Sorry it's taken ages to update - when we started to do a few at once, we had plenty of spare time but now we're busy, busy, busy :S

Still, we hope you enjoy it all the same :) Although this one gets technical (but the technical stuff has to come before the fluff...which means fluff soon!)


"Mr Pearce. Ruth."

"Dr Brett," Ruth smiled, shakily. "Come in."

The doctor obliged and positioned herself at Harry's bedside.

"How're you doing today?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Think tha' depends."

She gave a small chuckle at the fact that his demeanour was exactly as Ruth had described. "Well, I can tell you what we already know, but first I'd like to run a few tests, and you tell me what you can and can't feel, and then we'll see what you can and can't do. I understand you're having a little trouble with your speech, but that seems to be from a small, diminishing bruise to the brain; I'd be surprised if it lasts the week. If it does, we'll address it properly. Now, if you don't mind, Mr Pearce, I want to take back these covers and take a look at your legs."

He managed to bring a smile to his face, despite the circumstances, and cheekily stuttered that it was the best offer he'd had in a while.

"You didn't warn me he was cheeky," Dr Brett muttered, rolling her eyes good naturedly at Ruth.

"Insufferably so."

"Right, Harry, if you can close your eyes, I want you to tell me when and whereabouts I'm touching you, please."

He nodded, and did as he was asked, but it was several minutes before he next spoke.

"Now?" His voice seemed highly uncertain.

"Yes. Where?"

He thought about it for what seemed like an unreasonably long time to Ruth, who was watching with a grimace on her face.

"Can't tell 'xactly. S-s-somewhere at the top."

"Can you feel it properly? If I press harder, does it help?"

He shook his head.

"When he came around, he described it like it was numb. Not as if there was absolutely nothing, I don't think, but…deadened." Ruth looked at Harry to make sure she was right, and he nodded.

Dr Brett nodded in understanding. "Do you think you might be able to move your legs, Harry? If I asked you to wiggle your toes, for example."

A look of intense concentration passed his face for several seconds as he willed his body to respond, and the contortion as he screwed his features up looked almost painful. A twitch, of some kind, pulled his knee a little, and Dr Brett asked him to repeat it.

"Can't," he muttered, eventually, and his voice seemed so much wearier than before. "Jus' tell me. Truth."

Dr Brett looked at Harry, then at Ruth, and the brunette's responding glare was enough to tell her than her patient meant business, and there was no point skirting any of the issue.

"Ok, Harry, do you want the technical version?"

He nodded.

"Here's what I think. Based on what we know from your scans, and from when we operated, the bullet didn't completely sever the nerve. You were very lucky in that respect. From what I've just seen, from the intense feeling of your limbs being numb, and the vague but incorrect response from your muscles when you try to move, I would suggest you have what's known as Posterior Cord Syndrome."

Harry nodded again.

"You were hit," she continued, whilst scribbling furiously on her notepad, "here." She turned around the pad to reveal a sketch of the spine and the rest of the skeleton. It's called the L4 vertebrate. The nerves from here downwards are responsible for the thighs down to the toes. This one here," she said, pointing to the next vertebrate up, "controls the hips and, to some extent, the thighs too, which means you should be unaffected from there upwards."

A slight relief crossed his face, but it was very little compared to the reluctant despair which was barely concealed.

"The reason there is a vague sensation left comes from the injury being known as incomplete. Sensation can return in time because the nerve cell body is still intact, only the "sending" or "receiving" fibres have to regrow. I say 'only', but it's not a quick process; it's ridiculously slow by our bodies' normal standards of healing, but it is possible. Medically, the sensations you've lost are known as proprioception or epicritic sensations. What that means is, although it may be absolutely minimal right now, you can move and feel a bit, but you lack any co-ordination or spatial awareness of where your legs are and what they're doing, and you can't differentiate between the intensity of stimuli. That's why I asked if you could feel any difference when I pressed harder against your thigh. It's a classic sign of incomplete damage."

"Wha'sit mean for me?"

"It means that, for now, you're in a wheelchair. It means that, for the foreseeable future, you're in a wheelchair. I can't promise you how long that will last; there is nothing you or I can do to speed up your body's healing time. As and when the nerve fibres regrow, and you regain sensation, we can look at physiotherapy aimed at addressing your coordination which, although will return itself, will require a sort of 're-education' of your brain, and building up your strength and balance again."

He nodded and swore, and looked up to find Ruth silently crying for him across the room.

"I should leave you two to talk," the doctor whispered. "Feel free to ask me any questions now if you want, but I know you'll need a little time to come to terms with it."

Harry was the first to speak and thanked the doctor for her time and her candour. When they were finally alone again he switched his attention back to Ruth. He could clearly see the tear tracks down her face and she made no attempt to hide them as he watched her.

"Don't c-cry," he stuttered, sounding far gruffer than he intended, and looking between her and the box of tissues on his nightstand.

She crossed the room and helped herself to a tissue, dabbing her eyes briefly, before twisting it around her fingers. "I'm so sorry, Harry," she managed to choke out before dissolving into tears again. She hated that she was the one crying and being comforted, when, in reality, it should be the other way round.

"S'ok," he muttered and she stared at him in disbelief.

"Ok? How can it be ok? You might never walk again, Harry. That's not bloody alright!"

"Do- don't get all u-upset. S'done. S'it now," he said, evenly, and she knew what he was doing. He was erecting his defences, shutting her, and everyone, else out, internalising his pain and emotions just like he always did.

"Don't do that!" she demanded, angrily, making him look at her oddly.

"Do what?"

"Pretend that you can cope with this on your own. Don't you dare do that, Harry. It's not fair."

"On who?"

"You, me, Catherine, the nurses and doctors, on everyone that wants to help you get through this. It's going to be really tough Harry, you heard what the doctor said, it'll be a long road to recovery and you can't do that by yourself." She lowered her voice and pleaded with him, "Please let me, us, help you."

"W-why do you care s-so much?"

The question caught her off guard and she faltered for a moment, wondering if this was how she wanted him to find out. His expectant stare left her with no other option and, in a fleeting moment she was aware of the irony of her legs shaking so much that she could feel there every tremble throughout her whole body. "Because I love you, Harry."


Dun, dun, dun!

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