I would have had this up this morning but the site wouldn't lett me. Sorry its late. There's also an M rated piece to go along with the previous chapter in my fic the Morning After. Enjoy.

It was a couple of days later and they were both sitting at the kitchen table having lunch. Ruth was distracted, twirling her fork around without actually eating anything. Harry reached across the table and took her hand, her eyes finally reaching his. "What's wrong?" he asked slowly. She dropped her fork to the plate with a clatter.

"You're not going to like it," she said quietly.

"I don't care, anything's better than this unhappy silence from you."

"I think you should see a physical therapist, or someone," she said, biting her lip anxiously. "I know you won't want to, but as you're meant to be dead I think it would be good to get a professional opinion here. I… I've been thinking about it and I'd really like you to go."

He didn't answer straight away, giving the idea serious thought. "I don't want you to hope for a miracle," he said. "I will go if you want, but please don't get your hopes up."

"Do you think it's a good idea?"

"I honestly think it won't make any difference," he said. "But going to get checked out won't be a bad thing. And its not like I'm doing anything else around here all day."

"Thank you," she said, her eyes shining with sincerity. "I know you hate people seeing you like this, and you'd be doing it for me, but thank you anyway." He smiled tightly at her. He felt surprised when she suddenly got up and kissed his lips sensually. He wrapped his arms around her enjoying it before she broke the contact reluctantly. "Thank you," she repeated.

"We'll need him to sign the official secrets act you know," Harry said as Ruth picked up her fork, suddenly seeming hungry.

"Yes I know," Ruth said. "Considering officially you're buried a few miles outside of London. I have a few copies with me."

"Where'd you get them from?" he asked curiously.

"Pilfered them from the grid before I went to work for Towers," she said with a smile. "Just in case." Harry smiled at her, more relaxed this time, and carried on eating.

"Well Mr Pearce, I don't seem to have any history passed on from your previous practice," the doctor said the next day.

"Ah," Harry said. "Well, officially I'm dead," Harry said. "It's a long story, but I would appreciate you signing the official secrets act."

"Doctor patient confidentiality," he said, hiding his surprise with difficulty. "I wouldn't divulge anything anyway."

"Please," Harry said, proffering the form. "For my own peace of mind." The doctor took the form, scanned it, and then obligingly signed it before handing it back. "Thank you. Well, basically I nearly died about seven weeks ago. The oxygen was cut off to my brain and I ended up in this chair."

"Okay, what medication are you on?" Harry handed him the prescription and the doctor studied it. "Are you experiencing any movement at all?"

"Well, I can sort of shuffle around a few steps but it is exhausting and I can't feel it," Harry said. "I'm here because my partner said she felt my foot move in bed, and she wanted me to see a doctor."

"Judging from your reaction, you don't believe her," the doctor said correctly. Harry nodded his head once in agreement. "Okay, and now the awkward bit. Are you able to have sex?"

"Yes," Harry said bluntly, praying the conversation would change to something else. Clearly no one was hearing his prayers.

"Is it enjoyable?"

"Is this really necessary?" Harry asked.

"I don't like asking these questions, unfortunately its my job," the doctor said.

Harry sighed before continuing. He never talked about his private life like this. "Yes, but I'd say it feels… about seventy to eighty percent of what it was before I was injured." Something he wasn't letting Ruth know, and intended on keeping it that way. Harry stayed sitting as the doctor gently examined the muscles in Harry's legs. When he sat back up, looking at his notes, a frown came across his face.

"I am guessing at the hospital you were at, you were dismissed pretty quickly?" the doctor asked. "No one talked to you about any physical therapy or retraining your muscles?"

"That's about right," Harry said. "I needed to get out of there pretty quickly. Does it matter?"

"Your painkillers are too strong," the doctor said. "I think you should get off of them. It'll hurt, I'm not denying that, but they're numbing the good nerves as well as the pain. You need to get off them, if you want your legs to function again."

"So they will?" Harry asked flabbergasted.

"It won't be like it was, but I could see you using a walking stick and nothing more to get around at some point in the future."

"Really?"

"It will hurt when you get off the painkillers, but as far as I can tell you have a good shot."

"I don't care about the pain," he said. "I've had enough in my life, so I can deal with it."

"Its not a guarantee," the doctor advised. "You got a good shot. I'd recommend taking some normal paracetamol if it gets too much. I'd like you to come back in a couple of weeks."

"Of course," Harry said trying to wrap his mind around this. "Thank you." He left the doctors office to find Ruth with her nose in her Mary Shelley book. She looked up when he stopped his wheelchair by her.

"All okay?"

"Yeah, it went fine," he said. He didn't want to tell her anymore because he could live with his own hopes being shattered, but he couldn't cope with her being disappointed in his lack of progress.

I'm making up medical details so I hope no one's offended by my lack of knowledge.