A/N: This is the final chapter! Sorry it's been so long coming but this week has been a bit crazy for me and I wanted to make sure it was right. I also had to decide about whether to end here or to carry on with what happened in England, but in the end I didn't have enough ideas to sustain the story and I think this makes for a better ending. Thanks to everyone who has read and I hope you enjoyed!

Chapter Nine

Arthur woke up slowly. He liked waking up slowly, in those moments when you were still pleasantly sleepy but you knew you were about to open your eyes to a bright new day. It was much nicer than waking up to a buzzing alarm that was like being dropped from a great height into consciousness. Today there was an alarm, but it was different to usual, the bleeping was slower, more rhythmic and a lot quieter. It was almost soothing, luring him from a doze back into sleep.

He could tell, somewhere in the bleary corners of his mind, that it was taking him much longer than usual to wake up, but he wasn't awake enough to do anything about it. Sometimes he was so almost awake that he thought he could hear voices or music, but he could never be sure if it was out in the world or coming from his dreams. He could see golden sunlight through his eyelids, perhaps the music was coming from that. It was very pleasant.

I should open my eyes though, he thought, eventually, and after a while- he may have nodded off again first- he did.

The ceiling was unfamiliar, but he was used to that. It always took him a few minutes when he woke up to work out where he was, when they were on trips. This time it wasn't coming to him, though. He had a hazy memory of his mum saying something about an emergency trip to Spain, but he couldn't remember actually going, though he had the sort of feeling that he had. Maybe he was still dreaming after all. The bleeping hadn't stopped, and there was a funny pressure around his nose and mouth, sort of like when he had strawberries and his lips swelled up, but not quite like that either. He wondered what it was, but felt too vague and sleepy to try and find out. It was warm in this bed, wherever it was, and a lot softer and less lumpy than the usual hotel beds, though it was a bit weird that it was bent so that he was almost upright. He thought maybe he'd go back to sleep for a bit, and maybe when he woke up he'd be awake enough to know what was going on.

There was someone bustling about in the room though, pinning back some curtains. They were in a full radiation suit, like he was radioactive. Arthur wondered if he was radioactive and if that meant he had superpowers now. He wouldn't mind having superpowers, depending on what they were. He wouldn't want boring ones, or ones that lots of people had, or ones that would be hard to hide. He didn't think he'd be very good at keeping up a secret identity anyway.

There was a window in front of him, though. It caught his attention suddenly and he wondered how he'd missed it, because the whole wall was made of glass and that was obviously what the curtains were for. It was a bit like being at an aquarium, except instead of looking in at the fish, he was looking in at his mum and Herc and Douglas and Martin. He wondered what they were doing in there without him, he would have loved to have had a go inside an aquarium, except that the one they were in just sort of looked like a corridor and he was probably definitely dreaming anyway, especially as they were just standing there and not coming out to see him. Perhaps they hadn't seen him, even though they were looking right at him. He dragged a hand out from under the blankets- it felt like a really heavy blanket, or like he was the one who was underwater, his movements slow and clumsy- and waved.

They were obviously having fun out there because they all looked very excited and waved back. All except his mum. She turned the other way quickly and rubbed her face like she was crying, and when she turned back to face the window and wave with the others, her eyes were still wet, like she really was crying. But it was his mum, she never cried, except she was, a bit, or at least, she looked like she wanted to. Something was wrong.

Arthur wished he had woken up sooner, unless this was a dream, in which case he wished he would wake up now. Either way, he had to go and help his mum, now. He wasn't going to lie in bed when she was upset.

Except the blanket really was heavy. It was hard to get out from underneath it. The floor seemed very far away and his legs were all wobbly. The bleeping was going crazy now. Arthur realised he was tied to the bed; no, not to the bed, to all sorts of odd machines like-

This was a hospital, he realised suddenly. He was in hospital. Why was he in hospital and why was his mum crying and why weren't they coming in to see him and why wouldn't his legs work?

The person in the radiation suit came and pulled him up from the floor and back towards the bed saying things he couldn't understand. Arthur struggled, but it wasn't enough for them to even notice. The bleeping was going haywire; it was probably his pulse. He couldn't seem to catch his breath even with the plastic mask- he realised it was a plastic mask, now, one of those breathing thingies- and his chest hurt. He wondered if he was having a heart attack. Could people have heart attacks when they were only just a little bit past thirty?

They shut the curtains again, and he couldn't see his mum anymore.

oooooooooo

"Mr Shappey? Arthur? Can you hear me? Please wake up."

Arthur didn't recognise the voice, but he had always been the obliging sort, so he forced his eyes open. It was hard not to go back to sleep, but he did his best- it would be rude to sleep in front of this man he didn't know. Besides, he seemed nice. He had a smiley sort of face and tanned skin, like he had just got back from holiday, and people were always happy then.

"Hello." Arthur said, blearily. His voice was very raspy and his throat hurt, so it didn't even really sound that much like a word, but the man seemed to understand.

"Hello, Arthur." He said. "How are you feeling? My name is Doctor Covas. You are in the Hospital Doctor Pascual in Malaga, Spain. You have been very ill, but you are getting better. I am responsible for your care."

"You aren't wearing a space suit." Arthur said, trying to catch his breath. He wasn't sure when talking had become so hard. He was really quite sleepy now.

"You must rest, try not to speak." Doctor Covas said. "You were very ill when you first came to us and we could not risk any outside germs at all reaching you. Now, although you perhaps do not feel it, you are much stronger. The antibiotics are taking hold and we no longer need to take such precautions. You are not contagious and you can rest assured that the suits were for your benefit, not for ours."

"Don't worry, it's okay." Arthur mumbled, giving in and letting his eyes close. "I promise I'll only use my powers for good."

If the doctor replied, Arthur didn't hear it, going back to sleep with a sigh.

oooooooooo

After two more days in intensive care, in which Arthur got progressively less tired and more vocal about being fine and wanting to see his mum and his friends, he was finally moved into a general ward. His mum came in first.

"Hello, Arthur." She said. "Well, you've really done it this time, haven't you? We've had to stay an extra week, you certainly know how to be dramatic."

"Sorry mum." Arthur said. His voice was still scratchy, and he couldn't be loud, and it was hard to get his breath back after speaking when there was still some coughs caught in his chest; but he was well enough, and the doctors had left an oxygen supply there in case he needed it. He didn't mind his mum's grumbling. He knew it was just because she didn't know how else to say she was worried. "I didn't think you were on this trip."

"I wasn't, silly boy. I came because you were ill; Herc's here too, and Martin and Douglas. We've all been waiting for you to get better."

"Sorry mum." He said again. "But I am much better now! The doctor said-"

"The doctor has said you will need a few more weeks in hospital, and you will be doing what the doctor tells you." She said with a fierce look. She knew Arthur didn't like hospitals or medicines or lying still, but she didn't know on this occasion that he had felt ill enough that he would rather have the medicine, or that he would if it meant she wasn't worried and crying again. Arthur decided not to tell her. "But… I am glad you're alright." She said, finally. "Don't you dare do that to me again."

Arthur would have got up and hugged her, but getting up wasn't his speciality right now and anyway, his mum wasn't a very huggy person. So instead he promised he wouldn't and squeezed her hand and she got embarrassed and took it away. He smiled at her instead.

"Right. The others are waiting to see you, but if you aren't well enough it can wait until tomorrow?"

"No, I'm fine!" Arthur said eagerly. Too eagerly- it started him coughing again. He carried on desperately, trying to reassure her. "I'm- fine- really! I'm… okay, I… don't even…!"

"Yes, yes, alright!" She snapped. "Use the air if you need it, Arthur."

"No- I'm okay- I… don't… need-"

"Yes, you do." She said, and pressed it into his hand. "Now shut up and do it yourself or so help me I will stand here and force it onto your face."

Arthur did it himself. After a moment the need to cough faded, and then his breathing settled. He took the mask away cautiously.

"Good boy." His mum said, as if he was still six. "Alright, I will fetch the others, but you mustn't get too excited and make yourself worse."

"I won't mum."

She went to call the others and they all came back, hurrying down the ward to gather at his bedside. Somehow, the sight made Arthur's chest, tight as it was, fill with a kind of warm, bubbling feeling. He knew he shouldn't be glad they had been worried, worried enough to camp out in a Spanish hospital. He knew he should feel guilty, and he did, but it was nice, too, to know he had friends that cared about him that much. He hadn't forgotten- though it was a bit hard to remember- Douglas rearranging the furniture in his room at the hotel and moving the mattress so he wouldn't fall off it and then staying with him all day telling him stories to try and take his mind off things; and his Skipper driving miles around Spain to find him pork scratchings and pain killers and fresh pyjamas. It was a happy feeling to know that you were just as important to someone as they were to you. Sometimes, when he had done something stupid and they got frustrated with him, or he couldn't keep up with a word game, or he didn't understand what was going on, he felt a bit lonely or left out; but he had always known they didn't mean it really. They were his friends, and they really cared about him, even though he was a clot. That was something that would never stop being special to him.

He suddenly understood why his mum had almost cried when she saw him wake up, because he felt like he could cry now too, because the world was an even more brilliant place than he'd thought.

"Hello, Arthur, you look terrible." Douglas said when they reached him, but he was smiling. "Am I to trust your taste for the dramatic has been suitably indulged for the time being and that we can return to our usual monotonous existence?"

"Yes." Arthur replied, which was what he usually said when he didn't entirely get what Douglas meant.

"Ignore him, Arthur." Herc sighed. "How are you feeling? You had us worried for a while there. I'm very glad you're alright."

"Thanks, Herc."

"Arthur…" Martin shoved his way forward, but then didn't seem to know what to say. "I…" He cleared his throat. "It's good to see you." Then, suddenly, awkwardly, he lurched forward and hugged Arthur round the neck.

Arthur was surprised. He had never seen his Skipper hug anyone, least of all him. Perhaps that was why Martin wasn't very good at it and was holding onto him all wrong and pulled away, embarrassed, before Arthur had chance to hug him back. Arthur found he didn't really know what to say.

"Aww, Skip." He said, finally, really fighting hard not to cry now. "It's alright. I'm okay, really."

Martin saw the look in his eyes, though. "What is it?!" He asked in alarm. "Oh, no, did I hurt you?! I'm sorry, I didn't realise-"

"No, I'm fine." Arthur said, blinking away the water and smiling. "It's just… it's just so brilliant to have such good friends."

"Oh." Martin said. "Well… you're welcome."

"Good grief." Carolyn interrupted. "Everyone please stop this outpouring of unprecedented emotion before I vomit. Arthur is fine. A year or so of recovery and he'll be back on board Gerti and fit as a fiddle."

"A year?!" Arthur yelped. He definitely did not want to be ill for a year. He couldn't even imagine it. That would mean he would have to be ill on his birthday and on Christmas and on everyone else's birthdays and at Easter. "I can't be ill for a year! I'm already getting better!"

His body betrayed him and he started coughing again. Carolyn rubbed his back.

"And you will improve every day." She said, and it sounded almost like an order. "Never fear, dear-heart, he said at this rate, as long as you keep taking your medicine, you can be back at work in a few weeks. I just mean it may be a year before you're quite as strong and energetic as you were. Although," she added as mutter. "Goodness only knows, that could prove to be a blessing."

"Don't worry, Carolyn." Martin said. "We'll make sure he doesn't overdo it."

"Yes, and while we're about it, we'll stop the tide from turning." Douglas muttered.

oooooooooo

"But Douglas and Martin are allowed to go in Gerti!"

"Yes, Arthur, because they're the ones flying it. They do not need to be transported in a bed surrounded by specialist equipment and carers."

"I don't need to either, I'll be fine! I could just lie down in one of the seats and go to sleep there! It would be fine!"

Carolyn was getting a headache. She couldn't help but think the doctor's estimate of a year for recovery was a bit exaggerated. Three days after his release from intensive care, Arthur seemed much improved. His ability to argue had certainly made a full recovery. Doctor Covas had decided Arthur was well enough to be transferred to a hospital in England, which was a great relief to them all. The problem was Arthur's inability to see why he had to go aboard a commercial flight with a company that regularly flew the hospital's patients rather than on board his beloved Gerti.

"Arthur, no, it would not be fine. If you had gotten ill in England in the first place you wouldn't have been leaving the hospital at all. We are going back on a plane in which there is room for a bed and you won't be rattled to pieces, along with however many medical staff Doctor Covas deems necessary for the journey. You are going to do exactly as you're told, and that is final."

Arthur huffed and pouted but didn't argue. There were some things you just couldn't argue with his mum about, and being ill was one of them.

He remembered when he was a kid and he got sick, he had tried so hard to hide it. He had been worried about his father finding out and making him eat oranges again; worried that he would stand there and tell him he was too much of an idiot to even manage catching a cold and laugh. His mum had still noticed though and ordered him back to bed, she had told him she would deal with his father if it came to it, and she also told him he wasn't an idiot. Arthur had told her that he was an idiot because he couldn't do anything, and he still remembered what his mum had said:

"Don't listen to him, Arthur, there is plenty you can do. Now, a lot of people might try to be kind and tell you that you can do anything if you put your mind to it, but don't listen to them either. No-one can do anything and everything. Not your father, not even me. I'm your mother and you listen to me. There will probably be a lot of things that you can't do, no matter how hard you try, and there will be others that you'll do but won't be able to do very well, and there will be other things that you are superb at and that's just fine. I want you to be fine with it as well, Arthur, because I am. Whatever patterns you fall into, it's fine. Just be good at whatever you're good at, be ill if you're ill and don't worry about the rest, or what your dad says."

It was a long speech, but he remembered it word for word and always did when he was ill or when he found it hard to do things. Once, he had told one of his girlfriends about it and she had said his mum was cruel for not encouraging him to surpass himself and go outside his boundaries, but Arthur had always thought it was better. He didn't have to be brilliant for his mum to think he was brilliant, and that was something that made him very happy. When he was a kid she had sat by him on the settee and watched cartoons and rubbed his back when he was ill, and now he was grown up she had come all the way to Spain to come and see him at the hospital and look after him and see him safely home, and she never, ever, called him an idiot. That was enough for him.

Arthur still didn't see why he couldn't go home on Gerti, but he knew this was one of those times that he just had to do as his mother had told him and put up with it. Anyway, if it meant he'd get better and back on board sooner, he'd do almost anything. His friends had shown him just how important he was to them and even if he had to spend the rest of his life doing it, he wanted to show them just how important they were to him.