AN: Many thanks to Marie for the wonderful beta :)

The ocean was as calm as ever. Looking at it, Carson couldn't believe that, just a few months before, a hurricane had almost flooded the city. It was the first evening he spent released from the infirmary and he was enjoying the fresh air on one of the balconies.

One of the most interesting things about the city was it had a huge number of balconies. Well, not huge, but a lot greater than the current number of inhabitants. That's why, when he heard footsteps approaching, he didn't react in any way. If the visitor wanted to talk to him, then he'd come forward. If not, he didn't want to force anybody into a conversation.

"Doc?" John Sheppard's called.

"Colonel!" Carson was a little surprised.

"Am I disturbing you?"

"No, not at all. I was jus' enjoying the fresh air."

"The infirmary can be a little…" noting Carson's inquisitive look, he decided to drop the subject. He asked instead: "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine." John knew those words too well. Every time he wanted people to leave him alone, he said them. Now, looking at Carson, he could see his pale face and the way he was holding his right palm in the left one.

Carson realized John was looking at his hands and explained: "I have to massage it, to help the -"

"It's okay, Doc, no need to explain anything."

"How are ye feeling, son? I still canne -"

"Carson! Stop it, okay? I have nothing against you. Any of you. It's just that I was there, alone with those people. We had nothing in common. They were in their little bubble, it's like they didn't live. They just meditated and expected things to happen. And I can't live like that. Having to stay there for six months, thinking that I might be stuck there forever…"

"Ye know we wouldn't have left ye there. We did everything we could, as fast as we could."

"I know. It just took some time to let it settle in." He looked at Carson and saw the man still felt guilty. He added: "You know what? I'm proud of you!" A big grin was on his face and Carson couldn't understand what he meant.

"Wha'?"

"The way the both of you shot the beast, defending Elizabeth."

"We obviously had some problems."

"Ah, you'll be better next time."

Carson paled, more than John thought was possible.

"I didn't meant that… I mean you're getting better than when you first went to Ho… "

Carson was staring at him. He was grateful that he tried to make him feel better, but John wasn't very good at that. In just a few words, he reminded him of everything he tried to forget. As if he ever could.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to -"

"It's okay, John. No need t' worry."

They were both leaning on the balcony railing, looking at the ocean.

"Did you write your letter?" John asked.

"What letter?"

"The letter home. The Daedalus will leave tomorrow and they're collecting the letters to be sent home."

"I wasn't quite able t' write…"

John mentally slapped himself. He knew that all of Carson's letters were hand written. He said they were more personal that way.

"I wasn't very good at typing with my left hand, anyway."

"I could help. Look!" He took a piece of paper from his pocket and sat down on the couch that was on the balcony. Carson smiled as he saw mathematical formulas on the other side of the paper.

"So… You'll tell me what to write, I'll write on this… draft and then I'll type it. Okay?"

"Suppose." He was surprised that John offered to help write the letter, knowing that he usually kept himself away from personal affairs of the members of the expedition.

"So… what should I write?"

Carson sat, thinking of what he could say. This could be the last letter that was sent from him, to his mum, from the Pegasus Galaxy. He shouldn't worry her. How could he do that when someone else was writing the letter?

"Dear Mum, I am well." Carson stopped, seeing John staring at him.

"What?"

"I am well? That's a bit… succinct. Not to say untrue."

"She would worry! She's got enough on her hands, anyway!"

"Okay, your letter."

"So… I am well. I hope that you are well, too. What's wrong with you?"

Sheppard was scowling at him.

"It's your mother you're writing to!"

"I'm aware of that!"

"Well… be more… I don't know, just… feels like you're writing to someone who's a lot more distant."

"She's my mother, she knows me. So, if we'll go on…"

"Sure!"

"I canne write this letter because I had a wee accident. Everything's fine, jus' that I canne write these days and I can't postpone writing it. My research is going well, and we have been pretty fortunate lately, we didn't have too many injured people." He stopped and looked at John. He didn't seem to be upset with him. After all, if he had been, he wouldn't have offered to do this.

"Yeah, Doc?"

"I'm sorry Uncle Angus is feeling bad. I hope he'll be able to get over it and will give you peace, as well. I know how hypochondriacs like him can be."

John almost chocked.

"Yeah, me too."

"You have no idea. Rodney is nothing compared to him."

"And your mother has to put up with him?"

"Yeah."

"She must be some woman." John peeked at Carson, happy to see that he was looking better and happier.

Carson continued: "Hope I will be able to write more in my next letter." There was no reason to worry her.

After a few minutes of silence, John asked: "Is that it?"

"Sorry?"

"The ending? How do you end your letters?"

Carson said nothing. He knew that if he had to write this letter on his own, he couldn't have. He appreciated John's help, but it only added to the deceit. He was lying to his mother. How could he contemplate signing this letter as he had done all the others before, knowing he refrained from saying the most important thing. Sending a page of drivel when he should confide that which could change their lives.

"Love, your son, Carson."

John rose from the couch and headed for the door: "I'll type this and bring it over to you for a check. Okay?"

"Sure. John?"

"Yeah?"

"How did you know about the letters? You never write home."

"Wanted to write to Ford's grandparents. After all that happened, I felt that I should…"

Carson understood. He couldn't imagine what John could write. He knew they were told he was dead. He had to tell that to many relatives and friends, but he rarely spoke to them afterwards.

"Thanks for coming to tell me."

"What? Oh, that's not why I came."

"Really? Why did you come?"

"To thank you for saving my life."

"I'm sorry?"

"Shooting me was an accident. So was the virus. But saving my life every time, after that and after all the other injuries, wasn't."

"John… I…" He couldn't say anything else, but he was obviously grateful and John was happy to see that his feelings got through to the good doctor.

"I'll come back in less than half an hour."

"Thank you."