Andrew was not happy. In fact, he was pretty sure he was going die sometime within the next minute or so. His teammates were haranguing him because they weren't happy with him.

Carter was bent over at the waist, with Olsen holding his knees so his legs stayed straight. Kinch was kneading his back muscles. Newkirk was kneeling next to him and pulling his arms down toward the floor, since Kinch wasn't at all satisfied with Andrew's efforts at stretching and touching his toes. LeBeau was holding a stopwatch, waiting for him to actually acquire his target.

"Come on, man, you can do better than that! My ninety-year-old grandma can do better than that!" Kinch pushed a bit harder than necessary.

Carter blew out his breath and gasped, "Great, let your grandma do this, then!"

Nevertheless, he continued to push himself until he touched his toes. Newkirk didn't release his arms, but held them in place and nodded at LeBeau, who then started his watch. Carter groaned, but held the position for the full thirty seconds before Newkirk eased his hold and the men worked in tandem to help Andrew slowly reverse direction and straighten up. He rested a moment, and then stretched his arms up over his head, reaching as high as he was able, forcing his injured arm to stretch. Kinch worked the scar tissue and damaged muscles in his arm, causing Andrew to grit his teeth.

This time Newkirk pulled up on his arm, helping it to stretch as much as possible. Again, LeBeau timed the exercise, and Carter held the position for thirty seconds. He lowered his arms afterwards and immediately moved back to touch his toes. They went through fifteen repetitions before Kinch called a break. Carter felt as if he were ready to drop.

LeBeau suddenly lifted Newkirk's arm to peer at his watch. His eyes widened in alarm. He handed the stopwatch to Kinch. "I am sorry mes amis, I must go. I have to prepare for tonight!"

And with that, the Frenchman was out the door, practically at a run.

By mutual agreement, the physical therapy session ended, and all the men headed out to check on the preparations for the evening's festivities.

All that is, except the guest of honor, who was so exhausted that, not bothering to change out of his sweat suit, he headed straight for his bunk and fell almost instantly asleep. A freight train could have passed through the center of Barracks Two and Andrew would never have noticed.

~HH~

Two hours later, Newkirk returned to the barracks, amused to find his best mate snoring loudly. He gently shook his shoulder. "Carter, mate! Wake up, it's time to get ready. Come on!"

Andrew stirred sleepily. "Five more minutes. Leave me alone." He batted grumpily at Peter's hand.

Peter laughed. "Nope, no can do! You gotta get ready. Can't have the man o' the hour sleepin' through all o' the fun, can we?"

Finally, Carter's annoyed blue eyes slid open and gazed at his friend. As he blinked rapidly, Peter saw his normal alertness return. He sat up, and groaned as his abused muscles protested.

"Easy mate," Peter began, then wrinkled his nose as he took in what his friend was wearing "Phew, you smell like Schultzie's boots, Carter! You need a shower!"

Carter turned deep red. "I know. I usually take one right after a workout, but I was so tired this time I just couldn't."

Newkirk was silent for a moment. He felt bad about how hard they had pushed their friend. It had been over six months since his accident, and they were all impatient to have him back as a fully functioning member of the team. It had been a terrible blow to the young man when London had completely scrapped the mission for which he had been constructing the special explosives.

Ironically, they had decided it was just too dangerous for anyone to handle. Carter had taken that decision very personally and had been depressed for weeks, even though intellectually, he understood their reasoning. He had been looking forward to taking up the challenge once more. For his part, Hogan had been furious, and had spent several hours on the radio, demanding to know why, if the mission had been so dangerous, it was ever assigned to his man in the first place. Once he signed off with London, he had never referred to the conversation again.

Newkirk shook himself out of his sad thoughts and grinned. "Well, you better hurry up and get that shower and get ready. Everythin's gonna be waitin' on you…and you know how everyone hates to wait!"

Carter smiled. "Yeah, I know. Go on, I'll be over soon." Newkirk nodded, understanding. He might be Andrew's best mate, but there were still some things that made Carter uncomfortable He lit another of his ever-present cigarettes and left quietly.

Carter tried never to be seen without his shirt around anyone other than Wilson or Hilda if he could help it, changing in the dark as often as possible. At the showers, which were basically open-air, and totally not private, the other men were careful not to stare at him, allowing him his dignity. For this, he would be forever grateful. He sighed, gathered his things, and headed to the shower.

~HH~

The moment Carter stepped outside the barracks after getting dressed, he smelled it. His eyes went wide in wonder. It was the most delicious thing he had ever smelled…popcorn? He grinned, heading in the direction of the rec hall. He skidded to a sudden halt. Andrew could have sworn he had stepped through a looking glass, because that part of the camp looked just like…the county fair back home!

He had known there was going to be a party, but he had no idea it was going to be anything like this!

There were a couple of game booths, a fire over which Olsen was making popcorn, and Louis was manning a giant homemade grill…covered with hot dogs!

LeBeau laughed at the excitement on Carter's face. "I told you a long time ago, mon ami, that I would make you whatever you wanted. I always keep my promises." And the little Frenchman smiled.

Hilda smiled at him. She was dressed as a ballerina. She came over to him, and chastely pecked his cheek. He blushed, making his friends laugh.

Carter looked over at Hogan in confusion. "This is so perfect! How did you guys get it so right?"

Hogan laughed. "What, you think we don't listen to all those stories about home?"

Newkirk ran up to him, grinning, dressed in full circus ringmaster's regalia. Sgt. Freddy perched around his neck for the occasion. He had something behind his back. "We have a present for you, mate."

They all gathered around as Newkirk handed Carter the rather badly wrapped package. He grinned and tore off the brown paper. On top was a flight cap which curiously was nearly identical to his old one, scuffs and all. He smiled and handed it to Olsen to hold for him. Underneath, he found a brand-new flight jacket. He was silent for a moment as he stared at it, remembering his old jacket, and how Daisy had saved his life. He sighed, then smiled as he put the jacket on.

Olsen plopped the cap onto his head, as Newkirk cheekily asked Carter, "So, gotta name in mind?"

Andrew looked at his best friend and grinned. "Of course, I do. Meet Donald!"

~HH~

The End