As usual, Doc Martin is owned by Buffalo Pictures. I have no association with them, just enjoy playing with the characters. When I watch an episode, sometimes I wonder "what if" and, if I'm lucky, the story comes. I know the show had to keep the will they/won't they going, but I'm glad it's over and that they're happy together. I just shortened the process and changed their way of getting there. I started this tale on the afternoon that they called off their wedding – first his story and then hers. I published it first two parts but rewrote it over and over again trying to get happy with it and now I'm satisfied (never happy with a story) with it. It's long so I will publish in chapters. Sorry I published it too early at first. (As I did Martin and Chris) Lesson learned. I promise it's finished. There's no sex in the story because I concentrated on their relationship. PS. I stopped reading other FF stories while I wrote this because I don't want to subconsciously copy one. If mine sounds similar to others, it's certainly unintentional. My imagination is my own.

Hope you don't mind a repeat. Enjoy!

Martin's Story

Martin sat in the lounge knowing that Louisa was walking away from him. He pictured her, not in that lovely wedding dress, but in jeans and jumper, pony tail swinging. They had made the right decision. They wouldn't make each other happy.

He sat without moving all night. He couldn't concentrate, not one lucid thought.

The sound of that awful gang of giggling girls in front of the surgery the next morning snapped him out of his reverie. Now what to do? He could work on a clock or read the latest journals. No, neither appealed. He'd never faced this situation before. "It will pass. We made the right decision. We both agreed to it." He found himself just standing, maybe at his desk with pen in hand or in the kitchen in the middle of making espresso. What was Louisa doing now? He would shake his shoulders, start the task again and, in a few minutes, go into another reverie. He counted on seeing her around the village every day. That was as important to him as oxygen. He would walk to the Fish Market and see her. Then he would be back to normal.

Aunt Joan came through the back door with her usual, "It's only me. Thought you might be hungry. Fresh eggs and a loaf of fresh bread. Come on, let's start." Then she saw his face. "Marty! I thought…Why? You both said…" He looked so weary and sad. Her heart broke for him but the Ellingham curse kept her from showing it. "Now Marty, you know you made the right decision. Chalk and cheese. Let's just eat some breakfast together and you'll be fine."

She looked for the bread knife and he said, "Aunty Joan, stop. I'm not hungry and really don't feel like company." He walked to the door and held it open for her.

"Alright Marty. I've got things to do anyway." She left and would worry about him for the rest of the day and he was left alone with his thoughts again. He stood on the terrace, empty coffee cup in hand, watching for Louisa.

Tomorrow was Monday. Good. Work was always his tonic. A long walk along the cliffs, a light dinner and bed. He would be back to normal tomorrow.

Unfortunately, his plan didn't work. The next day, without seeing him or telling him, Louisa moved out of the village. He had to put forth maximum effort just to concentrate, to do something simple like take someone's blood pressure. It was hard with no appetite no sleep, no rest. Never patient, now he was a terror and his sarcasm cut to the bone for the mildest offense. Even Miss Sawls, with whom he had always been courteous and gentle, felt the lash of his tongue.

Louisa was constantly on his mind. Everywhere he went reminded him of her. And his nights! Dreams of how she responded to his touch, how her skin felt under his hands, how her mouth and hands inflamed his senses. Was she alright, happy? Where was his vaunted self-control? His life was unbearable. An endless supply of runny noses, hernias, rashes, bunions, hemorrhoids, 'the runs', and worse didn't help his mood.

Penhale, looking anxious, followed him around and made typically inane comments just trying to spark a conversation. He had been watching Doc and hated to see him unhappy. Ill-temper he was used to but he felt the Doc was really unhappy now. Silly he could be but nobody could accuse him of being uncaring – not PC Penhale!

Chris was accustomed to fielding complaints about Martin but they seemed to be rapidly increasing in number.

Pauline was worried about her boss. Yes, he was rude and impatient but they worked well together and he had grown to trust her. Now she couldn't do anything right. When he dismissed Miss Sawls so rudely, she knew it was time to do something. Chris Parsons, Martin's boss, was a frequent visitor to the surgery and always friendly with her. She called him for help.

"Dr. Parsons? I hope you remember me. I'm Pauline Treywick, Dr. Ellingham's Practice Manager."

Warning bells went off in his head but he asked politely, "Of course, I remember you, Pauline. How are things in Port Wenn? All well, I hope."

Her voice worried, she said, "Please believe me when I tell you that I'm not tattling or talkin' out of turn but the Doc's not actin' right. Since he called it off with Louiser, he's just been gettin' ruder and more miserable by the day. I'm afraid he's gonna get in trouble. Can you come to see him? Maybe help him somehow?"

He was shocked and dismayed by this news. Martin would be the very devil to help. Always prided himself on being self-reliant. Scoffed at love and personal relationships. Arrogant sod! Now his friend was in trouble. "Of course, I'll come. As a matter of fact, I'll make an excuse to come tomorrow."

"Please don't tell him I called. He'd be so mad at me!" She begged.

"No, I won't tell him. Thank you for telling me this, Pauline. You did the right thing." As soon as he hung up, the phone rang again and once more, it was a complaint about Martin. He needed a plan.

Martin rose to face another miserable day spent in the village of the damned. God! Was this it? His patients were idiots, incapable of following the simplest instructions. If he allowed himself to have faults or weaknesses, he would know that he needed help coping with his myriad of problems and ask someone for it. But no, he was a force unto himself, clever, skilled, learned – striding through the world untouched by human failings. He would battle through. Loneliness and sadness were for the weak.

Chris called early before the surgery opened and told Martin that they should have lunch together.

"It's very inconvenient, Chris. Can't you just tell me now about who complained and not waste my time?" Martin said shortly.

Chris was ready for resistance and answered, "Too bad and no, I won't. Meet you at Large Restaurant at 12:30." And hung up.

Chris saw Martin striding through the village with his famous scowl in place, ignoring several of the villagers who made rude gestures or called him tosser as he passed. He was noticeably thinner and weary looking.

His greeting was a terse, "Well, who's the problem this time?" before he even sat down.

Chris knew Martin perhaps better than anyone and, therefore, knew to cut to the chase. No polite small talk allowed. "You are. Martin, your behavior has gone beyond what I can accept. It can be very well described as unprofessional. You need help and must allow me to give it. I don't say this lightly. I'm speaking as your superior now and mean what I say."

As he spoke, Martin's expression went from angry and arrogant to confused and embarrassed. Unprofessional! A lot of nasty things had been said about him and he'd been called a variety of names but no one had ever said that about him before. And for Chris to say it – his oldest and most trusted friend - cut to the quick. Chris knew that if he hadn't been so vulnerable, he would have answered back but was too emotionally spent to try.

"I'm glad I got your attention. I don't know what happened between you and Louisa but it's affecting your work, Martin. No, let me finish. I've been thinking a lot about this. I said, let me finish! Ever since we've known each other, you've defined yourself by your knowledge and skills as a doctor – as the best vascular surgeon in the UK. Europe even! The strong, self-assured, haughty Mr. Martin Ellingham. Then overnight you developed hemophobia and lost at least half your identity. You've coped and done extremely well here and are the best gp this area will ever have. Then you fell in love for the first time in your life and didn't know how to handle it. Now, you've lost her. Those are big pieces of yourself, my friend. How about I help you reclaim at least part of it?"

Martin's answer was unexpected but welcome. He hadn't been aware that this plan was forming in his mind but here it was. "You're not the only one who's been thinking. I plan on returning to surgery but must cure my blood phobia first. For that, I'll need some help.

Chris had to clamp down on his excitement. Martin would shut down it he went too fast. "I've been quietly checking around and found a few therapists who I thought could help you cope with all this. One of them specializes in phobias – especially ones like yours. He has a top-drawer education and an excellent reputation. I met him and, Martin, I'm sure you can work with him. Would you give it a try?"

Martin nodded yes and took the business card Chris handed him. It was a start. He even said thank you.

Pauline nervously watched her boss that afternoon and was relieved that he seemed less unhappy and irritable. He didn't snap at any patients and actually called Miss Sawls to apologize for his behavior. Thank god!

For the first time since Louisa left, he prepared and ate a nutritious dinner and worked on a clock. He had a plan. He was going to return to London where she was. He had something besides a desire to return to surgery now to motivate him - Louisa. That night he slept undisturbed.

His first visit with the therapist, Dr. Sam Hewitt, didn't start out very well. His answers to the questions were, to say the least, unhelpful. What did Louisa say about him – monosyllabic and rude? But what about well-meaning? Gawd! He was thinking of her even here!

After half an hour of metaphorically 'pulling teeth' and getting nowhere, Dr. Hewitt told him, "I'm sure I don't have to tell you that, for me to help you, you have to communicate with me. I can see that you're a very private person and it will be difficult for you. Having said that, I don't want to see you again until you're ready to at least try to talk to me. You're wasting my valuable time and you would say the same thing to a patient who wouldn't allow you to help him. Good day." And showed him the door.

Martin was stunned. No one in his professional life other than Chris had ever had the temerity to speak to him like that. And he had the leeway of being an old friend for Martin to allow his remarks. He stomped out of the building, across the street and to the parking garage to his car. By the time he got there, he realized how foolish his behavior was. He knew he had to change to be with Louisa. He had to cure his phobia to return to surgery and London. Arse! He called Dr. Hewitt from the garage, "I'm ready to talk Dr. Hewitt. When can you see me again?"

Relieved that his gamble paid off, the therapist replied, "We still have time on the clock so right now if you like. And call me Sam."

That started months of grueling therapy. Dr. Hewitt persuaded Martin talk about his childhood, his parents and how they treated and punished him, the school where he was mercilessly teased and bullied about his appearance and bedwetting and, finally, about his phobia and how it started. He brought out the awful loneliness Martin suffered from as a sad, abused little boy, how terrified he had been of his parents and the fierce buried anger he felt because of it. There were tears and, due to Sam's skill, he felt no shame or embarrassment. Frequently he left the sessions exhausted.

Dr. Hewitt was normally non-committal with his patient's histories but Martin's was so wretched that he couldn't help but express sympathy. This man overcame so much and deserved some praise. "Martin, understand this, you were damaged by your parents who, frankly, should have been arrested for child abuse, and by the way that god-awful school let you be bullied but you've risen above all of it. You're an intelligent, caring and successful – don't shake your head at me. This is my honest diagnosis - physician who unfailingly does his best for every patient in his care. And I'm quite sure you don't like them all. Besides help with your phobia, you've come to me for help with how you deal with people. Now, tell me, how do you want to deal with them?"

Martin rose and looked out the window, "I care about a woman. I want to make her happy. I want her to want to be happy with me. I want to learn how to deal better with her."

"That's it? Don't you want to be happy yourself?" Dr. Hewitt asked curiously.

"She makes me happy. So, I want to make her happy. To make her happy, I have to be more tolerant in my dealings with other people. Doesn't that make sense?" Martin asked testily.

"Yes, it does. You've been so closed off from people for so long that you'll have work harder than most. I can give some suggestions how to make her happy but the effort comes from you. Think of her wishes instead of your own sometimes. Take her out to dinner as a surprise. Does she like flowers? Yes? Then buy her some occasionally. If you want her physically, then show it. Things like that. You don't have to be schmaltzy or a lapdog, just be considerate." He studied Martin's face and said with a grin, "I can tell what you're thinking. Yes, I'm married and have been for forty years so can speak from experience."

Martin sighed as he said, "I've almost called her countless times but don't know what to say. I'm afraid I'll make things worse. I miss her."

"That must be tough but now let's return to work on your phobia. I think we're making progress on that."

Martin regularly did the breathing and meditation exercises that Sam had recommended even though he had doubted how effective they would be.

When Sam saw his skeptical expression, he laughed and said, "Martin, if I didn't think they would benefit you, I wouldn't recommend them. Right? So, do them."

He also gave Martin cd's of different surgeries to watch as aids to his cure.

Martin talked extensively about his last successful day in surgery. Dr. Hewitt had developed a theory and carefully led him in that direction. "My patient was just an ordinary patient, a routine operation that I'd done hundreds of times before, until I went to explain the procedure to her and her family. They obviously cared for each other very much. They didn't want to let her go, were clinging to her and, instead of worrying about herself, she comforted them! That amazed me."

This is good thought Dr. Hewitt. "Why do you think it amazed you?"

"She was so strong. And so…sweet? Is that the word? To them and to me. It just hit me what a nice woman she was." Answered Martin in a reflective voice.

"Do you think she was a good mother? A gentle, caring mother?" asked Dr. Hewitt.

Martin sighed and answered, "Is it possible that I unknowingly fantasied about her being my mother? Is that why I couldn't operate on her?"

"Riddle me this, doctors can't treat their relatives, correct? Against some rule, isn't it?" asked Dr. Hewitt.

"Yes. Emotions can get in the way and the doctor's judgement impaired." Martin realized where this was going now.

"So, you being unable to operate on a woman you saw as a mother figure meant…" Dr. Hewitt let his voice trail off.

"Sub-consciously, I saw her as my mother, as the mother I wished I had." Martin answered in a low voice. "It makes sense that I couldn't do it. Now, we've got to figure out why I can't stand the sight of blood."

Dr. Hewitt closed his folder to signal that their session was over and said, "Easy Peasy. See you for your next appointment and don't forget to do your exercises and to watch those cds. By then, I'll have an answer from the hospital about granting us clearance to observe some surgeries from the balcony. That will give us an idea as to how you're coming along."

While all this was happening, five and a half months passed. Sometimes Martin felt encouraged and other times like everything he had done was just wasted effort. But each session led to better results. Dr. Hewitt was very satisfied with the progress they made. The day he could watch an operation without leaving to heave his guts out, he went home and cooked an exotic meal of Raw Mango Fish Curry and couscous to celebrate.

On one of the visits to the hospital, Martin had talked over his reaction to the surgery they had just observed with Sam and said goodbye, turned to leave and there stood Edith Montgomery. "Ellingham! I heard you were practicing somewhere in this area."

He remembered her very well and replied courteously, "Edith. What are you doing here?"

"I'm doing some research and they let me have space to do it in return for taking some OBGYN duties. We must get together sometime."

He just nodded and left. He remembered how they parted and how fortunate it was for him. Leave well enough alone.

To his surprise, she showed up at the surgery two days later and pushed ahead of the next patient assuring Pauline that he would see her. Her excuse for coming was she wanted his help writing a report on her research.

She offered a diversion and he accepted at once. She had heard about his phobia, expressed sympathy and offered help.

"How can you help? You've no idea how a phobia can affect someone." He was skeptical.

"For one thing, I can bring you bags of blood. Slightly out of date so they're useless. How would that do?" She asked perkily.

He hated perky but had to acknowledge that it was a good idea. He had been buying the bloodiest beef liver the butcher offered but this was better. "Yes, I'm free Thursday if you can come that evening. Bring some then."

His help on writing her report was invaluable. He could dissect a paper with a surgeon's precision, taking out and rewriting weak sections and spotting errors with an eagle eye. If she just wasn't so annoyingly perky! They worked on the report for two weeks and then he was to help her write a speech. He enjoyed the exercise to the fullest.

They were taking a dinner break when Louisa knocked on the door.