchen door.

I'll have to remember to properly dispose of it later, Martin will have a fit if he finds it.

Not sure that he even knows of my sister's habit, really, haven't had a reason to bring it up. . . . Though I'm sure he'll be able to smell it soon enough and will have something to say 'bout it.

_Hopefully discreetly, though likely not._

I can hear Helen bounding up the stairs, what's sounding like two strides at a time – ever efficient. Still I find I have to pinch myself at times as it's a very new and rather odd, but brilliant, feeling this – having a sister I mean.

"Louisa, Michael said to tell you hello, so . . . 'hello.'"

"Oh, right – 'hello' back then. Um, everything alright . . . with you two?"

"Why?"

"You know, well nothin' really. Just, you'd said you only go for a cigarette when you're stressed, so I thought maybe –"

" – Oh, just a minor disagreement over child rearing."

She turns my old Windsor chair around and sits down astride it, resting her arms along its curved back.

"It's not easy, you know, bringing up boys. My oldest, Steven; they threatened to exclude him from school . . . then he got himself arrested. Gambling, drinking – you know, the usual teen stuff and a bit. Well, it's the first time I'll have been away from him since it happened, except from staying the night at Dad's two weeks ago, but that was last minute so not like he would've had an opportunity to plan anything."

_Will this be me in 15 years or thereabouts?_

" – I'm just fed up with it."

She nibbles on her finger nails, like I do.

"He's grounded still, but not like Michael or his mother are really going to reason with a 16-year-old if he makes his mind up. . . . All too often at work I see the kinds of problems he can get himself into, problems ending up chilled in the mortuary. Then again, not as if my being home would make much of a difference really, he no longer respects me either. I'm a cop and I still can't talk sense into the lad – he's stubborn and obstinate, just as I was at his age."

My sister looks to the floor and following her eyes I notice James' frog puppet hiding under the chair.

_Wonder if she'd thought 15 years or so ago that this would be her today?_

Speaking up again, her voice sounds unusually soft and uncertain.

" – What am I gonna do?"

Feeling sad for my twin I at the same time feel an odd sense of pride. This is really the first time Helen's told me anything without my having to pull it from her – first time she's turned to me at all I think.

"Well, Helen . . . Steven's got _two_ parents though, right, where you were missing your mum and her advice at that age. So it's not _quite_ the same, is it?"

"Hm, I'm always working, so maybe he doesn't have _two_ parents, not really. Another example of time having come and gone, passed me by. I'm his mum, but never there – not a steady presence at the times one is needed, as well as those instances it's not. Maybe that's the problem, all I do is policing . . . at work _and_ at home."

Not much I can say to that really, but I do walk over and attempt an awkward embrace, if nothing else.

"It'll sort itself, he'll grow out of it. If he's anything like you he will, I'm sure of it."

"Listen, Louisa. I know you'll likely only have your two kids, but even so – _learn_ from me. Leave the teaching at your school and be a mum at home, you'll all be better for it in the end."

With that she gets up and heads on over across the way to James Henry's room – or the nursery as Martin still calls it. But it's our spare room really, supposed to be . . . whatever.

I'd put James down for a nap the minute we got home and having heard Helen's voice just now he'd come 'round. An hour-and-a-half should be about right anyways, just a matter of getting him his lunch at this point before he gets whingey.

"You mind taking him downstairs for his lunch once I get his nappy changed, Helen? He's likely to get upset fairy soon otherwise, though he's always better with you – loves his Auntie H he does. I've got a few things to get packed for tonight still, then I'll be down in a bit for us to head on over to the farm."

"Not a problem."

"Martin's got surgery till five, but he'll join us for dinner later. Well, we've already talked about this, I know, but didn't get a chance to get everything together yet like I'd planned, so you bringing James on down before Martin comes up for him would be helpful."

"Yes, I already said I would. I behave better around my nephew as well, so it works both ways – a win-win."

_Probably true, same thing with James Henry and Martin really._

Speaking of . . . I hope my husband's not getting himself into trouble down there with Uncle G, so probably just about time for James Henry to make his appearance anyways. Besides, since meeting James was one of the main reasons for his visit, having Helen be the one to head on down with him should be perfect.

_A win-win indeed._

XxX

"_Martin_ – it's alright if I call you that, isn't it?"

"Certainly Mr. Glasson."

"_Ben_, please. It's only fair and with Terry's reputation in this village and elsewhere I'd rather avoid a case of mistaken identity – Louisa filled me in on some of what I've missed. . . ."

"Um, yes. Speaking of Louisa's father, what is your itinerary in that regards? She mentioned your intent to see him while here."

"Yes, unfinished business to settle, you know. I've been booked in for a Sunday afternoon visit, per the prison officials."

"Mm. And Helen, will she be going as well?"

"Well I need her to drive me of course, but I'd rather she not join me on the inside. Some things are best left 'unheard' I suppose is the word in this case and either way she's made it clear that she's not interested in meeting her biological father at this point in time."

_Good._

That may give me a better chance of evaluating the elder Glasson's health and also attempt to gain further insight into this situation as a whole. Louisa gets too emotional to inquire even at the best of times it appears, and a drive to see Terry should provide me with an opportunity to discuss the subject without needless interruptions.

"Right, um . . . why don't you let _me_ take you on Sunday, Mr. Glasson – _Ben_. The surgery is closed and it will give Helen a break from the roads before your return drive on Monday and allow her to spend more time with Louisa and James Henry, as well as –"

The back door suddenly flies open behind me, and as I turn around towards the cool draft I find myself practically head-on with Bert, squeezing his excessive mass between the door and the dishwasher.

"Bert? What do you want? Go away!"

" – Afternoon, Doc. I'm sorry to got to barge in on you like this, but well . . . I need a word! With LOUISER, then with you as well. I'm not happy – not happy at all."

He looks across to Helen's father where he'd retreated to our sitting room after lunch and is now quietly watching the collision of minds as it unfolds.

"Now, what the hell is HE doin' here? Been a few years gone by, and by the looks of'im I'd say prison's been _real_ rough this time 'round, eh 'Mr' Glasson? Ain't that right Terry? Well serves you right it does, for almost blowin' up my Boy!"

_God . . ._

"Bert, get out."

"I will do no such thing and what's that old tosser doing back in the village anyhow?"

At this point Helen comes down the stairs carrying James. Louisa must still be in our bedroom changing out of her school clothes or . . . or whatever it is that women do that causes an otherwise simple task to require such an inordinate amount of time and effort.

"Louiser, now say I need a word with you young lady! Maybe hand the boy off to his daddy 'ere, for what I'm gonna be tellin' you ain't 'posed to be for them little ears, if you catch my drift."

Helen is less than impressed by Bert's offensive, as is clear by her unmistakable deadpan in my direction. I roll my eyes in answer as that seems the only reasonable response I can come up with to begin to cover this folly playing out in front of us.

At this point she hands me James and dons my apron, avoiding Bert by busying herself tidying up the remainder of our lunch – as had been my plan after finishing my conversation with Mr. Glasson.

"You've got thirty seconds, Bert."

"Well then, Doc, I _will_ say this. Morwenner, your _very_ own medical receptionist – "

" – I know who Morwenna is."

". . . which has gone turned her almost into a _doctorin_' person in her own right. Well, Morwenner _observed_ with her very own eyes a certain _friend_ of ours, known by us to now be _with child._ And this person was observed smokin' a cigarette outside your surgery 'ere earlier, caught red-handed she was. So what'cha gotta say 'bout _that_, Doc?"

"I would have to say that it would have been an incredibly foolish thing to do, as is your assumption that Morwenna working here in any regard makes her a medical professional – she most certainly is not. Now please vacate my kitchen and go back to whatever disaster you no doubt left behind. NOW!"

"Doc, by agreein' with me on this 'ere very important matter you just called your expectin' wife a fool – in her presence nonetheless. Couldn't have said it better myself. Now that you've been made aware of Louiser smokin', and you must surely know she's expectin', well – just what'cha intendin' on doin' 'bout it is what I'm wantin' to know?"

"That is a _ridiculous_ assumption, Bert, and I have no idea to what you are referring. Are you ill, do I need to examine you?"

" – Now wait a minute, Doc, you should be grateful you should. Not everybody would've been so brave confrontin' you like I've done, but it's my duty as your fellow respected citizen of this 'ere village. And I only done it 'cause I care bout'cha ya, Doc, you and your little 'uns – AND Louiser."

He's scowling in Helen's direction as I show him the door.

"Goodbye Bert."

Shooing him back out into the blustery winds I notice it has presently also started to rain.

_Of course it has._

As if the situation isn't already a prime example of this god-forsaken village in action, the commotion has finally got Louisa's attention where she comes bounding down the stairs and into our now suddenly quiet kitchen.

"Is everything alright? I could hear you lot all-way up the bedroom and you're no doubt scaring James Henry."

Actually James Henry seems the only one relatively _unaffected_ by this circus, busily watching Helen doing the washing up from his secure perch on my arm.

"Was that Bert I was hearing, Martin? He didn't say a thing one 'bout popping by when I ran into him this mornin', must've been a last minute thing . . . not sure how he could've found out it's your birthday, though ? But that _was_ nice of him – did he drop you off lunch from the restaurant perhaps?"

_Oh god, can this get any worse . . . and now everybody looks even more confused, if possible – including Louisa._

"Or . . . maybe not?"

" – NICE?"

"Well . . . yeah."

My wife's mannerisms now go from relative contentment to displeased agitation when glancing to our empty kitchen table.

"Where's James' lunch, Martin?"

"Oh, I don't know, Louisa. Probably still in the refrigerator where it was when Bert first barged in here, as if he had every right I might add. Maybe you should tell your villagers to mind their own business more often."

"MY VILLAGERS?"

And with that outburst James' bottom lip curls up sending him into a low blood-glucose and commotion-induced downward spiral.

"Oh for goodness sake, Louisa, now look what you've done."

"ME?"

A deafening thunderclap causes me to jump, effectively shutting us both up. Of course the opposite is true of James whose insulted expression appears to fault me for the inclement weather, and he's now loudly voicing his discontent.

Seemingly through with Louisa and I for the time being, he reaches for Helen who, having just finished the washing up, willingly takes him from me while this time raising her eyebrows at Louisa.

An unmistakable stale odour of tobacco smoke briefly reaches my olfactory receptors during the hand-off of James to Helen, and Bert's outrageous accusations begin to form into a likely sequence of events, leaving me shaking my head at the absolute insanity of it all.

To top it off Louisa is laughing at me.

"You find this funny?"

"Have you been a bad boy this year after all, Martin?"

"Have I _what_?"

"Seems your birthday weather's taken a turn?"

The rain is now literally pounding against the window panes.

"Oh . . . right, yes it has."

Having grabbed a crusty end of leftover bread from our sandwiches, as well as some milk in a beaker, Helen seats James and herself on the sofa with Mr. Glasson, ostensibly saving us all from certain disaster.

"And I'm sorry Martin. I know Bert can be a bit, well . . . he's Bert, but that is not _my_ fault or _my_ problem, 'right?"

"Yes."

Luckily James seems to have settled relatively quickly on Helen's lap and has now shifted his attention onto Mr. Glasson, who also appears to have seemingly forgotten about our unfortunate disruption. Only furtive glances at Helen and Louisa give him away, the latter still blissfully unaware of the full extent of Bert's visit and happily prattling on.

"Well, 'least we'll be at the farm most of the weekend where nobody will bother us. Come Monday I'm expectin' questions and well-wishes at the school and from half the village regarding the baby."

Smiling at me she continues on updating her relatives.

"We've a small notice in the school paper today, you see, so the next couple of days' peace and privacy will be the last for a while I'm afraid – and I'm really looking forward to it, 'specially with you two visitin'."

Heading into the sitting room to join them, Louisa stops to take a quick photograph before stepping over to the upholstered chair in the corner.

"If it were up to Martin we'd say nothing at all, but not like I'll be able to hide _this_ for much longer, now is it?"

She gently rubs her abdomen and turns to sit down, at once reviews the photo she just took on her iPad.

"Oh dear, not the best snap certainly. James' face is covered by his beaker and you're both looking at each other and not at me _or_ James, just like . . . right now actually. "

" – Mumum!"

Hearing his name James' eager flailing about causes him to release his grip on the crust he's eating, effectively sending it over his head and on behind the sofa where I now bend down to retrieve and dispose of it.

"Martin?"

" – Mm?"

As I stand back up the shutter sounds once again, this time I suspect she got me as well.

"Well, that's unfortunate . . . you lot just aren't having a good camera day, are you? Saving it for the scenery over at the farm I reckon?"

"Um . . . speaking of the farm, Louisa. Shouldn't the four of you head on over soon?"

"Are you trying to get rid of us, Martin? It's pouring out there, remember."

"Right, yes. We have several umbrellas."

"A brolly isn't going to help the roads any, now is it?"

"_No._ However, the roads will only get worse the longer you sit here. And as a consequence puddles will form; water will likely flood the streets, running rampant throughout the village. – Also, Morwenna will be back shortly at which point I will have surgery."

"Martin, please . . ."

As Helen is largely responsible for this whole mess to begin with due to her tobacco use, I had expected her to speak up in favour of my suggestion. I'd surmised she would want to avoid having this discussion at the present time and expediently get underway with all affected parties.

"Louisa, I'm simply pointing out that now would be a good time to head on, wouldn't you agree Helen?"

Looking to the sofa Louisa waits for her sister or uncle to interject, but they're remaining silent – something clearly not going unnoticed by my wife. Depositing her iPad between the cushion and armrest, Louisa folds her hands and cocks an eye at us all.

_For once none of this is my fault . . . though I'm not sure that makes a difference.  
_

" – Alright _ev'ry-body_. . . what'd I miss?"

XxX

_To be continued . . ._


	33. Shortcuts

_Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. 'DCI Banks' is the property of Left Bank Pictures, no copyright infringements or existing case spoilers are intended, I'm just borrowing a character or two._

_Thanks for the reviews, they are always appreciated and happy reading. -DC_

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Thirty Three – "Shortcuts"**

My doors are always locked – front and garden.

It's common sense in a densely populated suburb; a safety-concern really.

I live with my family in a semi-detached house right inside the Ring Road in Leeds, and acknowledge my neighbours only if necessary when crossing in the street coming or going, which is a rare occurrence with my hours.

Having lived there since Steven was little I've always minded my own business and expect the same of others. Our half is boxed-in by hedges, as privacy is invaluable to me.

Yet I've only been in Louisa's village for one hour and 47 minutes and have already been assessed by her husband's employee and chastised by an off-putting local. I hadn't even noticed the girl observing me; doesn't make me a very good detective, does it?

As a result my sister is now unknowingly in trouble with her neighbours, or whatever the hell they are, through no fault of her own. This in less than two hours, when all I did was have a fag after a quarter day spent on the motorways.

_Stupid provincial town . . . and stupid me._

I wouldn't have given it another thought but for Louisa's going on and on about how much she's been looking forward to our visit and a last 'peaceful' weekend before happily discussing her pregnancy at work on Monday and so forth.

Sounds like my worst nightmare honestly, but that doesn't mean I've the right to perpetuate this comedy of errors into an _actual_ nightmare for my sister.

As tempting as following Dr. Ellingham's lead is I can't simply ignore the situation and flee the village, not now that I know about it.

No, no time like the present to set things right and waiting for my lone witness, this 'Morwenna,' to show up currently seems like the best course of action. The local man's recount is simply hearsay and should be of little concern. Hopefully the girl will take one look at Louisa and I and this minor inconvenience should be sorted. I probably won't even have to confess anything as an interrogation should prove unnecessary in face of the facts.

_The evidence speaks for itself, but it would be unwise to to let an easily accessible witness go — a positional statement is all that is needed to close this case._

– It's for the best, honestly.

XxX

My doors are never locked during the day – surgery nor kitchen.

It's impractical with my patients and James Henry; a safety-concern.

I reside with my family in my surgery on the outskirts of this backwater village and never acknowledge its residents unless absolutely unavoidable when stepping out into the streets coming and going, which unfortunately may occur at any hour.

Having lived here since becoming their GP years ago, I have always minded my own business and expect the same of others. The newly boxed-in stairs have aided in separating the living and surgery spaces, however true privacy is still unattainable.

Louisa's family has only been in the village for one hour and 47 minutes, yet have already been assessed by Morwenna and chastised by Bert. I hadn't even noticed Helen's tobacco habit, which as a doctor is quite unacceptable of me – this could likely have been prevented had I been previously aware.

As a result of my oversight my wife's happiness is now at the mercy of my receptionist and a moron plumber, or whatever the hell he is, through no fault of her own. This in less than two hours, when all I did was prepare lunch for our visitors in the quarters of our kitchen with the door unlocked.

_Idiotic backwater village. Idiot villagers._

I wouldn't have given it another thought, but for Louisa's prattling on about how much she's been looking forward to this last 'peaceful' family weekend of ours and the anticipation of happily discussing her pregnancy at the school on Monday.

Sounds ghastly, but that doesn't mean I should encourage the tempest, causing an _actual_ nightmare to play out for my wife.

It seems unwise, then, to have this discussion in front of our guests as I'm certain Louisa would find it quite rude of me. In any case, Morwenna showing up would make an educated discussion an improbability, if not an impossibility. One look at the two sisters and things would be guaranteed to escalate, or rather go downhill, at an alarming rate. Simply put – it would no doubt be a disaster, a full-blown Portwenn circus which is best avoided.

Yes, now that I have a better understanding of the facts, and what actually occurred, it only makes sense to dismiss this slight misunderstanding at present until Louisa and I can converse without the risk of being interrupted.

_The situation is under control as such and can wait, so long as I expediently get them all underway. _

– It's judicious, obviously.

XxX

Clearly my niece Louisa hadn't exaggerated when recounting the disgrace my younger brother had inflicted upon this village and its denizens, nor does it appear age has done much to set our lifelong likeness apart.

I won't hold this townsman, Bert, and his reaction to me – or rather Terry, against him, as it was likely just. Nor was the assumption of, and concern for, a pregnant Louisa smoking unreasonable, given the circumstances. Neither this man nor the receptionist is at fault here.

Helen, Louisa and Martin aren't to blame either, nor am I.

Sometimes life simply follows its own winding paths.

_I'm learning that the hard way._

Now is an opportunity to steer life in a positive direction. This is the first, and likely also one of the last, opportunities I will have to spend with my new family – so no time like the present and I haven't got it to waste.

" – Alright ev'ry-body. . . what'd I miss?"

Louisa, having missed the commotion all together has, however, sensed something's amiss and seems to be getting increasingly impatient with her husband, as well as Helen and I, for dilly-dallying.

Time for a parental approach; order by omittance—a shortcut if you will.

"Well Glasson, seems like you've got friends in this town that care an awful lot about your well-being – an awful lot. This man . . . Bert, was it?"

"Yeah, Bert – he owns the restaurant down the hill and also took care of me back in the days when dad would be at the races . . . well, you know."

"Right . . . Seems this Bert wanted to see for himself that you were okay. He must have already learned of your pregnancy, perhaps through this newspaper you spoke of?"

"_Pippa_ . . ."

"What?"

"Oh nothing Uncle G, do go on."

"Well, this Bert obviously mistook Helen for you and before any of us could clear up the matter, Martin swiftly dismissed him, which was the right thing to do, by the way, as he'd let himself in without so much as a knock in the first place."

"Yeah, sounds like Bert. . . ."

"Glasson, listen to me – and this is important. It should be entirely up to you, and only you, _how_ and _when_ you inform your friends of your 'new' family. Neither one of you girls had that option originally, but you do now. And as such both Martin and Helen handled the situation very well, misunderstandings and all."

"Oh . . . right, yes. So he wasn't here for Martin after all, then, it was me he wanted to see?"

"I believe so, yes."

_He'd made that quite clear after all. . . ._

"Why didn't you just say so Martin? And again, I'm sorry – I know Bert's not exactly your favourite person around the village, but thank you for dealing with him anyway."

"Ah well . . . um, yes. Mm."

Martin looks to me somewhat uncertainly, whilst Louisa looks to her sister.

"And thank _you_ Helen, for keeping my shoes on so to speak. Sorry 'bout that, Bert can be a bit . . . well, _much_ at times. But he means well."

"That's alright then. . . ."

" – Helen!"

"_Dad_."

That jab was obviously meant at me for smoothing things over rather than facing them head-on, but Louisa has no way of knowing that of course. My daughter has always been a believer in doing the right thing – strictly following the rules, lest it concern herself of course.

_She tends to ignore her own problems . . . put them off._

"Helen, why don't you make sure little James Henry's portable seat gets secured properly in your motor, then let us know when you're ready for us – Martin fetched the seat earlier and sat it over by the kitchen door. And try not to get it wet?"

"I have _some_ experience with car seats _and_ rain, Dad."

"Then get to work and we'll meet you at your motor."

_Sixteen again . . ._

"Sorry Louisa, that jab was meant for me. Helen can be rather blunt, as I'm sure you've learnt by now. She doesn't always think before speaking I'm afraid."

"Well, I can certainly relate to the latter. As for the former . . . Helen's a bit like you, isn't she Martin, hm? Good thing I'm used to it and love you both then, yeah?"

She smiles at her husband, though I'm not sure he understands it for the compliment she likely meant it to be.

After another five minutes Louisa's mobile beeps and we get our coats on and brollies out, though luckily the rain has abated some at this point.

Time to head on out to this B&amp;B and I understand now why Louisa insisted we all stay there. . . .

XxX

Oh god, oh god, oh god. It's half past four and I was 'posed to be back at three – I'm probably gonna get myself sacked. . . and I still gotta tell the Doc about seeing Mrs. E. smoking a cig outside the surgery. Can this get any worse?

_Wish I could've reached Al. . . ._

" – You're _late_, and you're MUDDY. Mind the carpet, and the chair!"

"Sorry Doc, I got caught out in the rain and then I slipped . . . actually kind of hurt myself I reckon."

"Yes I can see that, good god! Where?"

"On the Path?"

"_Where_ are you hurt?"

"Oh, yeah right. It's my left ankle and . . . well, bum. My bike kinda . . . took me on and won."

"_What_?"

Truth is I'd tried to make quick time of gettin' to the farm to see Al, by way of the Coast Path – it's a bit shorter. But it really isn't made for pedallin', more like ramblin' – 'specially when the skies open up halfway there. Had to turn back, but . . . yeah, then this sorta happened anyways.

"She done got a wheel into a mud rut and I tumbled over 'fore I could straighten her out."

"I see. That's what happens when you take shortcuts and why one should always stay on the designated path. There are no shortcuts in life, Morwenna."

"Right, yeah. You're probably right about that, Doc."

"Of course I am."

I hobble on into the consulting room and hop up on the couch.

" – Ow!"

_That_ was a mistake, but better keep it together or he'd be well be wantin' to look at my backside to boot. Luckily there's no blood involved for him to get sick this time, so yeah, I guess it could be worse. . . .

"Your ankle is bruised, but with only a mild sprain you should be back to normal by Monday. Keep your leg raised and put ice on it, I'll give you some anti-inflammatory tablets. You will need to stay off it as much as possible this weekend."

" – I haven't got any ice, Doc. My freezer box stopped workin' a while back and I've no money for a new fridge."

"Right. I'll send you with a couple of ice-packs, put them in the refrigerator between uses, it'll at least facilitate some cooling to the affected area. Don't forget to bring them back."

"Yeah – gottit."

"And I want you to stay home tomorrow, it's a short day, no need to come in."

"Oh I've got bills to pay that won't wait, can't let somethin' stupid like a bum foot, or . . . bum _and_ foot, get in my way. I'll be here, Doc!"

"No you won't."

"But . . ."

"Shush. Let me find an old sheet or something, for the mud – the _furniture_, and some ice and a stool for your foot. You can stay on the sofa in the sitting room until I'm done here, it should be more comfortable for your . . . um, buttock."

He's waving his hand in the general direction of my bum, looking distracted.

"Seeing as Mr. Creeley cancelled, Mrs. Newton is my last patient and she's just a health check which shouldn't take too long. Then I'll drive you home".

" – Mr. _Coley_."

"What?"

"Nothin' . . . and I can hop on home, probably, leanin' on my bike?"

"No you can't."

"Right, yeah. Sorry for messin' up your day, Doc."

"Yes, well . . . you're not the only one."

After unlocking the old entryway door to the sitting room, savin' me from hoppin' through the hall and kitchen both, he disappears back to his consulting room to deal with Hana Newton who'd just poured in. Guess Mr. Newton most be home then, or else I don't know what she's done with those kids of hers, _and_ James Henry to boot. . . .

Grabbin' the sheet and ice-pack off the stool I start getting' myself situated whilst waitin' on the Doc to finish his day. He'd left the entry door open and I can hear his door shuttin'.

Just another day a the surgery, well almost. . . .

X

"Alright Mrs. Newton, your appointment suggests an annual health check."

"Oh it's Hana, Dr. Ellingham, James Henry wouldn't have a clue none who you're going on about."

"Yes of course. And why are you here?"

"Um well, see the thing is . . . I'm not for certain, obviously, which is why I've come here to see you, but . . . um, well – I'm late."

"Late?"

"Yes, late. And having been through this a few times now, well . . . I'm thinking I may be pregnant again."

"I see. And how long has it been since your last cycle?"

"Oh, I'd say about six weeks or thereabouts."

"Right. I'll need a urine sample, will you be able to provide one?"

"Yes, I suspected you might want one so I drank a tall glass of water before leaving home."

"Good, then we should have the results in a few minutes. Head on through there to the lavatory and place the sample on the sink here when you're done, then have a seat. I will be right back."

"Thank you Doctor – and I hope Louisa will have a great visit this weekend, she seemed awfully excited pickin' little James up earlier."

"Mm."

X

I can hear the Doc comin' through the hall to the kitchen, must've sent Mrs. N. for a urine sample I'm guessin' – think I heard the loo door as well. By now I know all the sounds of this place as good as if I lived here myself.

" – MORWENNA!"

"Over here, Doc."

"Oh right, yes. Is your ankle throbbing at all, any pain?"

"Nope, just cold. So say Doc, I found this here iPad wedged in the chair, good job I didn't sit on it, really. Checkin' it out I'm guessin' it's Mrs. E's, 'cause you've not done got one have you? And it's got your family photo on it, so must be."

" – What are you doing looking through other people's items, give it to me!"

"Well I had no other way of knowing whose iPad it was, now had I? Besides, the only shortcut on the wallpaper was for the Photo Stream, so not like I had a choice really, now was it? So who took the family photo, then? You're all in it, so couldn't have been any of you lot."

"What shortcut? And that's NOT your concern."

"Whoever done took it needs some practice as it's not a very good snap and you're all lookin' guilty or somethin'. Well, 'cept for you that is – you look just like you do when Mrs. E. calls you out, all flustered-like."

"Oh for goodness sake, Morwenna, give me that tablet and don't touch anything else while I'm gone, understood?"

"Yeah . . ."

"Good – now keep your foot raised and stay there!"

Half an hour or so later, as Doc pulls his Lexus into the parking space below my house, time's up for tellin' him about Louisa, and I'm dreadin' it somethin' fierce. Maybe I'll just wait a bit longer, till we get inside? Not like I want anybody else to accidentally hear it anyways, and he's gotta carry the ice-packs in for me.

After gettin' my door for me and droppin' the bag on my counter, he heads straight for my stairs and starts pullin' hard on the wall.

"Are you okay there, Doc, what are you doin'?"

"Fine. Just checking to see that your railing is secure – it is."

"Oh right, yeah – I'll be fine, don't you worry 'bout me none this weekend, you've got . . . bigger fish to fry. Um, Doc . . . so there's somethin' you need to know, and you're not gonna be very happy 'bout it neither. But it wouldn't be fair of me not tellin' you, so I've decided I've got to get it off my chest."

"Morwenna . . . if this is about Louisa's supposed smoking I, I've already been informed. You'd do well to remember that things aren't always like they seem at first glance, but that's ALL I can tell you for now."

"Oh, Bert then . . . ''

"Mm."

"Look, he found me all upset and cryin' on the road. I'd done left my jacket at the restaurant and he came lookin' for me just as I was headin' back down the hill. I didn't just . . . tell him, you know. And, well . . . I know what I saw, Doc – first _and_ second glance. Not like I'm seein' double like."

"You might be, soon."

"Yeah, well I sure hope not, two of you would be more than I could handle any day. . . . "

I'm worried now. If he's known about this all afternoon he's sure not acted like it bothers him none, and that's not right. . . .

"But what about the pregnancy, shouldn't you be worried? Smoking cigarettes isn't good for the baby, is it? And how come you're not in one of your moods, seems you ought'ta be?"

"I . . . can't discuss this with you at the present time. Stay off your feet this weekend and stay away from Bert. And _no more shortcuts_ – are we clear?"

"Yeah, crystal . . . and I was just tryin' to help, you know, honest, 'cause I care 'bout you. I'm really sorry."

"Yes, mm. There, ah. . . are some medical journals in the carrier with your ice-packs, they should take up most of your usual hours tomorrow. No need to bother with sick leave and with the ridiculous amount of paperwork involved you'd probably spend the same amount of hours on it as reading the journals anyway – might as well do something useful with your time."

"Right you are, Doc, that's brilliant – I will memorise them all, promise!"

"No you won't."

"Well, I'll do my best trying to understand the words and I can google them if I need to. Thanks for your help and . . . I really hope Louisa and the wee one will be alright, tell her I said hello. 'Nite, Doc."

"Goodnight Morwenna."

. . .

There might not be any shortcuts in life, he's right about that, yet I still feel like I'm being led the long way 'round somehow.

But I also trust the Doc, more than ever before, I really do. Even if it's hard right now not understanding what happened today or where I went wrong – or where _Louisa_ went wrong. That wasn't like her at all and Doc's been awfully nice about it, which isn't like him neither. Maybe it's just what he said and that things aren't always like they seem whether _I_ understand it or not . . . wouldn't be the first time

The Doc _is_ smarter than me, by lots and lots, Mike Pruddy pointed that out and it's true for most folk, so I needn't really feel bad about it. And if Doc's not feeling bad about this, then I won't either. Where I never really had a Dad to follow, and Granddad's been gone a while, I reckon if the Doc's the one I'm following now then the long way may not be the worst path to take after all.

_I may even learn a thing or two as I go._

And as Granddad always used to say . . .

_'When we keep going where we are headed then we will get to where we are going – together.'_

XxX


	34. Family Matters

_Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. 'DCI Banks' is the property of Left Bank Pictures, no copyright infringements or existing case spoilers are intended, I'm just borrowing a character or two._

_*Sorry for the extreme tardiness. My harddrive crashed halfway through season 7, leaving me unable to watch or write. I finish the season at a friend's house over the weekend, so hoping to catch up on your stories soon as well – just didn't want to be accidentally spoiled. Retyped this chapter using a bluetooth keyboard I got for my phone, but future updates may not be the fastest as typ(o)ing and editing using this setup is a tad awkward . . . hoping Santa will be generous this year! _

– _Thanks for your continued reviews, encouragement and patience._

_NO SEASON 7 SPOILERS IN THIS STORY, the chaos continues where we left off! -DC_

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Thirty Four – "Family Matters"**

It's been a rather odd day so far which, being Martin's birthday, probably shouldn't be all that surprising I reckon. But with the clock now going on 6.30 in the evening, and with no sign of my husband, I am beginning to worry. Passing the time waiting for him we've been gathered in the sitting room here at the farm getting acquainted and looking at various snaps and so on. I'd meant to show Al and Ruth the ones from our Bristol trip, but seems I've misplaced my iPad once again. So huddling 'round over mine and Helen's much smaller iPhones has had to do.

The meticulously prepared fish supper Al had put quite a bit of effort into had been ready at 6 o'clock per my request and isn't going to keep much longer. Besides, we're all rather peckish at this point and can't wait for my good Doctor forever . . . what's taking him so long?

"Ruth, have you heard from Martin at all, he's not answering his mobile?"

"Me? Nooo. But it is _high_ time we eat, it would be rather a shame for the fish to go to waste."

"Yes, I was just thinking that. . . ."

I jump at the suddenly vibrating mobile now sidling across the coffee table, grabbing it in a flash 'fore it goes over the edge.

" – Martin where _are_ you, is everything alright?"

' . . . Hello? . . . Um, this is . . . James . . . _Morton_. Innit . . . is this _not_ . . . me Mum's phone?'

I bring the phone away from my ear for a second. The display shows a photo with four dark-haired boys and the caption below it reads 'Home'.

_Well bugger._

"Oh . . . James . . . um, hello . . . um yes, yes it is. I must've – "

My sister snags the mobile from me and steps on through the kitchen and out the door.

Uncle G, James Henry, Ruth and Al all look at me like I've two heads.

_Which, in a sense . . . _

"What? We've the same phone, I wasn't looking – reckoned it'd be Martin."

But it _wasn't_ Martin, it was James – _Helen's_ James. Poor kid, he's in for a surprise soon, along with his brothers . . . wonder how they'll react to all of this? I sure hadn't handled it well myself at the start and I'm an 'adult', which should've counted for something . . .

. . . _but hadn't seemed to_.

My sister's running out of time to tell her boys before our Christmas visit, and she's also admitted that she hasn't really told them about Uncle G's illness neither, at least not the full extent of it. I sure don't envy her that conversation.

Luckily Michael knows about me now, that's progress, so she'll have help – if only she'd accept it.

With my little faux pas out of the way we all start to migrate into the kitchen and Al finally decides to have a say on the matter. Not having spoken a word about the Glasson zoo up till this point, he'd nonetheless quite visibly done a double take when we'd all poured into the farm a few hours back.

"Honest mistake that, eh? Wrong sister then, yeah? So say I didn't know you _had_ one, Louiser, a sister that is. Not sure how you've managed to keep a twin from the village all them years, with Dad and all and sundry mindin' everybody's business. But twice the lovely then's how I see it, hehe."

He looks at me with questions but without judgement, and I nod to Uncle G as I go on.

"Yeah, a bit complicated that – I'm sure Uncle G will be able to fill in the blanks for you later. He's Dad's older brother, but I reckon you might've done figured that."

"Ah right, I was wonderin' it over myself. You do look _very_ much like'im, Mr. Glasson, just . . . well, _older_-like."

"Ha! Well Al, I've been told that once today already – or told _off_ rather. This one gentleman from the village straight up mistook me for Terry and there was _no_ love lost there, let me tell you."

Wait . . . _WHAT_?

" – Uncle G? Arrgh_, some_ people_. . . ._ Well they should be _ashamed_ of themselves, you don't deserve to be treated like that. Who was it? Actually, no matter – I'll have a word! You should've said, I thought Bert was the only one I'd heard downstairs earlier?"

My uncle animately waves the matter off, 'fore continuing.

"Ah_ . . ._ me and me big mouth. Um well, Glasson, it _really_ wasn't worth mentioning is why. And _Terry_ deserved every word spoken, of that I've no doubt. Just . . . forget about it, it was nothing."

"No, not _nothing_, and I won't forget about it, Uncle G. Who _was_ it, do you even know? Does _Martin_ know?"

I'm so very sick of the village going after _me,_ and now my family, for the things my Dad did. Of course . . . if they thought Uncle G _was_ Dad then I reckon I could forgive them, maybe. I'm just _done_ defending Dad –_ been_ done. But still . . . some of the village elders just won't let me forget about the LifeBoat thing, and it's _not_ on. This whole situation needs settled 'fore James gets old enough to understand, I just don't know how to go 'bout it anymore, not a clue none.

_And for all the Faires an Fêtes I've helped the village put on to make amends . . . I still can't seem to be completely forgiven for it._

"Uncle G, who was it?"

"It was _Bert_, but like I said; he thought I was Terry, so no harm done. Let's just forget about it, please?"

"Well that _does_ sound like somethin' Dad would do, didn't know you'd done met'im already Mr. Glasson and I'm really sorry 'bout Dad's actin' all Bodmin. His and Terry's last meetin' kind of . . . well, they wasn't on the best of terms, stuff was all outta sorts a bit."

" – Al not now, _please_. So, Uncle G . . . if Martin _were_ there, then why didn't _he_ mention anything? He'd surely not have stood for any of that, he'd not spare his ire for '_those'_ people as he calls them, not for a bloody second!"

_What the hell is going on here?_

Just then Ruth plunks the tray containing the fish onto the already set kitchen table, and I spot the glare of headlights coming 'round the corner rather abruptly – and hope it is not a reflection of Martin's current mood. I know he doesn't enjoy birthdays, particularly his own, but I've planned this day so carefully to make sure he'll enjoy everything 'bout it anyways – without making _too_ much of a silly fuss over him. I just hope he won't spoil it. . . .

_'Least he's finally here and the rain has let up now, that's got to be a sign, yeah?_

XxX

I've never cared for my birthday, or _birthdays_ in general, they never were a cause for celebration during my childhood. Knowing now what I didn't then, it is quite obvious to me why that was so. However I still find that these types of glorified occasions are simply opportunistic ways for the shops to cash in on people's unfounded sentimentality. In either case it means nothing to me, it is just another day; like the one before it and the one that will follow – time does and must go on.

Of course Louisa cares for _all_ such things – very much so, thus I have made a point of giving her a card on her birthdays, and lately also done my best with obtaining what I hope to be suitable gifts. This mainly because she appears to expect such gestures from me, though I've noticed it also usually comes with the added benefit of making her happy.

_'It's not the gift in itself that matters, Martin, it's the thought and effort you put forth that makes me happy.'_

– But why put a lot of thought and effort into something that doesn't matter? It makes no sense to me.

I am the complete opposite of my wife in most instances, this birthday tosh being one of the many areas we clearly don't see eye to eye. So when she'd let it slip in front of everybody in our kitchen earlier, that today is the anniversary of my birth, I'd become keenly aware of the fact that she must have something planned. Probably some ghastly balloon-filled spectacle with cake at the end and no end in sight. And after the spectacle _today_ has already proven to be, with Morwenna and Bert causing absolute and complete havoc, this 'birthday gathering' of Louisa's is the _last_ thing I need.

_And I don't like cake._

Finally having reached Havenhurst I step out of the Lexus and spot Helen leaning against the wall under the dim rays of the old hanging lantern. She's puffing away on a cigarette, so I seize the opportunity as it is presented to me.

"You're _smoking_," I note, hoping my tone and towering stance will convey my disapproval of her despicable habit.

" – You're not so bad yourself."

She looks me up and down with Louisa's scrutinising eyes and exhales one last lung-full of swirling nicotine-laden smoke up into the damp November air before expertly stubbing the cigarette out in the wet gravel.

_. . . What?_

Just like her sister, I'm learning that Helen _also_ has a way of leaving me completely speechless and off kilter at times.

Louisa usually accomplishes this by knowingly – and unknowingly, taking advantage of her feminine charms and her warm and loving personality. Her sheer presence causing _me_ to lose my balance simply by being around her; dizzy from being _surrounded_ by her.

Helen, on the other hand, deliberately _causes_ me to lose my balance by steam-rolling her path right through me, impelled by her confidence. Both approaches are undeniably quite efficient ways of getting my attention, however I must admit that I _much_ prefer the subtler ways of my wife.

– _In every sense._

Interestingly, from a scientific standpoint, this also lends added credence to the notion that there are more complex factors involved in determining 'physical attraction' than simply one's expressed phenotype – as if my own appearance hasn't already convinced me to that point. It clearly can't have been what caught Louisa's eye years ago. . . .

"Man of few words Dr. Ellingham?" the steam-roller presses on, heavy starch.

"Ah . . . you really should give it up you know. Tobacco smoke is known to –"

" – _Finally_ decided to join us then, did you? Louisa's been pacing a hole in the floor worrying your birthday dinner would spoil. She's put a lot of thought and effort into today you know – for_ you. _So maybe don't;_ spoil it_ that is, if you know what I mean?"

"Um right, yes – I mean _no . . . _I mean, I won't._" Not if I can help it. _

The sooner we eat, the sooner Louisa, James Henry and I can head home. We're staying here at the farm tomorrow night, but with surgery in the morning I'd pointed out how adhering to our usual routine tonight would be best.

" – Oh, and happy anniversary of birth then I suppose . . . if you're into that sort of thing."

"I'm not." _At all._

"Didn't suspect it for a minute."

"Right." Helen also _sees_ right through me quite well.

Following my sister-in-law inside and stepping on through to the kitchen, I am relieved to observe only the people I expected to be there and not a handful of Louisa's friends or other village unwashed. Thankfully none of those ghastly colourful balloons either, however something looks to be. . .

" – Oh _God_."

My wife and my son are grinning at me like fools, whereas I'm starting to feel like one in front of the rest of the present parties.

"Are those . . . my surgical gloves?"

"Yes Martin, they're _fun_ aren't they?"

There appears to be several inflated pairs, in proportionate sizes, balancing precariously in some form of muffin tin in the centre of the table. One for each of us I suppose and each one marked to resemble what I'm assuming are meant to roughly depict our individual facial features. The four fingers resemble spiky hair with the thumb jutting out where the nose would anatomically reside.

"Um, they're . . . impressively distended, mm."

"Glad you like them Martin," my Aunt Ruth interjects. "Though we all nearly fainted from oxygen depletion inflating them earlier, not for the faint of heart so to speak."

"WHAT? You didn't have Mr. Glasson assisting, did you – Louisa?"

" – No Martin," Mr. Glasson himself is quick to confirm, "she was adamant about it. Al here had my back, inflating mine and his both, strong healthy lad that he is."

"Right, yes. Good."

"And you might consider moving your 'distended' family off the table during tea, 'least if you want your young lad here to fill-up."

Louisa's uncle is likely right, as James Henry's attention is focussed solely on the gloves rather than on me or the food, as would usually be the case.

"Yes, good point."

Seeing as everybody but Al and I are now seated, I quickly wash my hands before greeting James and taking a seat next to Louisa and Aunt Ruth, just as Al starts pouring Chardonnay into Louisa's glass.

"Oh . . . no, no, no. Um – _Louisa_, your beverage?"

I redirect her attention away from James and his bib for a second, not certain how to correctly address the issue and not wanting to unnecessarily bring unwanted attention to the table. Her brief confusion resolves as I nod towards her glass.

"Hmm? OH . . . um yes. Thank you Al, but I'll have to pass on the wine this time 'round, Ruth will have mine I'm sure. Martin and I are . . . well, we're . . . _expecting_ again, so I'll just settle for some apple juice if you have any?"

"Oh, right – right, yeah sure ting then Louiser. Good one that – yer just full of surprises today, expandin' the family in every direction then."

He heads over to the refrigerator and returns with a fresh carton of apple juice.

"Though I reckon, I do, that you've managed a little girl this time 'round, just you take my word for it, and then we'll have Louisers poppin' 'round every corner brightenin' our days."

"That's very kind of you Al – and a _big_ surprise indeed!"

"But good innit? And congratulations in order for you as well then, eh Doc? Got yer hands on the hurlin' silver ball this year did 'ya?"

I'm not sure what he's insinuating or why Louisa always feels it necessary to dole out the private details of our affairs. But I choose to ignore it, suddenly finding myself preoccupied with the image a little version of Louisa brings to mind. The foetus she is carrying very well could be a girl after all.

"Aww, c'mon then Doc, you've got quite a lot to celebrate now, haven't you? Not just _yer_ birthday, but that of the next mighty Ellingham sprout as well. Not so bad gettin' older when you've another young'un in the works to keep 'ya fresh. When the time comes for me I'll sure be callin' on you for advice, yer gettin' to be a right expert on these matters, eh? Gone one-upped Dad now you've done; he's gonna be all over this when _he_ finds out, that's for sure. . . . Won't hear it from me though, mum's the word."

"Mm."

A little late for that of course considering the events of today . . . there's still the issue of clearing _that_ minor misunderstanding up after all.

_Later, when I have Louisa to myself._

A sudden loud pop interrupts our supper, just as that filthy stinking dog scurries by our table headed for the door – inflated glove bobbing along in its mouth.

" – Buddy, NO! Don't you dare go off with that, come back 'ere you. That's just NOT on, BAD dog!"

Al practically leaps from the table and runs after the disgusting mongrel, but not before it again runs back through the kitchen, up the stairs and out of sight.

The facial markings on the now flaccid glove Al is holding up for all to see have now taken on an odd and surly appearance in its shrunken state.

"Ah figures, ya just _had_ to pick that one didn't ya Buddy. So . . . erm, Louiser . . . I'm really sorry to have to say this, but it looks like Buddy done deflated your Doc 'ere then ran off upstairs . . . with you."

I'm not imagining the snickers around the table, nor Helen's distasteful and inappropriate comments seemingly muttered under her breath. Even Aunt Ruth seems amused by the situation.

"Right then . . . clever dog after all – I always new there was a reason to keep it around. Even you can't deny its tenacity, Martin; Joan would be pleased. Pass the potatoes will you?"

"_Really_ Aunt Ruth, can't you control that thing for one evening? Not _all_ your guests are going to find such incidents acceptable and may even report you to the environmental health inspector who –"

" – who was absolutely _besotted_ with it, wasn't she Al?"

"Um, well perhaps a little . . . yes, but you'd also . . ."

" – Thank you Al. Oh give it a rest Martin, it's _just_ a dog."

"_Unbelievable_ . . . absolutely unacceptable, excuse me."

I head on upstairs spending a few minutes creasing my suit while on my hands and knees, looking under every blasted bed, before _finally_ retrieving Louisa's so-called balloon – now covered in disgusting canine saliva, but otherwise unharmed. After a sudsy rinse and some vigorous swirling around in the air to dry it out, it appears sufficiently hygienic.

_My wife's efforts will not be thwarted by a dog, no matter how ridiculous those efforts may have been._

Having returned Louisa's balloon to the tin and placed the tin up on the counter this time, I again attempt to enjoy the fish supper, which is surprisingly adequate for not having been prepared by myself.

"Thank you Martin, that was . . . unexpected."

_Unexpected_, what exactly did Louisa expect?

"How do you mean, I thought you'd want it back?"

"And you thought right."

"Oh." _Right_.

"Yes, _oh_. Happy Birthday, Martin, we're lucky to have you around – for a lot of reasons."

She raises her glass, causing the others to follow suit, and the gesture brings back thoughts of our wedding day and that same sense of uneasiness mixed with pride I'd experienced that day.

" – Yes, a toast is in order indeed, so . . . to Martin, and to Family – it's what really matters. Cheers!"

As the elder male and self-appointed Patriarch of our family, Mr. Glasson officially declares a celebratory toast on behalf of our new-found and expanding unit. And it is with a sense of regret and heightened responsibility that I come to realise that his title is indeed an honourable one – one which will all too soon be bestowed upon me.

Looking around this table, at all these now increasingly familiar faces, I see perhaps for the first time in my life an intrinsic value to being part of such an unlikely gathering. I'm intimidated by the realisation that the thought and effort put forth by all those involved is what really counts; that it is the _people _who matter – not the gifts or the occasion alone.

It is finally starting to makes sense to me now, what Louisa has been trying to show me all along – Family matters.

XxXxX


	35. Kiss and Make-Up

_Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. 'DCI Banks' is the property of Left Bank Pictures, no copyright infringements or existing case spoilers are intended, I'm just borrowing a character or two._

_Thanks for the reviews, they are always appreciated and happy reading. -DC_

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Thirty Five – "Kiss and Make-Up"**

Once Martin had finally got to the farm, our combined family-birthday gathering had gone mostly according to plan – surprisingly well actually, he'd even had a few pieces of the 'cake' I'd put together for him. The fact that his face had initially screwed up at my mentions of _cheesecake_ and _apple tart_ had been expected, but the resulting softening of his eyes as I placed my creations on the table for us all to share told me it had been worth it.

To start I'd picked up a smaller weight Edam ball from the grocers today, after Mrs. Laity had promised last week to keep one aside for me. And so having cut it into small wedges and alternated the cheese with red and green apple wedges I was left with two rather festive cheese and apple 'cakes'. It's the only kind of afters he'll eat, so I knew it'd hit the mark with him as well as with the rest of us.

_And it had._

I'm trying to encourage Martin to think in broader terms at times; he's so set in his ways and perceptions as to the things and customs he outright disapproves of. Hopefully I've shown him that balloons aren't all equal and family isn't all bad. For his birthday my goal this year has been for him to have his cake and eat it too and though he's already had his usual afters, the night is still young as they say!

_'Course, I mustn't forget that my dear Doctor is also my stick of rock. . . ._

So the evening had moved right along up till then, but leaving James Henry with Helen overnight, as had also been my plan, had not gone near as smoothly . . . for the _elder_ of my men that is. And now Martin and I've been bickering the whole drive home with no letting up in sight it.

" – All I'm saying, _Louisa_, is that while he is still a baby he needs his _mother_ close at hand, it's what best. What is wrong with him sleeping here at _our_ house, I thought we'd discussed this?"

"NOTHING, absolutely nothing, and he does so every night! But he _loves_ Helen, Martin, and as far as the _next-best_ thing goes you've got to admit that my sister; a mother of four boys and my exact likeness who our son's quite mad about, should sufficiently tick those boxes, hm? Besides, it'll give Uncle G some special time with them _both_ as well . . . time's running out you know."

" Yes well, I _still_ would rather he'd have been here with us tonight. There's no reason for –"

At this point I was starting to wish I'd stayed behind with James Henry myself, Martin can be so . . . ugh, _Martin_.

Often-times I feel like I'm being unintentionally _belittled_ by my snooty and arrogant doctor whilst simultaneously trying to _guide_ the insecure young boy on the inside 'round the twisty turns of life's many roads.

It's infuriatingly confusing.

" – And he's not really a _baby_ anymore, Martin, he's growing up ALL too fast. But soon there _will_ be another baby here and I just wanted some time for _us_ – just the two of us. Is that really so horrible of me?"

"Oh that's what you told everybody, is it?"

"_Really_ Martin, don't be such an old maid – a year wiser, yeah? I wanted _you_ to have a special birthday gift – from _me_. Though I'm starting to think that maybe you don't actually want it . . ."

_Okay, that might've been a bit petty._

" . . . but if you still do you can come upstairs in 'bout fifteen minutes; make sure to lock up."

Tonight's supposedly just past a full moon, but the clouds have obliterated any glimpse we might have had and now, as luck will have it, the rain and the wind have both picked back up again as well.

Figures.

The sureness I'd felt when planning this birthday surprise was now waning at the speed the moon surely had done as the clouds had all rolled on in. Having initially you-tubed 'burlesque dancing' I'd been a bit taken aback by it, and picturing my sister unknowingly seducing her husband-to-be had made _me_ blush. So . . . I'd figured a scaled-back, less _extreme,_ version would have to suffice in my case. I don't possess my sister's confidence on the best of days and I definitely don't want Martin to feel uncomfortable with this after all . . . nor _me_ for that matter.

It's supposed to be fun – _special_. Something different for him to unwrap on his birthday, but a good and exciting different.

At over three months pregnant now I am starting to loose my waistline, and with it the ability for contortion of any kind, whether extreme or not, but I'd figured some beginner moves seated on my Windsor chair, along with some suitable music, would do fine in peaking his interest – and rather innocently. If my sister could do it, then so can I . . . _maybe_. And hopefully I'll get Martin hot and bothered just a bit, which I'll consider a success.

A big, deep-red kiss left on his cheek,_ and discovered in the morning_, should also contribute to a nice blush on his face, which is always quite endearing when in the privacy of our own home.

So . . . I'd needed some make-up.

Make-up is key to this whole vintage seductress burlesque look it seems. I'd considered asking Helen about all of it, but had decided that it would probably have killed Martin if he'd ever learnt of me doing so. Instead I'd relied on my iPad's google app for information and as for setting the proper mood I reckoned it needed done a bit over the top compared to my usual style, so I'd picked up false eyelashes as well as deep red lipstick from the Boots in Wadebridge.

As for clothing, _or lack thereof_, I wasn't about to acquire any kind of corset contraption, but my lacy red knickers paired with black stockings and a short black slip dress I've got should do. If nothing else, now that I've squeezed into the otherwise floaty slip, it's clear my expanding baps at least look the part – he should notice _that!_

– _Right?_

To finish up I use the curling iron on my fringe making it appear shorter and straighter across, then gather the top half of my hair, rather than all of it, into a pony before curling the down bits just a little. Stepping into an ungodly pair of heels, worn once at one of Holly's functions in London, completes the picture. I light and arrange some candles that'd been stowed away in my pants drawer earlier before switching off the bedroom lights, turning the chair 'round backwards and seating myself astride it over by the window.

So now, for the second time today, I find myself wondering where on earth my husband's gone off to, just as I hear him ascending the stairs and calling out.

_And I'm getting a bit nervy._

" . . . Louisa, there is something we need to discuss before turning in for the night."

With that he habitually switches the lights back on and I'm feeling oddly exposed in the sudden incandescent limelight.

"Um, can you switch the lights back off please, Martin, and maybe our discussion can wait till the morning, yeah?"

He jumps at the sound of my voice off to the side, clearly not expecting to see me there.

" – The lights were off, why aren't you in bed? _Good_ _God_, are you going to sleep in, in . . . like _that_?"

I switch the music I'd prepared on, hoping to salvage whatever is left of our evening. But rather than my carefully chosen CD loaded in my old boom box, the thunderous weather is playing up and; crescendo reached, ending the moment with a loud power cutting bang.

Now the only sounds to be heard inside our bedroom over the howling outside winds are those of mine and Martin's surprised gasps and consequent silence.

XxX

I'm not exactly certain why I'm so hesitant to discuss today's happenings with Louisa – previous experience perhaps, but even knowing that we've done a lot better communication-wise lately _and_ the fact that none of what had happened today was actually my fault, those facts don't do much to dissuade my hesitancy.

_And I'm becoming a bit uneasy._

"Louisa, there is something we need to discuss before turning in for the night."

I switch the lights on, jumping at the sound of my wife's voice from over by the window.

"Um, can you switch the lights back off please, Martin, and maybe our discussion can wait till the morning, yeah?"

" – The lights were off, why aren't you in bed? _Good_ G_od_, are you going to sleep in, in . . . like _that_?"

She looks different_._

Beautiful but _different_. She's got on some sort of shiny undergarments and is seated rather suggestively on her chair, legs spread wide apart and separated to either side of the spindles, stocking-covered legs shielded from the cold wooden floorboards by ridiculously impractical footwear, making her look altogether beautifully different and . . .

. . . _sultry_.

Her face instantly falls at my awkward remark and she starts fumbling with what looks to be her portable radio from her downstairs desk area, now sitting atop our dresser. Just then a powerful thunderclap causes a power cut leaving us both in the dark, well_ – almost. _There remains a faint warm glow about our bedroom.

_She's already got candles lit?_

Either she's exceptionally intuitive or . . . or I am _exceptionally_ daft.

_Oh bugger it_.

" . . . Louisa?"

"No, no it's okay Martin . . . it was a bad idea – it's not me, _us_. Not really. And I'm sorry, about . . . you know, _this_."

Gesturing with her arm she alludes to herself.

"What, _no_ – that's not what I meant."

I'm too late, as she's already rising from the chair; pushing herself off the spindle-back while swinging it around for the corner.

" – OWW!"

" – Louisa?"

"Oww, DAMMIT – what the hell _was_ that?"

"What happened, are you alright?"

"My ankle, I think I've twisted it. And DON'T say it – it _wasn't_ my shoes! I stepped on something and slipped. . . ."

I bend down and pick up James' little green puppet.

"James' frog."

"Oh right . . . yes, forgot _it_ was there. I should've fetched it when I spotted it earlier today."

"Yes. But, um . . . since you didn't, sit down and let me have a look at your ankle."

" – 'Please,' and 'thank you'."

"Right, yes."

She rather gracelessly falls back on the bed, covering her face shyly and offering me her left foot.

"Sorry Martin, no perfect Cinderella for you it seems . . ."

"What do you mean?"

"_Cinderella_, Martin. You know – glass slipper, left behind after the ball . . . you don't know what I'm talking about, do you?"

Of course I do, but Cinderella certainly wasn't _perfect_. In fact, in the _Cenerentola;_ Basil's version, his 'Zezolla' runs away twice, and then _again_, before her beloved is finally allowed to marry her."

"Oh . . . um, right."

"Your ankle is not sprained, just bruised. You are fortunate."

"Yes, yes I am that – _very_ fortunate."

"Mm."

I really do want to get the events of the day out of the way before the day is over, lest I be accused of not telling her later.

"Um, Louisa, we really should talk about a few things that came up during – "

She sits up on our bed and kisses me silent, making the concerns of the day seem trivial compared to her touch.

" – Hold that thought, Martin, I've gotta . . . you know . . . wee again. The Isch has me going all the time now it feels like. Though it's still better than being sick constantly which seems to have gone, it's a trade-off I reckon. Still, I'm tired of it already, and well . . . just _tired_. But don't you wander off anywhere, stay _right_ there."

With that she kicks off her remaining shoe and gets down from the bed, hopping on over to the bathroom and closing the door behind her, only to swing it right back open.

"Actually. . . it's completely black in here, so can you hand me one of the candles please?"

I'm not exactly certain what just transpired in here these last few minutes, or what to make of it, so I'll just proceed with caution and follow Louisa's lead onwards. She appears to have some sort of agenda to which I am, quite literally, left in the dark.

I grab the closest candle and hand it to her.

" – Mind the wax, Louisa, it's softening and melting under the effects of the flame."

"Indeed . . . the flame has been burning hot and steady for quite a while now, hasn't it Martin?"

"Um . . . yes?"

"Good then."

She again disappears behind the door, leaving me puzzled as to her behaviour. Once she reappears I take the opportunity to trade places and carry out my nightly ablutions, not entirely certain what's in store for me.

The even whirr of my electric toothbrush is sounding strangely foreign on this primitive night and is in stark contrast to the simplicity of the low light given off by the candle; its flickering flame proof of the ever-present draughtiness of our old cottage.

– Our draughty, old and _small_ cottage.

There's not going to be sufficient space for us all here once the new baby arrives, though I fear my wife is not going to agree with me to that effect and that we'll be faced with yet another hurdle to overcome. But that's for another day entirely, currently there are more pressing matters to discuss, as relate to both familiar and _familial_ issues – the inadvertent village gossip and _Helen's_ part in it, respectively.

_If I'm ever given the chance that is._

Stepping out of the bathroom feeling refreshed, and also emboldened in this dim light, I find Louisa splayed out on the bed in front of me. Womanly curves noticeably accentuated by the new life developing within her while alluringly highlighted by the subtle movement of the candlelit shadows.

– And she's a powerful aphrodisiac to behold.

Lately I've taken notice of her increasing insecurity in regards to the physical changes she is naturally undergoing, and I'm experiencing pangs guilt for my culpability. Not only did I _cause_ her bodily changes, but I believe I'm also the main cause for her subsequent _insecurity_. Primarily her concerns appear rooted in how _I_ perceive her; whether I still find her physically attractive and so forth, evidenced again by the events of the past hour.

When she'd appeared on my doorstep six months pregnant with James Henry, and once I'd eventually somewhat regained my bearings – I'd _wanted_ her. I will not deny that the realisation had confused me greatly at the time, and had resulted in displays of inexcusable behaviour laced with fear, guilt and shame, however the fact that I still loved Louisa and desired her remained unchanged.

I'd longed for her then, as I long for her now.

Throughout my years as a practising GP here I've had male patients seeking my advice as to either end of the spectrum: Some struggle with the inability to control their urges in regards to their gravid partners, while others baulk at the mere prospect of intimacy. The reasons in either scenario are usually a mix of preconceived notions and hormonal influence – and also invariably personal.

I find I fall solidly into that first group; finding _my_ partner, pregnant with _my_ child, to be incredibly captivating. And this time I'm also in the fortunate position of being encouraged to act on those urges quite frequently, rather than having to suppress them.

My only concern this go around is my ability to sufficiently reassure Louisa to that affect; to rid her of those insecurities and convince her that I still find her attractive. And that I desire her _because of_, rather than in spite of, her changing body and the gift she is carrying.

It is a concern I take very seriously, and which resolution I will take great pleasure in pursuing – _just not tonight_.

As I walk across to the door to flip the light switch back to the off position and extinguish the remaining few candles, the only sounds to be heard inside our bedroom over the howling winds outside are the reassuring breaths of my wife's gentle snores as she sleeps.

XxX


	36. Lie In

_Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. 'DCI Banks' is the property of Left Bank Pictures, no copyright infringements or existing case spoilers are intended, I'm just borrowing a character or two._

_*Still can't get my phone to upload ir copy chapters to ff and this chapter wasn't quite ready when I left work yesterday, but here's an extra long chapter coming to you by way of the library on this lovely Saturday! Thanks again for the reviews, they are always appreciated, and happy reading. -DC_

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Thirty Six – "Lie In"**

The rain has tapered off this morning as I pull my car in to the small spot below Dr. Ellingham's Lexus. Making short work of unbuckling my nephew from his seat, the relaxing crashes of the incoming tide below bring forth evidence of just how different my sister's village is from Leeds – its bustling traffic in and around the city centre in stark contrast.

_Relaxing this may be, but hardly practical in the long run._

Scaling the slate steps we make for the front entrance and knock firmly.

" – _Surgery is CLOSED, come back at nine! Unless you are dying I don't want to see you on my steps for another . . . 40 minutes! . . . Imbecile."_

I hear rustling from within this tiny cottage Louisa calls home and if her husband's mood this morning reflects a lack of sleep, well then she must have done something right. I continue to knock on the door, as now does their lad.

" – _Oh for God's sake, if you've gone deaf you are NOT dying, go away!"_

Just as I turn away to try our luck around back he tears the door wide open and I feel it my distinct duty to point out the obvious.

"We're all dying Dr. Ellingham, you of all people should know that. Though hopefully for both our sakes not _all_ during anti-social hours . . . quite disruptive to the circadian rhythm in my experience. Should we have used the back door?"

" . . . Helen?"

He still displays that slightly perplexed look at the sight of me, but I suspect it must be somewhat odd.

" – Oh good, you've dressed."

We brush by him and enter into what must be his surgery, or at least the reception area of it.

" . . . What? Um, _yes_. Hello James. I . . . Louisa's having a lie-in."

"Needed one did she?"

Handing the lad over I make my way through a narrow hallway following the smell of coffee into the kitchen, the good Doctor in tow.

"Mind if I pull a cup? Young Al's brew leaves a lot to be desired, I prefer a strong espresso in the mornings myself."

I'd eyed this top of the line piece of equipment yesterday whilst doing the washing up. Helping myself to one of Louisa's mugs, _by the looks of it_, I start preparing my triple shot.

"Mm, good choice, yes . . . just mind the – "

" – _wand_, yes I know. Easily damaged."

Under the natural light of the kitchen skylight I observe a telltale mark on the distinguished surgeon's neck, one I'd previously failed to notice. Not my place to bring it to his attention, however.

_Must have been a good night indeed._

"Right, you're not here for medical advice I take it . . . so is there anything else I can do for you Helen?"

"No, you missed that boat yesterday I'm afraid. Is my sister decent up there, you know?"

_This matter of sisterly misidentification should have been settled yesterday, and he certainly was no help._

"Ah . . . "

"Yes, _ah_. Well is she, decent I mean?"

"Erm, I . . . cannot say."

"Well, I'll take my chances then – nothing I haven't seen before in any case."

I bypass her disastrous work area and pull my way up the stairs.

" – Louisa, I need to talk to you."

I find her still in bed, propped up but mostly under the covers reading a glossy mag – mouth covered with about half a lipstick's worth of bright red.

_Well, that explains Dr._ _Ellingham's neck. . . ._

"Hmm? _Helen_, well good morning to you too. You're here early, is everything alright? Is James alright?"

_She looks a fright._

"He's fine . . . swapped him for a coffee."

"Oh right . . . _WHAT?!_"

Louisa sits up suddenly and the worthless weekly flops to the floor.

_Are we truly kin?_

"He wanted his _daddy_ so I left him downstairs, is that alright?"

"Oh I see, yes 'course Helen. He really loves his Daddy, doesn't he? It's sweet really . . . I'll give them a few minutes time before fetching James. Martin has surgery at nine and Morwenner's home per Doctor's orders and won't be in, so he'll have a hectic morning no doubt – _Morwenner's_ the receptionist."

_Speaking of . . ._

"Yes about that Louisa, I needed to catch you before you went out into the world, if you can call it that here. Though by the looks of you I needn't have hurried – productive night was it?"

"Well, actually – "

" – And you look a _tart_, by the way, well a sweet one . . . don't see many of those in my line of work. So how _did_ it go last night then, you miss the sound of the baby monitor or were you too busy unwrapping your birthday boy to notice?"

"Um no actually, I . . . fell asleep."

"I see."

_Good God._

" – But then I woke up and . . . and it turned into quite a lovely and _different_ morning."

_Yes, by the looks of it . . ._

". . . CHRIST, lucky I didn't head on over this way _before_ breakfast then, I almost did you know. But Ruth simply _insisted_ it my duty to partake – Al needs the practice you see. Glad I did, he's quite skilled . . . as a cook I mean."

"Yeah I . . . assumed that's what you meant, um . . . right then! Where's Uncle G, or did you neglect to fetch him in your hurry to get here?"

"Playing chess with Ruth and Al. He never leaves the table on a stalemate, only checkmate, so I left him to it."

"Seems they've hit it off then?"

"Mm. So about this _Morwenna_, the receptionist . . ."

"Yeah, 'bout that Helen. I understand proper introductions are in order 'tween you two; not the _best_ first impression now was it, sort of . . . one-sided like? No _smoke_ without fire . . . that kind of thing?"

I'm not the sharpest reader of people, but Louisa looks and sounds quite happy despite the obvious jab. Clearly I caught her at a good time, well . . . _after_ one anyroad.

"So I gather Martin finally told you then, our little unspoken _lie_ such as it were. Though it really wasn't, it was _just_ a misunderstanding . . . sorry about all the cloak and dagger."

"It's alright, no harm done really. Martin and I have had our . . . _disagreements_ over the villagers more than once let's say, so he didn't want to start a row in front of guests, worried I'd jump him. I reckon I kind of deserved that, haven't always been fair with him so he was also concerned I'd jump him for _not_ telling."

"Sounds about right."

"And he _did_ try to tell me last night, but I shushed him . . . had other things on my mind."

"I bet."

"Anyways, I _had_ planned on jumping him, just for different reasons . . . but yeah, then I fell asleep and didn't even know it."

"Unfortunate."

" – Which is a _perfect_ choice of word for your little misunderstanding yesterday and if not dealt with 'fore the lunch rush at Bert's, I'll be in a world of trouble I'll have you know. Thus_, Sister Dearest_,you and I will be poppin' by Bert's for lunch today ourselves – to have a word and quiet the wagging tongues _right there at the source_. Can't think of a better way to clear up this little fiasco of ours . . . and it may even prove be fun!"

_Yes, sounds just like a bloody circus._

"But 'fore that, though, we'll need to pop in to see Morwenner at her house."

"Mm, yes of course . . ."

I hide a yawn behind the sizeable mug before downing the last few drops of caffeinated liquid.

" – She's right past the Platt and on up the hill a short ways, though we might want to take your car and drive up'n around this time or we'll get nowhere for all the villagers we'll run into. . . . Not far, it's the big red house you can spot right out the window there, see it?"

I play along and walk over to the front window overlooking the harbour and the entire village, and I do indeed note a rather large square multi-storied house with red cladding amongst a cluster of irregular homes.

"Yes, I believe I do."

"Right, see – not that far. It was her granddad's house and she lived there with him you see, but then he died. . . . That's why I love my village; everybody's right there when you need'em!"

"Mm . . . and when you _don't_ apparently."

"Well, there's that . . . In any case, Martin suggested I bring her by some fresh ice packs for a bum ankle and knowin' her as I do she's surely been worried sick all night over the notion of me harmin' this baby. So we ought not waste any time in puttin' it all straight, 'cause it wasn't _her_ fault. Gottit?"

" – I'm not the one still in bed at 8.40 in the morning looking like a floozy, Louisa."

"Yeah good point, I'm just so knackered these days. Did you feel like that a lot with your four pregnancies?"

"No."

"Oh . . . right. I didn't much with James neither, there really was no time for it being on my own and all. And when I finally _did_ fall into bed at night my mind and body were only focussed on _sleep_. Well . . . sleep, wake and _wee_, but no Martin meant no chance of other . . . _things_."

"You're just past your first trimester, Louisa. It _will_ get better, that much I do know."

"What will, the tiredness or the . . . the other _things_?"

_Oh for God's sake, just say what you mean to say. Fewer misunderstandings that way._

"– The sex you mean? Both will get better."

The look on Louisa's face is priceless and a good match for her perpetually perplexed husband.

"Go have a cold shower, Louisa, wake yourself up. James and I'll be waiting for you downstairs. Don't be long, _'we ought not waste any time', _or so I was told."

XxX

My sister Helen is very blunt, so I've learnt, but she's also got lots more experience than me with most things in life it seems and so I _do_ listen to what she has to say most the time. And she's dead right 'bout _the sex _being better, so seems I needn't worry 'bout being tired much longer neither then, which is jolly good news.

Knowing my son and sister both are waiting downstairs I ought to get a move on, continue this lovely day _out of bed_, so I step into the shower whilst peeling off my tarty costume one item at a time. Well, 'cept for my knickers that is. Martin already removed those, and _only_ those – everything else he'd left on. Once I'd woken up it had been a very lovely morning indeed.

_Different and special._

X

Waking up, _again_, I realise it must be the middle of the night still and curse this need for constantly having to wee that being pregnant seems to bring about.

_Wake, sleepwalk, wee, sleep – and repeat. . . . _

Soon though, this nightly mum-to-be routine of mine will cross over from the sleepwalk to the sleep_waddle . . . _which I sadly learnt last time 'round isn't really a thing. Then at some point, it further morphs into wake, waddle, wee, _wide awake_ – and sleep just literally falls to the wayside, no longer a part of life as you know it. _No matter, I'll have help this time. I have Martin. _

Fortunately I'm not waddling at the moment, far from it. I _am, _however_,_ wide awake.

Finding myself in the bathroom, having apparently mastered the wake and the sleepwalking whilst navigating through the _complete_ blackness of our bedroom, the wee and sleep parts should've been routine.

– But it didn't happen like that of course. . . .

Once there I reached for my pyjama bottoms and made to sit down, one _highly_ perfected sleep-addled move I might add, only . . . there _were_ no pyjama bottoms to hook onto. Instead my hands went flying across slick satin and into nothingness, causing my now off-balance self to plonk back down onto the toilet seat hard, _really_ hard.

And I'm not even that big yet, just tired and uncoordinated . . . _forgetful _it seems.

_You're not wearing your pyjamas Louisa, remember? You dressed up, well . . . down really, for your husband's birthday, wanting to make it special for him._

So now here I sit, then, feeling every bit of _special _– stunned awake on the toilet and face flushing with embarrassment. Rattled I pull my silky slip garment up and out of the way, push my knickers down past my stockings and over my knees and bashfully spend a penny anyways.

_Finally – 'least I didn't hurt myself this time, Martin would've surely had a fit._

My ankle's still a bit sore from slipping on James' frog a few hours ago, so for him to think I've also forgotten how to use the toilet would have been a bit . . . odd.

Poor Martin . . .

The burlesque thing I'd planned so carefully was a right flop and now I realise I must've conked out on him to boot 'fore getting to celebrate in any way whatsoever.

_Some wife I've turned out to be. _

So it's only fitting then that, making my way over and back into our marital bed, I find myself wide awake and longing for my husband. What surely could've been, no – _would've_ been, a memorable night.

Frustrated I crawl under the covers next to him and try to settle in for what's left of the night.

" . . . Louisa?"

_Oh?_

" – Did I wake you, Martin? I didn't mean to . . . I'm sorry."

"No. The radio switched on a bit ago, the power must have been restored."

"Oh right, I switched the CD on 'round the time the power cut off, didn't I . . . "

" . . . and it defaulted back to AM radio, yes, which is mostly undecipherable noise at five in the morning."

"Right. Sorry Martin, must've been an . . . unpleasant way to wake."

_Like falling onto an icy-cold toilet seat._

"Mm, but I'm awake now and I wanted to ask if you're alright. It sounded as if you were having some difficulties in there."

_'Some difficulties', you could say that . . ._

"It was nothing, really. Just I forgot I wasn't wearing my . . . that I'm wearing the . . . oh _nothing_."

"You're not wearing nothing, at least you weren't earlier when I was looking at you."

I hear and feel him turning over, gently placing a large warm hand on my stomach and gliding it along the slick fabric, on over my left hip and down my stockinged thigh – confirming my rather suggestive state of undress.

"No, not _nothing_. You're still wearing that . . . _outfit_, just as I recalled."

My breath catches for a second, _this is a new side to my husband_.

"So then, Martin . . . you're saying you were looking at me . . . before?"

"Mm."

"Oh. And . . . and did you _like_ what you saw, then? I wore it for you, you know."

"Yes."

_. . . Meaning?_

"_Yes_ – you liked it, Martin, or _yes_ – you know that it was for you?"

_So maybe I hadn't been a complete flop after all then?_

He must be getting to sit up as the mattress shifts a bit with his solid mass moving about and I can feel my knee falling against him where it dips. My leg securely in both hands this time he rests my foot against his chest and continues his wanderings where he'd left off.

The complete darkness of our room makes it that much more exciting, adding to the allure somehow on this rather unusual morning.

– _What's come over him?_

"Your ankle, Louisa?"

"Mm, yes."

". . . _Yes?_ I mean, is it sore? Does it hurt?"

_Oh_.

"Um . . . not really, Martin. I don't know, a little . . . maybe?"

"_Oedema_."

"Hmm . . . what's it?"

"Swelling possibly, most likely."

" . . . Right."

My skilled Doctor's sensuous fingers move about my ankle. Yet it's more _him_ being tender than my _foot_ really, which is quite unexpected. He's being so . . . _different _with me this morning. I'm certainly not complaining, I'm just not sure I deserve it.

"You should try keeping it elevated for a bit, Louisa, it _is_ swollen – but only slightly so. No cause for concern."

"Okay, that's good then . . . and _this_, this is good as well."

Scooting down a wee hair I'm able to walk my sore foot the rest on the way up his chest to his shoulder.

_Perfectly elevated then, now isn't it Doctor._

"There – is that how you meant?"

He's quiet for a good while, thinking it over I reckon.

"Um . . . _yes_."

I smile at his discomfiture.

"Martin . . . I know morning lie-ins aren't really your thing, but I want you to know that I'm quite enjoying lying here with you like this, even if I can't see you. It's nice."

Trying to be encouraging I'm hoping he can hear in my voice that I really mean it.

So now here we are. On our bed in the dark, _alone, _with only the rain on the window panes rhythmically tapping away and my foot teasing Martin's ear in tact with the stormy euphony of it all.

It _is_ nice.

". . . Louisa. When I looked at you before you were sleeping and you looked . . . peaceful, beautiful. You should already know that, of course, as I've told you before, but even more so now with the, the . . . _curves_ of pregnancy. They, um, it highlights your features. And that, that . . . _outfit_, it was very – _different_."

"You remember it then?"

"I do."

"Yeah?"

" – Black silky fabric draped across your torso and clinging to your breasts, terminating approximately two inches above the proximal points of a pair of sheer black stockings, leaving a gap of exposed skin. Your mouth appeared bright red in colour and your hair naturally covered your shoulders with parts of it being, um, piled up in some configuration on the superior most aspect of your head."

_Well I'll say, so not a flop at all then._

"Very good, Martin, I'm impressed. But you forgot one _little_ detail . . ."

"Oh, what did I fail to recall?"

"The colour of my knickers – if I've got them."

That gets his attention, if his sharp intake of breath is any indication. My red knickers are the only lacy ones I've got, and he's only seen me wear them paired with my long red nightdress before.

_Not this morning, this morning is . . . different._

"I . . . cannot say, you were seated I believe or covered mostly by the outfit."

"Yes I was, wasn't I? Shame that . . . but I'm not seated now."

"No."

I can feel the beat of his heart – his pulse, where my foot rests against his neck, and the sensation is surprisingly erotic.

And he's thinking hard, his focussed breaths giving him away, slowly increasing in intensity and volume. For what feels like a suspenseful eternity all my senses go on high alert in anticipation of his next move, whilst also trying to ignore the complete lack thereof.

_He appears frozen in time, yet with blood rushing through him all the same – a brook flowing under a layer of its glaciated self, slowly thawing from friction, heat and sheer will._

Just when I think I can't hold my breath for another second, a searing palm comes into contact with the bare skin of my other leg, startling me. Taking hold of it he pulls me to him – just close enough to where he can follow my thighs down towards the garment in question.

And he has my undivided attention from that moment on, as his fingers find and start exploring, the lacy scrap of fabric.

" – You _are_ wearing them and they're _red_" he says, voice tight but confident in his powers of deduction. Or is it _seduction?_

I'm not for certain, but impressed that the remembers all the same. Martin never forgets a person or an object that strikes his fancy.

"Mm yes, I _am_ wearing my red knickers, you're right – your powers of deduction are quite impressive, Dr. Ellingham, but then I've always known you to be extraordinary."

He's completely dazed me with his behaviour so far, and I'm just taking it in and trying not to be the one to derail whatever this is.

" – And I _did_ like what I saw before, Louisa, but I also like that which I _cannot_ see . . . even more. And I need for you to always remember that."

_I'm not about to forget._

XxX

Never had I been so grateful for the complete darkness of an early morning as I'd been at that very moment. My tears had come unbidden with the flow of Martin's honest words, and had he seen them he surely would have worried.

_Different,_ everything about this morning had been different – and so very unlike him.

Actually _no_, that's not exactly true neither. Those words he'd spoken to me are very much like Martin's inner thoughts, it's just that those thoughts so very rarely _make_ _it_ into spoken words.

They are usually expressed in other ways. . . .

– _And they had been, today had indeed been a special morning._

Stepping out of the shower and wrapping myself in a towel, I'm not so sure that Martin was the one receiving a gift this morning. Instead I would have to say that he was the one who was giving it. I feel that layers of him were uncovered in my presence today, layers which I've truly never seen before, even if I've sensed their existence.

To me there can be no gifts cherished more than those that come from laying oneself bare – literally and figuratively. I once told Martin that it's not the gift itself that matters, rather it's the thought and effort put forth that will bring happiness.

In the end, after his own shower and ablutions, my husband had walked away from me and our bedroom this morning with a sloppy red kiss that missed his cheek by a mile. Yet I sensed that he was more than a little pleased with himself at that very moment, and I got to see him off on his first day a year older with an actual genuine smile on his face.

Whatever epiphany he's had about me or us, and whatever puzzle he feels he's solved in his own mind, well . . . he'd clearly put a lot of thought and effort into it.

All I'd wanted was to give Martin something special, but if his giving himself to _me_ is what makes him happy, then this morning's chance lie-in has gifted us both with far more than all our birthdays and Christmases combined.

_And that's truly special indeed._

XxX


	37. Plans

_Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect. This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. 'DCI Banks' is the property of Left Bank Pictures, no copyright infringements or existing case spoilers are intended, I'm just borrowing a character or two and a quote here and there._

_*Dear Readers, it's been a while and for that I am sorry. With my new job there are no longer any free hours in the day it seems, but I've missed these characters and will try to do better. Thanks again for the reviews, they are always appreciated, and happy reading. Another follow-up chapter to this one should follow shortly. -DC_

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Thirty Seven – "Plans"**

The answer phone's red lamp is blinking incessantly on this Saturday morning, rivalled only by the usual handful of ruddy faces and their glassy bloodshot sclerae.

_Another busy night at the pub. . . _

So much for my planned few hours of surgery before joining Louisa and our now extended family at the farm. Morwenna's timing yesterday had been impeccable as usual, her predictable stupidity and poor decision-making skills resulting in my single-handedly managing the surgery on a busy weekend.

As a matter of fact; this entire village revolves around predictable stupidity, poor decisions and my ability to contain the inevitable outcome of its moronic denizens' actions.

_Or lack thereof. _

I recognise the first burley figure coming my way this morning as a rather unpleasant retired farmer. Louisa once described him as her father's most outspoken adversary and self-appointed 'village spokesman', as far as Mr. Glasson's affairs are concerned. Having sold his family's long held land to property developers about two decades ago, he is far from a well-liked figure in his own right, or so I have been informed, and by the scowls emanating from the commoners in my reception that is likely a fair assumption – a vulture amongst gulls.

_ He is also a raging alcoholic who is drinking his fortune faster than the plots can split and as such this is both repeat behaviour and a repeat consultation. I predict it is going to be a long day_.

"Mr. . . . um, go through."

" – _Kestle_, Wilburn Kestle. President of the Liberal Club and chosen spokesperson for the Snooker and Billiard Room's affairs. As you know we're havin' our tourney today yonder and you've got to fix me up for it Doc. My boy's our star billiards player you see and I need to be steady as a rock when I hand'im over the prize money."

With a trembling arm he points in the general direction of Louisa's school and the club across the street as he loudly closes the consulting room door behind him.

" – Oh, and a good night was it Doc?"

The man is ogling me with a sly grin while excessively rubbing the side of his chin and I feel a sense of dread rising along with the temperature of my facial dermis.

"Lipstick, Doc, right'ere – bright red as you are. Say it's true then, that you've got part in 'nother Glasson comin' to our village, eh?"

For a brief second I contemplate how Mr. Kestrel could have learned of Helen, only to realise he must instead have perused the blasted school paper containing Louisa's pregnancy announcement.

"What can I do for you Mr. Kestrel?"

"_Kestle_, and my arm 'ere needs steadyin' afore the billiards, my family's honour's at stake."

". . . .I very much doubt it."

" – As is yours, Doc. Gettin' a Glasson up the duff on accident once . . . well can't fault a chap for that, they're like that the lot of 'em. But lousy excuse for a repeat, now innit?"

" – I beg your pardon!"

"Not my pardon you'll be beggin' for, but that's none of my business I reckon."

"No, it isn't! When did you last have a drink, Mr. Kestrel? And be _specific_."

"It's Kest–"

" – Last drink?"

_This moron illustrates perfectly why I do not want Louisa or James about the surgery during patient hours and why as such I'd found it necessary to chase her from my consulting room earlier this morning. . . ._

"Now, Doc, I was just sayin'–"

"–LAST DRINK!"

"Right you are. Not since last night, dryin' up for the billiards like I said. Been plannin' it for a year you see, I'm really behind the eight ball on this one, so to speak. Can't you give me a few more of them pills you scripted afore? You know, just to keep me goin' till celebratin' my boy at the pub after, if you catch my drift."

"I don't. And I won't."

_Idiot. _

"From previous experience you should recall that you are suffering from mild acute alcohol withdrawal, which symptoms only prolonged treatment, in conjunction with abstinence, may alleviate. We discussed your options at length the first time you came to see me and you clearly expressed that you were not interested in this treatment option after completing only one day. Have you now come to a different conclusion?"

"Now look, Doc. I just need a few of them pills to carry me through the day is all, like afore. Then I'll be right as rain."

I carry out my usual physical exam as he prattles on, as is my duty.

"No. Your heart rate is stable, you are not hallucinating and you have just informed me you will be partaking before the day is over. That should take care of your symptoms until such time that you are willing to make the required commitment. Would your son be willing to help you were you to try again?"

"My Billy? Naw, reckon' the ole' Crab would be shutting up shop if not for the pair of us, can't do that to the village now can we?"

_Timewaster . . ._

"So a script then, Doc?"

"No."

"But Doc . . . without them pills my day'll well be snookered, all my plannin' for naught."

"Rubbish excuse for a repeat, isn't it Mr. _Kestrel_?"

_More like a vulture indeed. . ._

" – NEXT PATIENT!"

XXX

After our rather lovely romantic adventures in the wee hours I'd been quite upset with Martin for snapping at me when I'd poked my head into the surgery just a bit ago. I'd only meant to ask him for the ice packs he'd requested for Morwenna, but I reckon' what he's really unhappy with is holding surgery this morning without Morwenna, and not me.

_Least I hope it's it. . . change of plans and all that. _

"Your Daddy hasn't realised just how much he's come to rely on the women in his life, now has he James, hmm?"

Speaking of; Helen, James and I are driving on up to Morwenna's house visiting for a bit, and clearing the air of any sisterly misunderstandings, before heading to Bert's for lunch to after to squash the village gossip down flat. And with Al still tied up at the farm with Ruth and Uncle G I'd felt fairly certain we'd not be interrupting Morwenna's privacy this morning.

I'd phoned her all the same explaining I'd be popping in with the packs for her bum ankle. Good job she'll be hopping 'round on one foot really or she'll likely run Helen down once she learns of the big picture, though I she still might try. . . .

As we make our way through the village in Helen's car, I'm becoming a bit nostalgic.

"I like your car, Helen, it's very neat . . . and a good size for 'round the village. What sort is it?"

"Peugeot 308."

"Right. I had a little Ford once you know, kind of . . . miss it actually."

"Then why the past tense?"

Helen near runs Mrs. Tishell down whilst rounding corner by the fish monger's heading for the platt and James and I secretly study the chemist's look of horror from our hiding spots in the back seat of my sister's car.

_The complications of driving in the village._

"Oh you know. . .

"I don't. You need a car Louisa."

"Well, I needed the money at the time, so –"

" – But now you need a car and have the money, so what's the problem? Martin?" Helen gives me that disapproving stare she seems to so naturally have perfected.

"Let me guess; you haven't said anything to him?"

"Well, yes – I mean, no. Not in so many words, but – "

"But WHAT, Louisa?"

"I don't _need_ it, just want one, miss it. . . and where would I go, or park? I – "

" – Same place you are going to 'park' this child, Louisa, there's no room at the cottage you know. And you've got to _plan_ for it, the space is not miraculously going to appear just because you want it to – or _need _it."

_She's right 'course, but I have yet to discuss this future 'problem' with Martin . . . he likely won't be keen on leaving the surgery. _

As Helen squeezes on through past the big red Newcross house, and points her brown car into the parking pad below it, I can't help but wonder 'bout Morwenna's future plans. Poor old Mr. Newcross' pension could do little but patch up a shingle or two and since her granddad's passing Morwenna doesn't have the funds to mend any of it neither . . . though she's been taking on extra work with us and with Ruth when possible. Still . . . she's got to be struggling. Maybe I'll speak to Martin 'bout giving her a raise. Yes, I think I will do – clearly he can't manage without her and once the Isch joins us. . . well, we'll be relying on her to sort the surgery even more then I reckon.

"So?"

_Helen isn't going to let me off the hook this time 'round it seems._

"Hmm . . . ?"

"Oh don't be obtuse, Louisa. You, Martin, James, _the baby_ – what are you going to do?"

"Oh I don't know Helen . . . I'm sure we'll think of something."

"You're sure, are you?"

She gathers up her key or . . . that fob thingy I reckon, and pushes the button that shuts the car off. I realise I miss that motion, silly as it is.

"Will you get James out of his seat for me, Helen? And I'll just grab the ice packs and pop my head on through the back door, let Morwenna know that I'm . . . that _we're_ . . . well – you know, get her ankle seen to."

_Which may also keep Morwenna seated, rather than unseating Helen . . . wishful thinking I reckon._

"MORWENNER?"

" – Gimme a minute Mrs. E, be right down. Just hopped on up for a wee is all."

"Oh right I see, well don't hurry on my account!"

" – Yeah, well . . . fat chance of that happenin', now innit?"

_And I'm counting on it, though this isn't exactly going to plan. Helen and James will be here any second now. Speaking of . . ._

"Alright, Louisa, what's your plan exactly? I'd like to know my part in it."

"Uhm, well I . . . I haven't got one, exactly – a plan that is."

"I see. Where is she then, this receptionist?"

James is squirming to get down and my sister lowers him onto the sitting room carpet.

"Her name is _Morwenner_, Helen, and she's . . . well, she's upstairs in the loo."

I nod to the stairs, just as I hear the sound of flushing from above, and catch Helen looking all around the space.

"Mm. Large house, fits right in with the village standard. But far too much space for one person, wouldn't you say Louisa?"

"I suppose . . . but she lived her with her granddad, not on her own, so it's not like –."

" – So you've said. But he is dead now, is he not? Unfortunate that, rather a waste. Seems a suitable house for a growing family."

_My sister's got such a way with words, good thing I became the teacher._

"Helen! Surely you can't be thinking . . ."

"Why the hell not? A win-win for all involved and a solution to a pressing problem, Louisa. The time has come to be practical, wouldn't you say?"

_My sister can be so thoughtless at times, then again . . . why haven't I thought of it? It's not that far-fetched, not really. And it could be a good thing for Morwenna, couldn't it?_

"Really, Helen, must you be so . . . so– "

"–Practical? If I'd been blessed with a bedside manner, Louisa, I'd have become a nurse."

"–HELEN!"

With that, the unmistakable thump on a wooden floor comes to a sudden halt as Morwenna appears on the landing, teetering precariously on one foot and clinging to the top of the bannister. She's looking at us wide-eyed while speaking in wonder.

"_Helen, _who_?_ I . . . what, _who_ . . . Mrs. E?"

She glances to the both of us, then James . . . then me. As my sister speaks up Morwenna looks to her once again.

"Yes – _Helen_. Helen Glasson Morton, to be precise, and I believe you may have reached the wrong conclusion yesterday, which might have upset my sister and . . . unsettled others. For that I apologise."

"Your _sister_? You're sisters . . . Mrs. E, you've a sister? You never said? Well I'll say it's clear as day now, you do look it you know. So_ that's _what Doc was on about yesterday, clever ain't he!"

_Martin, had he talked to her 'bout it already?_

"What . . . exactly did Martin say Morwenner?"

"He was takin' me home after surgery, in the Lexus. You know, with my bum ankle and all. And, well . . . he told me I might be seein' double soon."

_Truth distorted, but truth none the less. That's my Martin. So that's why he was late for our dinner. . . . _

"Told'im straight up I couldn't put up with two of'im, but that's not what he meant, now was it? Doc was talkin' bout the two of you, must've been!"

She hops on down the rest of the way looking to Helen as James makes a beeline for her, intercepting and nearly knocking her to the floor. Seeing James she suddenly looks to me with a wicked grin.

"And you're PREGNANT, Mrs. E, Doc told me himself. That's brill news, didn't think you two had it in you. Good one that – well done!"

_And there's that wicked look from my sister again. _

With that Helen comes to my rescue commandeering Morwenna to a chair, roughly jamming a pillow under her ankle and stacking the ice packs I'd left on the counter on top of her leg haphazardly.

"There, you'll get over it. It's just a sprained ankle, nothing major. Anything else?"

Morwenna looks a bit taken aback, understandably.

"Oh . . . uhm, no I –"

_The NHS was spared. . . ._

"Good, Louisa and I must be off. And you should consider the benefits of selling this house to Dr. Ellingham and my sister. They are looking to upsize, obviously, and the cottage should be better suited for you as well I would think."

"–Helen, not now!"

"No time like the present, wouldn't you agree . . . Morwen?"

" –_na_. Well see, 'thing is Mrs. M, I've been –"

" –Just think on it, alright, for Louisa's sake? Good, bye then."

With that my sister grabs James and heads on out to fetch her car, case closed.

Morwenna looks every bit as confused a I'm feeling myself right this minute.

"Um . . .well, Morwenner, there you have it and I better . . . you know, pop on out! My sister is a bit, um, direct – challenging in her ways. Sound like someone we know? We'll talk more on this later, right? So we're good then, yeah?"

"Yeah, we're good and . . . Mrs. E?"

"Mm?"

"I'm happy for you . . . and this _would_ be a brill home for you and the Doc and the wee ones – I'd be honoured, really, as would've Granddad."

She looks like she really means, and might even have thought it over some before now, it and it _is_ a conversation I need to have with Martin, so having some actual plans to serve up alongside may just sort it.

" – And I'm happy you've got your sister now, someone to talk to, I always wanted one. . . . you know – _family_. She's also right you know, your sister, 'bout this house. Us Newcross lot have made a good fit of it 'ere all them years, seems it oughta be you lot's turn – neutral ground and all, eh?"

I nod at Morwenna as I make my way outside where Helen's already got James in his seat and the car pulled up waiting on me_._ As I open the little gate for the street, I hear Morwenna calling out from inside.

" – AND I REALLY WANNA HELP, YOU KNOW! YOU AND THE DOC ARE THE CLOSEST TO A FAMILY I'VE GOT SO THINK ON IT, YEAH?"

And thinking on it I am, now I just need to cue my dear Doctor in on these plans before Helen does. . . .

_Challenge accepted._

XXX


	38. Cues and A's

_Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect. This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. 'DCI Banks' is the property of Left Bank Pictures, no copyright infringements or existing case spoilers are intended, I'm just borrowing a character or two and a quote here and there._

_Thanks again for the reviews, they are always appreciated, and happy reading. -DC_

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Thirty Eight – "Cues and A's"**

"–Yeah, gottit Mr. Pentane. . . . "

"_Penhale_, Miss – that's _PC_ Penhale to you. Sole keeper of the law_r_ and peace in this village; _Beat Manager _if you will. I turned down an esteemed offer from the guys on the Fifth Floor in the Big City to protect these villagers."

We'd barely made it down the steps to this terraced restaurant my sister had insisted on before running into the local Law, such as it were.

"_So_, like I was saying before, Miss, I noticed that Louiser, which I've now _deduced _to be _you_ – her _sister_, came close to a vehicle-versus-man, well . . . _Mrs. Tishell_ . . . crash earlier this morning, down by the Platt–."

This is news to me, considering I was within 3 feet of most structures _and_ people the entire drive to the receptionist's house – and back.

"–And, as such, it is my _duty_ to inform you that it is _vital _I gather information, even if _technically_ I'm on my refreshment break. In my profession, I'm on the job 24/7 – no rest for the wicked. Not that _I_ am wicked, what I mean is –"

" – Joe, please . . ."

Louisa is trying to keep this volatile moron quiet, to no avail. Leeds isn't spared our share of oddballs by any means, and I certainly see all sorts on-the-job . . . but not usually _on the job _themselves.

"Right. Now I know what you two are thinkin' – _'get to the point Joe'_. Well, it is my _duty _to question you regarding this traffic incident for an _official _entry in my _ARB, _the _Accident Report Book. _When I ran the Land Rover off the Platt . . . and later_, _after Dennis Dodd smashed the window out of it, well . . . I only had to question _myself_. This time 'round, however, I'll be questioning _you_ and _entering _the facts – even if the end result is an _NFA, as _in _No Further Action_."

_I still haven't an inkling as to what he's on about, nor does he apparently, but a waste of my time regardless._

"So, Miss, exactly _who_ are you and _what _do you think you are doing here in our village?"

"Helen Glasson Morton – that's _DI Morton_ to you, and I'm visiting my sister, obviously. And _NO_, you certainly don't know what else I'm thinking."

_Idiot_.

I snag a table as far from this embarrassment to my profession as possible and take a seat, Louisa quickly following.

"Sorry 'bout that, Helen. Joe means well, he's just . . . well, he's . . . _Joe_. I think he may've taken a kick to the head some years back, but he makes up for it in community spirit."

"Everybody in this bloody village _'means well'_, Louisa. What does that mean, exactly, hmm, a ban on common sense and civility?"

As to the latter I'm finding myself at the end of about a dozen dumbfounded stares, fronted by the large figure from Louisa's kitchen yesterday – the man I've since pinned down as Al's father. This show-and-tell of my sister's was an altogether bad idea, I don't like people . . . _crowds. _But, to give her credit where credit is due; she seems to have realised it and is attempting to make amends.

"Um, Helen, why don't we switch seats? You should be over here with James, having a view of the brilliant ocean and not the . . . um, people. Martin usually sits on this side as well, keeps him from evaluating the villagers as medical cases, you know – _diagnosing _them. I learnt that lesson early on, easier that way . . . doesn't always work though."

And with that we'd switched seats and despite having felt the burn of two dozen eyes on my back and heard my sister's voice repeating _ad nauseam_ in question and answer form an abbreviated story of our lives up till this point, I'd managed to feed both James and myself a decent lunch while occasionally nodding in response on my sister's cues.

However, it's what would come later on that was to _really _put me on the map with this village and its curious people; put our _family_ at the centre.

And, as I had yet to realise at the time of our lunch; amongst Louisa's people . . . fleeting limitations are oft outdone by fierce loyalty.

– Civility and family defined.

XxXxX

Martin had been in no mood to be social after surgery, but I'd made it very clear that I wanted to show Helen the school and so forth, as planned. So rather than expose my grumpy husband to the inevitable scrutiny of my colleagues, as they've no doubt caught on the village gossip and Helen's presence by now, I'd decided to have James put down for a proper nap at the surgery with his Daddy. At least one of my men may then enjoy what's left of this Saturday once we head out to the farm for the night later. . . .

Though I'd expected many of the village folk to be milling about the school; even Mr. Coley had made a show, I'd not expected to be on the other end of pregnancy news myself . . . and _definitely _not from Hana Newton. She'd found out herself just yesterday, so in the early days still. Nonetheless, she'd already realised she'd not be able to mind James and our little one along with her own two and now a third on the way.

Whilst outwardly exchanging mutual congratulations and wishes of healthy pregnancies, truthfully . . . I was gutted. Now I'd not only need to plan for a car and a house, but we'll again be in need of a minder to boot – and his time for _two _little Ellinghams, which I reckon will mean twice the scrutiny from Martin.

Halfway down the hill to the fishmonger's, Helen surprises me by having picked up on my worries, which isn't normally her strength.

"You'll find someone, Louisa, I'm sure the majority of people here are in need of employment – killing two birds with one stone."

"Oh, well . . . um, thanks Helen, but see the thing is . . . well . . . _Martin_. Nobody in this village wants to work with him, _for _him. Every time we've been searching for and deciding on minders we've ended up having horrible rows. All I can be sure of are the majority of our discussions ending in killer rows. . . ."

"Mm .. . yes, right."

'_Least Helen doesn't give sisterly advice when she doesn't have any, yet some words of encouragement would've been welcome right now._

I hug about myself and walk on across the Platt whilst my sister distractedly pulls out her mobile, seemingly looking for something.

As if the inferred baby blues hadn't already brought me down, the last thing I needed now was for us to have a run-in with Billy Kestle on our way home. He'd been a year ahead of me in school and as miserable a sod as his ruddy old dad.

_Today of all days . . . and no doubt he'll have come primed from the Crab, as is his way._

Surely Martin would blame this slip on my pregnancy brain and I really don't see any other explanation myself for how I could've forgot the Liberal Club's annual billiards tournament and fundraiser happening this weekend.

_Other than the minor fact that I've been trying to ignore the event for the past several years . . . or decades really. _

Upon rounding the enclosed alley for the fishmonger's, Billy falls in step with me, but has yet to spot Helen following just a few feet behind with her face in her mobile.

"Well, well – if it isn't Louisa _Glasson _herself, hangin' about the village on a Saturday just like 'er lowly father always did do, up to no good. Up the duff as well I'm 'earin. Just can't stay away from easy money you lot, be it the Lifeboat Fund or the Village Doctor."

"Just leave it be, Billy, you're drunk."

"Oh, but I'm not, you see. Got the billards later on and I've some prize money to collect, when I _win_. Now, I _would _consider donating my winnings to, oh . . . say your precious _School _or even the _Lifeboat Fund_, but . . . that would be like giving even _more _money to the Glassons in a way, know what I mean? And I just don't think my conscience could properly take it. . . ."

He looks me up and down and I thank my lucky stars Martin isn't here.

"– We're not _all _without standards 'round 'ere you know."

I look back at Helen who appears stone-faced, yet having clearly heard more than enough, as Billy prattles on with his back to her.

"And a real shame your Doc doesn't have the _balls_, and can't pick up a _cue_, as I'd enjoy beatin'im at a game of billiards. Puttin'im in 'is place for hangin' with the likes of you."

This is where my sister chooses to chime in, causing Billy a right jump.

"– Billy, was it? When exactly is this tourney?"

"Blimey, what the –"

"– I asked you a question. Time please." Helen keeps her voice firm and authoritative.

"Um, you are . . . must be –"

"– Time, and be _specific_."

"Tourney starts at five, but –"

"Good, I'll see you there at five – don't be late." With that my big sister hooks my arm and walks us away from a flustered Billy in the direction of the the seafood tables.

"That was . . . that was brilliant. I didn't know you play billiards, Helen?"

"Now you do. And I'm assuming we're here to pick out the fish for our meal at the farm this evening? Well, in my billiards absence, so to speak, you'll have to eat for two."

'_Course I've already started that up again, as I'm sure Martin would be the first to point out. . . ._

Just then Joe's voice could be heard in the street outside shouting out a series of garbled commands as a dishevelled young man comes bustling through the open blue doors heading straight for us, a white Chemist paper bag in hand. He manages to flip a box of fillets and ice to the ground and Joe, not really focussing on anything but the runaway, goes down hard with a distinct slap as he lands on the now wet, slick and smelly slate floor.

"Joe! Are you alright? Don't move, let me help you."

"Louiser, is that you? I . . . this _villain_ got a bag of drugs off me, that I was taking up to High Trees - _lots _of drugs. Mrs. Tishell and I, we could get in trouble if we can't get them back, as I would have to _report _it."

I gingerly move a piece of cod from under his head, though I reckon it might've saved him from splitting his head open this time 'round.

"Owww, that really hurts. . . . This is why I usually stay away from drugs – it's a slippery road from aspirin to crack."

_Or, in Joe's case – to cod._

He lays back down on the floor, loudly moaning his misfortune.

"That's it, I'm phoning Martin right now."

I start looking through my handbag for my mobile and upon locating it briefly inform Martin of what happened. Meanwhile my sister's police persona seems to kick into gear.

"–Louisa!" She throws me her mobile and makes a run for it and by some measure unclear brings the suspect to his knees and apprehends him – in short order and without much fanfare.

_And by the looks of the bugger she's got a firm grip on him._

By now Mrs. Tishell has joined this little impromptu outing, crouching down to Joe's level and shaking him frantically asking about the drugs. Joe, initially appearing rather sheepish, is beginning to look more desperate, as my sister is now also verbally trying to get his attention.

"–Cuffs, Louisa, I need the cuffs from Pentane. He's got them on his belt."

At the sound of Helen's voice all three of us peer in the direction of the unfortunate thief currently in her clutches, and I note the exact moment when Mrs. Tishell makes the connection that there are two of me, promptly collapsing on top of Joe, complicating things even further.

"Joe, you think you can hand me the cuffs please?" I ask when he doesn't seem to pick up on Helen's request.

"No, 'fraid not Louisa, these cuffs are police issue only – not a job for untrained civilians and, oww . . . I'm also possibly wounded and under a lot of, um, pressure."

Helen gives me a dark look and I sidestep the fish awkwardly, attempting to free Joe of both Mrs. Tishell _and _the cuffs he is partially sitting on, just as Martin comes running. My husband's got his doctor's bag in one hand and our son on the other, both staring at me like I've lost my mind.

"–Isch, 'otsa isch!"

James points excitedly at the scattered fish on the floor and I wonder, for just a second, what Helen must think of me at this very moment.

"Louisa, are you okay?" Martin's voice is worried, which is sweet really.

"We're fine, Martin. Helen is fine as well, or will be, as soon as she gets these cuffs on the suspect over there. Can you help, please?"

I nod to the cuffs a long Joe's backside.

"Oh God . . . Step aside."

After handing me James, and clapping his hands loudly at the village chemist, my Dear Doctor manages to pry the cuffs from Joe and takes them to Helen who places them on the suspect and pulls him to his feet in front of Martin, who immediately assesses him.

"Lacerations to the forehead, do we know from what?" He looks to my sister who is looking rather proud of herself right this moment.

"Mm, shellfish."

"_Shellfish?_" Poor Martin looks puzzled, as honestly am I, whereas Helen seems unfazed.

"Yes. I apprehended the suspect, applying reasonable force and by taking advantage of the circumstances at the time."

I spot a bag of cockles on the ground by their feet, as seemingly does Martin – and Joe.

" –Using a bag of cockles?" Our Constable seems to have come back to life and stands back up.

"Yes." Helen practically beams at Joe, before turning back to look my husband affirmatively.

"Mm, I see. Have Joe stop by the surgery and I'll clean him up, shellfish contains a lot of bacteria, but he won't need sutures,"

"–I might, Doc, it's really hurting now. Oww."

"Not you, HIM! You're fine and I expect to see the two of you in my surgery in 10 minutes, is that clear Penhale."

"Yeah, gottit Doc. Though it may be more like _15_ minutes, with my injuries and all I may not be able to be very _efficient _today."

"I'm aware of that, Penhale, however that has nothing to do with your perceived injuries. Goodbye."

By now all the commotion had rather excited James and it was all I could do to keep him from the pile of scattered seafood. As Martin ushered us into the street, and Helen joined us, cigarette in hand, the fish was quickly forgotten as Portwenn's newest, and decidedly unusual, family began striding on up the hill with the village Doctor leading the way – ever efficient.

And that was the last the village saw of us before we all showed up at the Billards Club that evening. After all that we'd forgot to buy the fish earlier, so we'd be eating out anyways . . . the whole lot of us.

XXX

Having caught wind of Helen lined up to play at the billiards tournament, Uncle G. had convinced Ruth and Al to take him to the club, certain she'd win the tourney I reckon. I'd insisted on going, 'course, and with James in good spirits after a proper nap he'd been quite intrigued by the billiards game and colourful balls rolling about. Even Morwenna had hobbled on down to the Billiards Club, once she'd got word Al would be in the village, much to Martin's dismay. So, here we all are, no questions asked.

My sister chalks the cue tip as she gets ready to finish this tourney.

"–Top right."

And with that and a right loud 'clink' from the cue ball, Helen had pocketed the 8-ball in the last game of the evening, putting a stop to Billy Kestle's winning streak and returning the Glasson family's honour properly to order with _all _ranks of villagers – even the Kestles.

Later, after we'd _finally _sat down for our fish supper at the pub across the way rather than at the farm as planned, all eight of us, well . . . nine really, must've been the talk of the town as our presence caused an anticipatory silence to settle over the pub.

That was our cue to make a move and Uncle G. stood up and started speaking to the crowd.

"As many of you have surely guessed by now, I'm Terry's older brother, Ben Glasson – guilty as charged. And my guesses are that the lifeboat that's sat over there on the bar is more than just a collection box for the Lifeboat Fund."

"–Got that right!" Mike Chubb is waving his bandaged hand in the air as Uncle G. continues on.

"I've learnt that this vessel has travelled through many a villager's and visitor's hands over the years, picking up donations to keep her afloat so that the rest of her fleet can weather your storms and save your fishermen. Yet once she was stripped of her valuable cargo, by _my brother_, causing rough seas not only for her and her villagers. . . but also for those directly associated with Terry. Those who have always done everything they can for the Lifeboat and the Village folk."

Suddenly all eyes are on me . . . and Uncle G. motions to Mark behind the bar to bring the wooden replica box on over to our table.

"This year this village collectively brought in over £3000 through the billiards tournament and my Helen here, together with her sister Louisa, could think of no better place for the winnings to land than right back in the hull of this boat."

By now the rowdy crowd had started clapping and shouting, practically drowning out whatever Uncle G. was about to say next.

" – As for me I would like to buy you lot a round of beers. 'To the Lifeboat Fund!'"

Little did they all know, nor did I for that matter, that another £7000 would be transferred into the Fund on Tuesday – from _Dad_.

XXX


End file.

Doc Martin, Family, Hurt-Comfort