A/N: That's it. The last chapter. Thank you all so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. I certainly loved reading all your feedback :-) Great thanks for that as well !

And lots of hugs go to Skiffy for a terrific job as beta. As I said, without her, I'd never have finished this!

- Chapter 19 -

"No, I won't, Rodney."

"Won't what?" Keeping Carson vertical was taking all of his concentration, so Rodney was only half paying attention.

"I won't marry you."

"Huh?" Damn it Carson, stay upright.

"Oh, you weren't planning to propose to me?"

"Uh… What?" Rodney had to adjust his grip again, when the doctor's left leg gave way.

"Get your grubby hands OFF of me. NOW!"

Huffing in indignation, Rodney reluctantly let go of the swaying Doctor's arm and waist. They had been practising in the gym alone for half an hour now, after Dr Finnegan had stormed off, and it was obvious Carson was tiring quickly. Sweat ran off his pasty forehead and his arms were shaking viciously under the strain of having to bear almost all his weight on the two parallel bars.

Rodney had tried to reason with him to get him to stop for the day, but Carson was having none of it.

Being a genius however, Rodney was once again proven right, when he felt Carson slide forward without his support, legs immediately folding under him. Even his quick grab for the doctor wasn't enough, and Carson's weight brought Rodney down with and under him.

"Uh…" Breathing was hard with 160 solid pounds pinning you down.

"Not a word", Carson growled, hot, too quick breath hitting Rodney's neck. For about a second he worried if Carson might simply decide to bite him. Considering the man's foul mood, he wouldn't put it past him. "Not. A bloody. Word."

"How could I? Seeing as your dead weight is crushing my larynx and cutting off my air supply right now. Seriously Carson, aren't sick people supposed to lose weight instead of doubling it? – OW! What was that for?"

Rubbing his abused midsection, Rodney carefully wriggled out of underneath the doctor's prone form, grumbling loudly.

Beckett struggled to get to his knees on his own, with an "I'm fine, now leave me alone". It would have been quite a funny scene actually, if it had been a twelve months old toddler instead of his 36-year old friend. Unfortunately, Rodney had witnessed a lot more success from his much less stubborn nephew.

Positioning himself, arms folded, so Carson could see him, he waited until the CMO had finally given up with a sob of frustration, before speaking up again. "Oh yes. You really don't need help. You're fine there on the floor? See anything interesting? Oh, hey, you know what, you do your thing, I'm getting a coffee. Want some?"

"Bastard." Carson turned his head, face buried in the blue mattress that covered the floor between the two wooden bars. With his uncooperative legs lying askew, he looked much like Rodney's spaghetti had after he'd accidentally knocked his plate off the table last week. He was a heart-rending picture of misery.

"Okay, so you don't want one. Your loss. Have fun then. See you later. Say hello to the dust bunnies!" Rodney took his time walking towards the exit while waiting for a clue as to which would win: Carson's pride or his endangered dignity.

The fight took longer than he'd imagined, and Rodney waited for a full five minutes just outside the door for Carson to call him back. Instead, all he heard were more grunts and noises of exertion, while Beckett tried to get up under his own steam. It was painful to listen to and Rodney started biting on his already ruined fingertips to keep himself from going in.

This had been going on for fifteen days already.

oOo

After the initial shock that, so far, Carson did not react to stimulus, things had finally started to improve for a while. Any doctor that Rodney had asked, and he'd even called Daedalus' infirmary to ask for a fifth and sixth opinion, told him the same thing. Given time, Carson would walk again. The bullet hadn't done any permanent damage, and, every day that the swelling went down a little more, Biro seemed more pleased with the results of her tests.

Still not satisfied and more than a little worried about Carson's condition, Rodney sat next to the CMO's bed, laptop linked to the medical library, which Carson had strictly forbidden him to ever access ever again. He scrolled down the list of procedures, symptoms and therapies for people with spinal injuries. He was starting to get quite an expert on this topic, but tried not to show it too much in fear of Biro taking the database down from the intranet to prevent him from reading it again.

Absentmindedly, Rodney chewed on a tongue depressor, while scrolling down the page, when Carson opened his eyes, which finally glittered with comprehension. They had kept him doped up for almost three days, and all his visitors got from him during that time were tired blinks and small moans.

"Hey!" Leaning forward, Rodney realised the sodden wood in his mouth was starting to drip with saliva, and quickly discarded it. "How're you feeling? Want some water?"

"How'd it go?" Carson's voice was raspy and tired, but the eyes were bright with alertness and fear.

Pressing the call button, Rodney smiled down at him, trying hard to quell all residual anxiety in the back of his mind. "You're going to be fine. Biro says surgery went well and you're showing all the Neanderthal reflexes you apparently displayed before."

"I'm going to walk again?" Carson's response came out a little choked, voice thick with emotion.

"Apparently so." Rodney really tried for something sarcastic to say, but the genuine relief in the other man's face made any snark remarks impossible; and the smile lighting up Carson face was more than a little infectious.

If he'd known it'd be the last time he'd see the man smile for a couple of weeks, he would have taken a Polaroid picture and stuck it to Carson's forehead.

oOo

The sounds inside the room had stopped now. Carson was obviously no longer trying to get up on his own; whether out of resignation or depleted strength, Rodney didn't know. Probably a lot of both.

His fingernails were completely gone now. Not hearing Carson at least try to get back on his feet was actually worse than listening to the futile attempts. Rodney still blamed himself, and knew it would forever stay that way, no matter what the major or Carson said. Just one more thing on his long list of failures. But the past days had shown him broken things could be mended even if they weren't of a technological nature. Mistakes could maybe not be erased, but he certainly could try to make up for them. And he'd be damned if Carson proved him wrong.

Resolutely getting up, he plastered his best nonchalant expression to his face, kicked the door open and walked towards his stubborn friend.

"Finished being an ass?" Fishing out two squashed, half melted Snickers bars from his trouser pocket, Rodney sat down next to Carson and leaned back on one of the metal poles. He offered the flatter one to his friend, who now lay on his back with his arms crossed over his face, breathing heavily. As he'd expected, Rodney didn't receive an answer, so simply threw the chocolate next to Beckett within easy reach, and slowly peeled the soiled paper off of his own bar.

"I guess not then. Coffee was out, by the way. Pity. Especially since this cute brunette was on duty in the mess. She just makes the best coffee in four galaxies." He closed his eyes in exaggerated bliss. "It tastes just like the one my aunt used to make. You know, the furry one from New Brunswick?"

Grimacing slightly with the memory, he added, "I was just always a little worried about finding any kind of body hair in the brew… I guess the revulsion factor killed some of the delicious taste. Seriously Carson. You should have seen her. It takes Sheppard two weeks to grow what covered her face every six hours. Quite remarkable actually."

Rodney peeked over, when he heard a tiny disgruntled moan, but Carson lay otherwise motionless. Pleased about having provoked at least some kind of reaction from the man, he continued almost without a break.

"Hey. I ever tell you she introduced me to coffee? No? Well, she babysat me one day, when my parents had to appear before a court. Can you imagine, my Dad had been issued a summons, because he accidentally reversed into the neighbours' concrete chicken? Okay, it wasn't exactly accidental, or happened while reversing a car. It wasn't even actually him; not that he knew that of course. But what sane person puts a concrete chicken into his yard anyway? A chicken, Carson. A smiling chicken at that. How can a chicken smile? It's got a beak, for Pete's sake. But I digress. So I was at my aunt's place, going through the stuff in her kitchen. At that time I was always looking for stuff that could help me with my experiments. I found this delicious smelling black powder and tried a little, you know, to check its consistency. Needless to say, I didn't exactly sleep that night, or the night after that. Great stuff! Did you know that wet coffee powder leaves a pretty spectacular result when it explodes? Hmm, good old days. I had to repaper her living room, but it was worth it."

"You won't stop, right?" The sound was muffled by a sleeved elbow blocking the mouth. So Rodney wasn't sure whether Carson was about to cry or kick him in the butt.

To be on the safe side, he moved a little, just outside leg's reach and responded innocently. "Stop what?"

"Talking." Now he knew; Carson wanted both.

"Not any time soon, no. I rarely have such a captive audience." He had to snicker at his own joke.

"Oh for the love of… Can't you just leave?" Exasperated, the doctor half rolled over onto his left elbow, stripes of red dots covering his face, where the weight of his arms had pressed the shirt onto otherwise pale skin.

"I could, yes. But I'm scared of what your staff might do to me, when they find out I left their favourite vegetable stewing on his own."

Closing his eyes, Carson let himself fall back onto the mattress, whimpering softly, still not meeting Rodney's eyes. "I can't do this, Rodney."

oOo

The man was impossible. Once he had started to feel marginally well enough, he'd demanded to see his own chart. This was refused by Biro, until, on day four after the surgery, she gave in and handed it over.

To Rodney's silent relief Carson couldn't find anything he might have done differently and quietly settled back into bed, obviously pouting over something no-one else knew about.

They tried cheering him up, but every day he grew quieter and more drawn into himself. Rodney didn't know what to do with him. Seeing him like this now, when, bit by bit, Carson was actually getting physically better, did nothing to reduce the guilt weighing him down. But no amount of his insults, Sheppard's bad jokes or Elizabeth's cajoling, got Carson out of his bad mood.

Until finally, on day six, there was some spark coming back to Carson. This was when Dr Finnegan, full-time biologist, but obviously with a double degree in physiotherapy, showed up to get him out of bed and to his own legs. Or so everyone involved without a medical degree had thought. Fact was, all she did was hoist Beckett out of bed, hold him as he successfully managed not to collapse for five seconds, then lay him straight back down again.

"That's it?" Sheppard had wondered aloud and Rodney had to agree.

"This went well, Major," the woman had answered, patting Carson's arm affectionately, as he looked a little shocked about the upright position and breathed heavily. "We can't rush this. But we'll have you back to your old self in no time, Doctor."

Carson didn't seem to agree. That night, when Rodney, as usual, came to help with dinner, he was told in no uncertain terms to leave. He had been told just that many times by both the medical staff and Carson, but this time, the request was followed by a full dinner tray being thrown at him, so he obeyed it for the first time.

When PT finally started in earnest, the doctor came up from his all time low, but Rodney felt it was only because the poor man was just too exhausted to put up much of a fight.

Progress was slow, but everyone else except Beckett, was thrilled about every little step. But it just wasn't fast enough for Carson. And so, on day 15, even the patient, gentle Dr Finnegan finally lost her temper, called Carson worse that Dr McKay with an ingrown toenail on a sugar-low, and stormed off.

This was how Rodney ended up with babysitting duty that day; and this was when Rodney finally decided to do things his way. No more Mr Nice guy.

oOo

"I can't do this, Rodney."

"I can see that." It was said matter-of-factly. After all, it was true.

Rodney stood up from his place on the floor and, using as few fingers as possible, tucked the goo-covered wrapper carefully into his pocket. Though he was now towering over the prone doctor, Carson still avoided his gaze, a look of utter resignation on his face.

Counteracting his rough response, Rodney reached out a chocolate covered hand to the doctor. Clearing his throat, Rodney announced with a deadly serious voice. "If I was the mushy, likable, wussy type, I'd now say something pathetic like 'but we can do it together, if you'd just let us help', or 'you're going to be fine', followed by a 'don't worry, you stupid halfwit'."

"You'd say that if you were likable?" Finally, the look was returned, with an incredulous, but slightly curious, expression. "And since you're not?"

"Since I'm not, I say something like: Get your lazy ass off the floor, you moron, 'cause we're all tired of chauffeuring you around. You know as well as I do that everything's fine with your legs. You just have to have the backbone to put up with a little physiotherapy and a lot of humiliation."

Ticking off points with the fingers on his right hand, Rodney got increasingly louder. "We've all waited around your bed for you to wake up, we waited for you to regrow your brain cells, we waited for you to move, to sit up, to get out of bed and now we're all waiting for you to get your head out of your ass. And you know what? You might not have noticed, but I'm not such a patient man. So GET UP and STOP WHINING!"

For a minute no-one said anything.

"That's funny, coming from you." Carson deadpanned eventually.

The sarcastic retort broke the frenzy that McKay had talked himself into. Looking for a good come-back, but not finding one, he settled for the next best thing that came to his mind. "Oh, shut up."

"Guess, I acted pretty stupidly, didn't I."

"Put that sentence into the present progressive, then that's a Yes."

"Your subtlety is endearing."

"Thank you. It's one of my better traits. So, you're going to stay down there, or am I finally allowed some coffee?" He was really starting to feel the effects of going without caffeine for three hours.

"Make it Irish and you're on. Can I ask you something before that, though?"

"If you have to specifically ask to ask, then No."

"What happened to the chicken, your father did not reverse into?"

"Well, he did reverse into it. That little bump just wasn't what made the thing go all eggshell on him."

"So?"

"Did I mention the thing was hollow? I might have endangered its structural integrity by detonating three or four handfuls of personally upgraded New Year's Eve bangers in it. Turns out, concrete isn't all that robust after all."

"You might? Oh my. Remind me to keep my kids away from you." The second part of the sentence came out a little short of breath, when Rodney suddenly took hold of his shoulders and hoisted him up. After being horizontal for so long, the sudden vertical position disagreed with Carson's equilibrium, and Rodney struggled to keep them both upright.

"A little help here", Rodney squeaked, when Carson failed to support any of his own weight. Exhaustion, due to stupidly overdoing his exercises, was radiating from the doctor in waves.

"Sitting down would be good." It was the sort of mumbling people about to pass out tended to exhibit.

Counteracting Carson's swaying stance, Rodney dragged the almost limp man the short distance over to the wheelchair. Trying for a controlled descent into the vehicle, both men all but fell into it. Rodney thanked whoever had had the foresight to lock the brakes.

"Rodney?" Carson's eyes were almost closed, sweat running in tiny meandering rivers down his face and colouring the already dark shirt even darker. "I don't want the Snickers any more."

"Okay." Still busy pulling out his own limbs from behind Carson's bulky frame, Rodney wasn't sure why Carson suddenly showed an interest in the long forgotten treat, but unconsciously glanced back to where he had put it. It wasn't there any more.

"Shoe." The eyes were closed now, but his friend's mouth was curved into a suspicious smirk.

"Huh?"

"Under your shoe!"

Rodney looked down to see the bar sticking to his right foot, oozing chocolate from both busted ends, covering his shoe and leaving unappetising footprints all over the floor. "Yuck! Now that is just disgusting."

Shaking his foot like a cat with a wet paw for a few seconds, he realised the thing was well and truly stuck there, and no way in hell was he going to remove the sticky mass with his hands. Reminding himself to call maintenance, Rodney gripped the handles and steered the wheelchair back towards the infirmary, shaking his leg in disgust every other step.

- Chapter 20 -

Carson slept well that night. The first good sleep he'd had since no longer getting chemical help for it. The whole experience had shaken him. It had scared him beyond anything he'd ever thought possible. Even more so than the entire Wraith fiasco. At least, back then, he had felt a semblance of control. But not being able to move, with the knowledge it could be permanent, had stripped him of even this.

He didn't know what he'd expected after Biro had announced he'd walk again. As a doctor he knew it would not happen overnight; as the patient, he'd woken up ready to jump back to work, only to have his hopes shatter, when he couldn't even feed himself without spilling everything.

Things had improved a lot over the last week. His right hand was almost back to normal, only the left one still trembled. The pain in his midsection gradually lessened and they were able to cut back on his pain meds bit by bit. But every day that he woke up and still had to fight to sit up without raising the head of the bed first, had increased the tension headache behind his eyes. He never told anyone, afraid they might think of him as a wimp to complain about a headache brought on only by worry over something his own profession told him wouldn't happen.

The 'what ifs' and 'then whats' were directing his thoughts. They had edged themselves into his brain, knotting together the grey matter, until no other thought could penetrate the tumour no medical equipment could ever detect.

Throughout it all, though, the others had been there. They kept apologising for not being there earlier, though quite frankly, his memories of that time were only hazy. He still accepted just to make them feel better, but really only wanted to get rid of them. They wouldn't let him. No matter how grumpy he became, not matter how many insults he threw into their faces, they stubbornly stuck around.

And only just last night, he'd found out that that was exactly what he'd wanted. He wanted to yell at them for putting him through painful PT, wanted to insult them for their well meant, badly received pieces of advice, and wanted to hit Rodney to pay him out in his own coin. And at the same time, he needed them to take it all and still come back the next morning, looking far too cheerful for their own good, walking on their own two feet to remind him why all this was worth a little sweat and a lot frustration.

So here he was, standing in between two wooden bars, knuckles white from gripping so hard, making the first few steps on his own. And not minding the least that Sheppard stood there, arms outstretched, ready to catch him if he fell. But the major wasn't actively supporting him, Carson did that all by himself.

John grinned from ear to ear now and Carson gladly reciprocated. There was even a tiny little smile on Rodney's face. He had halted his constant mumbling about 'ungrateful bastards', 'not his job', and 'much more important things to do', before the angry bang of a mop hitting the floor announced Rodney's return to sulking about having to wipe the floor.

Things were finally coming together after all they'd been through. And for the first time since the Siege began, Carson knew without a doubt, that the trip back to Earth the following week, would not be a one-way trip for him.

- The End -