A/N - Sorry for the delay with this chapter. Its a bit longer than the others. Hope it makes sense.

Chapter 10

The next few weeks were an emotional rollercoaster for Sergeant Parker. Once his doctor's deemed him strong enough, a physiotherapist began working on his limbs daily while he was still in his bed to help stop muscle wastage. At times the pain in his leg following therapy was so great that he cried himself to sleep at night. He tried not to complain, took his medication telling himself that this was the only way he would get better. He found more and more that his days were filled with discomfort and pain which led him to some dark places.

The first ray of hope was the first day that they allowed him out of his bed as far as the bathroom. Sounds simple, but it was a milestone as far as he was concerned. Then as he grew stronger, he was allowed to take short walks along the corridor with assistance. His family and team could see a great change in him as he convalesced. He regained some of the weight that he had lost, and physically, he appeared to be making progress. He had expected that as he healed, the pain would lessen, but there was little sign of that happening.

His physical therapy continued in earnest as soon as he became accustomed to walking with a crutch. He was still not allowed to put weight on his injured limb, but they exercised the muscle with light weight training. Greg found his recovery tiring and agonisingly slow. as expected, there were good days and bad days. The bad days he tried to hide from his family. They wanted to see him getting better, so that was what he showed them. When they were gone, the veil dropped and he would break down.

One particularly bad day, back in his room having returned from physical therapy, his leg felt like it was on fire. They had given him an ice pack to try and ease the discomfort and he sat on the bed, eyes closed, willing for the agony to pass. When he opened his eyes, he wasn't sure if he was seeing things. Kevin 'Wordy' Wordsworth was standing at the foot of the bed.

"Hey, Sarge," he said, feeling a little uncomfortable at seeing his boss so vulnerable. "Michelle sent you some cookies," he said, raising up a paper plate full of home-baked goodies.

"Wordy, good to see you," Greg said, trying to ignore the pain and extending his hand to shake his friend's. But Wordy wasn't stupid.

"I was going to ask how you were, but I can see for myself," Wordy said, putting the cookies on the table and shaking his hand. "I was actually going to tell you how lucky you were, but I doubt you see it that way right now."

"Damn right," Greg said, through gritted teeth.

"Don't they give you pills for the pain?" Wordy asked, a little surprised at the extent of his former boss's pain.

"Sure, but I think I'm immune at this stage," Greg replied glibly.

"It happens. I'm sorry I didn't come sooner, Sarge," Wordy told him. "I wanted to but, to be honest, I wasn't sure what to say. Ed told me about your leg. That sucks."

"Yeah, that's one way of putting it," Greg replied.

"I do have an idea how you feel though, your body getting in the way of you doing what you love. I do get it, you know, Sarge? If you ever want to talk, I'm available. I've had some dark days since my diagnosis, so I think I know a little of what you're going through. If it gets real bad, you pick up the phone and call me, okay?" Wordy said.

"Thanks, Wordy. I will," Greg replied.

Greg appreciated Wordy's visit and his offer of help, but he was pretty sure he could get through this on his own. He wanted to prove to everyone that he was coping and that he was going to be fine. So, his life was going to change. Change was good, right?

During his recovery, the SRU arranged for a counsellor to visit with him and she got him talking about the trauma and about his fears for the future. Talking helped a little, but from experience, Greg knew what they wanted to hear and he was happy to give them what they wanted. He talked about getting shot, about his mortality, about his family, about his job prospects. He teared up where he thought it was appropriate and was pretty convincing throughout the sessions.

But behind closed doors, when everyone had gone home and he was left in that hospital room with too much time on his hands, his mind took him to morbid places. His pain was still severe, only slightly lessened by his medication. Was this to be his life from now on, he wondered. He would recall his difficulty at standing up unaided, his pain when he tried to lift his leg up one step, his dependency on the crutch. Was this it? Would he now be classed as disabled? Was he a cripple?

What a horrible word; cripple. But that was how he was starting to see himself. Wrap it up and put a bow on it if you like, he thought, but it is what it is. He didn't want to be labelled. He didn't want to be different. He liked his old life. He loved SRU. He loved Marina. He didn't want any of that to change. Would she still want to spend her life with a cripple, he wondered.

These horrible, debilitating thoughts started to creep into his psyche. At first he tried to tell himself that he was being stupid, Marina wasn't that shallow. She loved him; at least she said she loved him. But she fell in love with the man he was, the gun-toting, action man, SRU sergeant. How could she love this limping, scarred, former sergeant destined to life on disability? What could he offer her now? The more he allowed himself to think like that, the more he began to resent what had happened to him. Anger slowly started to gnaw away at him.

The day eventually came when he was told he could go home. He was told that he would still have to attend appointments for physio and pain management, but at least he could go home and sleep in his own bed. Needless to say Dean was delighted that his dad would be coming home. He tidied the apartment up, cleared any obstacles that would make getting around difficult for his dad. Marina did laundry, put clean sheets on the bed and cooked a lovely home-coming meal to make it special. She even got cake. Greg smiled and thanked them for their efforts and maintained his positive front.

For Greg, the reality of coming home, still reliant on a crutch, still in constant pain, was only a reminder of the life he was facing. Marina and Dean fussed about in the kitchen while he was left with his feet up at the TV. When dinner was ready, his son had to help him to his feet and over to the kitchen table. They celebrated the end of two long, harrowing months as though it was all over. But Greg didn't feel much like celebrating. He tried not to be rude, but they could see he wasn't all that happy.

"I'm sorry," he said, eventually getting bored. He still hadn't much appetite. The pain meds upset his stomach most nights. "I'm really tired. You went to so much trouble and dinner was lovely but I think I'll call it a night."

Marina tried not to look as hurt as she felt and brushed it off.

"Of course," she said, getting up from her chair and walking around behind him. "I'll help you."

"No, it's okay. I can do it," Greg insisted, reaching for his crutch and swinging his injured leg out from beneath the table. With the support of the crutch and the table itself, he struggled to his feet and breathed a sigh of relief having managed to stand up straight.

"Dad, do you need help to get changed?" Dean asked.

"No, Son, I can manage," he replied, not really convinced that he could.

He hobbled to his bedroom and closed the door, shutting them and their good intentions out. He hated his dependency on them. He flopped onto the bed and threw the crutches aside. He started to undo his shirt and reached for his t-shirt. He pulled it on then started to undo his pants. He pulled them down but struggled to get them off. The difficulty was getting his injured left leg out. It was bandaged and he was unable to bend his knee very much which made it awkward. He pushed the trousers down as far as he could with his hands, his healing chest wound twinging as he stretched, and then used his right foot to kick them off.

By the time he had managed to get them off, he felt worn out. He pulled himself backwards onto the bed and lay down to rest. He would brush his teeth in a few minutes he decided. As it turned out, he didn't do his teeth at all. He fell into a sound sleep and when he woke, he found that Marina was lying curled up beside him and that she had covered him with a blanket.

He realised that he needed to use the bathroom and didn't want to wake her. He cursed silently when he saw his crutch was thrown over the other side of the room. He sat up and swung his legs out of the bed and put his right leg to the floor. He hopped on one leg, using furnishings for support, until he reached his crutch. He held onto the wall as he bent down for it. That was when Marina woke.

"Greg? What are you doing?" she asked, getting straight up and out of bed. "You should have woken me. Where are you going?"

"I'm fine, Marina, I just need the bathroom," Greg told her.

"Here, let me help you," Marina said, helping Greg straighten up and handing him the crutch.

"You know I can do things for myself," Greg snapped as he opened the bedroom door and walked to the bathroom.

"I just want to help," Marina told him.

"I know. I'm sorry. It's just so frustrating sometimes," Greg replied.

"Okay, message received," Marina said, getting back into bed.

Greg felt like an unappreciative dick by the time he reached the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror and scolded himself. He reminded himself that none of this was her fault. She had been great. She had stuck by him through it all so why was he being an ass? Straighten up, he told himself.

He returned to the bedroom and snuck back into the bed, feeling like a complete tool. Marina lay with her back to him for a few minutes while Greg stared up at the ceiling, not quite knowing how to apologise. A couple of minutes later, Marina rolled over and rested her head on his chest and snuggled into him. He kissed her hair and put his arm around her and they fell back asleep in each other's arms.

Life continued on as Greg recovered slowly. Dean was preparing to graduate and still insisting that he wanted to join the police academy, much to Greg's displeasure. He had been accepted into university and Greg was very proud of that fact. He was a bright boy with a limitless future. Ever since the shooting, Greg had become even more adamant that he should attend college first and then, if he still wanted to, he could join that academy.

Inevitably, this led to tension between father and son. Greg wanted what he felt was best for his son. Dean wanted to be the architect of his own future. There didn't appear to be any middle ground. Marina tried to stay out of it as she felt it was a family decision and she didn't feel like it was her business to interfere. It remained a bone of contention.

The team, meanwhile, was back doing what it did best, albeit with changes. Ed had been asked to step in to Greg's shoes and was promoted to Sergeant. He felt odd about the promotion. It was as if he was profiting from his friend's misfortune and that left him with a sour taste in his mouth. He spoke to Greg about the promotion, but Greg quickly set him straight.

"Eddie, there is no one I would more like to see lead Team One than you," Greg told him. "You know the team. They need you, Eddie. I can't be there for them anymore. I wish I could, but I'll get some consolation knowing that you'll be there."

"Thank you, Boss," Ed said with an ache in his heart. He couldn't imagine not being there.

"I'm not your boss anymore either, Eddie," Greg reminded him. "You be safe out there."

So with Greg's blessing, Ed Lane took over as Sergeant of Team One. There were rumblings from HR that they wanted Sam to be team leader of Team Three. Ed didn't want to lose such an experienced officer, but knew it would be unfair to expect him to stay. He was going to be a dad and he and Jules were buying a house. They needed the money. Then there were the new guys; Steve Davis, a young, confident, greenhorn barely out of the academy. He was top scorer is all fields and had aced the entrance exams, but Ed hoped that he had the street smarts to go with the academic smarts. The second addition was a more mature SRU veteran, Danny Macken, known as Mack to his friends. Ed considered him an asset to the team, having served for fifteen years on the force and having seen plenty of action. He was the sort of guy you wanted watching your back. He would take over as team leader on Team One.

It took a lot of adapting for Team One to get to grips with the changes. Jules was placed on modified duty now that her baby bump was showing. She was riding a desk from now until her maternity leave started. She was a regular visitor to her former boss, checking in on him, making sure he wasn't overdoing it, keeping him company during the often long and lonely days when Dean was in school and Marina in work.

Of all his team, she was the one who was able to see right through him and he knew it. He found it difficult to conceal his growing despondency from her. She tried to talk to him, coax him to seek further counselling but of course, he insisted that he was fine and just needed time to adapt to the changes in his life.

But time marched on and Greg was left feeling more and more isolated. Everyone was busy with their lives, had a purpose and Greg could no longer find his. He wasn't sleeping well. Although the nightmares were less frequent, they still came and haunted his nights.

He would find himself back on that fateful day, pulling up in the SUV outside the Casey Jeffers Building. Donna was inside with Ansen Holt. She was only in there because he had ordered her in there. Then he would relive the awful moment when he realised that it was a trap. He would inevitably yell "Get out of there now!" And he would always jump awake at the exact same spot in the dream, just as the building exploded.

He would wake up sweating, trembling, and remembering that it was his fault that Donna died. Each time the nightmare replayed he was more convinced of it. If he had left her searching for Clark at City Hall she would be alive today. Nothing could make it right.

One particular morning, he got up having experienced another restless night. Marina had stayed in her place that night. Things between her and Greg had become a little strained, mainly because of his mood swings. Greg went into the bathroom to have a shower to try and wash away the perspiration and the painful memories. It was awkward trying to shower and keep his weight off his injured leg, but he managed while holding onto the wall. Feeling better, he reached out for a towel and stepped out of the shower, momentarily forgetting about his leg and putting his weight on it.

Pain ripped up his leg and it went from under him and he came crashing down onto the floor, hitting his head off the sink on the way down. Dean was in the kitchen when he heard the commotion.

"Dad!" he yelled as he ran towards the bathroom.

He opened the unlocked door and found his father sprawled naked and wet on the floor.

"Oh, my God, Dad! Are you okay?" he asked, rushing to his father's aid.

He grabbed the towel from the rail and covered his father's modesty and then helped him into a seated position. It was then he really noticed the scarring for the first time. He had never seen his father's surgical scars before. Greg had tried to hide the ugliness of the scar on his leg from his son, but Dean couldn't help but notice it now. He felt this overwhelming pity for his dad. This once strong, independent man was now lying helpless on the bathroom floor. He could only imagine how it made his dad feel.

"You're bleeding," Dean said, reaching for a face towel and putting it over a gash on Greg's forehead.

"I'm okay," Greg said, taking the towel from his son's hand.

"Let's get you up," Dean said, putting his hands under his father's shoulders and lifting him.

Greg struggled to his feet, totally humiliated having to be helped in this manner by his son. Dean helped him back into his bedroom and onto his bed.

"Let me have a look at that," Dean said, referring to the cut.

"Leave it," Greg snapped.

"It looks deep, Dad," Dean said, a little taken aback by his father's brusque attitude.

"I said leave it," Greg growled.

Dean stood back and looked at his father, who was barely able to look him in the eye. His face was creased in pain and Dean grew worried.

"Maybe I should take you to the hospital," Dean said, refusing to give up. "You might have a concussion or it might to be stitched."

"Dean, I'm fine," Greg insisted. "You're going to be late for school."

Dean hesitated, but could see that his father had no intention of going to the hospital. He realised that there was no point pushing him. He felt sorry for his dad and knew how difficult it must be for him, depending on others. He was reluctant to leave him, but knew that if he stayed off school, his dad would go berserk.

"Okay," Dean replied. "Just take it easy today. Please."

Greg nodded and Dean left him to get dressed. Dean had left the first aid kit beside him. Greg held his head in his hands and began to cry; part of it was pain, part of it was humiliation, part of it was mourning the loss of his old life. Finding a reason to get up in the morning was getting harder each day.

By the time Greg had gathered himself and came out of the room, his son was gone, leaving him feeling awful at having been so curt with Dean. He sat down and looked at the pills that Dean had laid out carefully on the table for him to take. It made him feel even worse. No boy should have to play nurse maid to his dad. Dean hadn't come back to live with him to end up doing this.

That evening, when Dean was coming home, he bumped into Marina who was storming out of their apartment. She was crying.

"Marina? What wrong?" he asked.

"He says that I'm better off without him. Can you believe it? That jerk," she cried. "How could he do this to me, after all we've been through?"

"I'm sure he didn't mean it," Dean said, trying to placate her. "He's been having some bad days lately."

"I know, Dean, and I've made allowances for him, but he keeps pushing me away. I can't keep crawling back so he can knock me down again," she said, wiping her eyes. "Take care of him."

And then she was gone. Dean looked on in disbelief as she got into the elevator and disappeared. He went into the apartment and was ready to have it out with his dad, but seeing him slouched on the couch, red-eyed, changed his mind.

"Hey, Dad," he said, throwing his book bag on the floor. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, sure, I'm hunky dory," Greg replied, his words slurring slightly. "I guess it's just you and me now kid. One washed up police officer and one wannabe. Sucks to be us, right?"

"Dad?" Dean said, completely taken aback.

"Come on, sit down," Greg said, gesturing oddly. "We should talk. I mean really talk….about stuff."

Greg wasn't making much sense and acting very strangely. Dean started to wonder if the bang on the head had been more serious than he suspected. He walked to the kitchen area and something caught his eye on top of the trash bin; a small, but empty, bottle of vodka. He looked over at his dad who had a Coke in front of him.

He suddenly felt sick. It wasn't just Coke. His dad was drunk.

TBC...

A/N - I know. How terrible of me! Also, I have no idea what sort of recover time is recommended for such injuries, hence my vagueness. Let me know what you think.