UPDATE, AUG 7th, 2016: Yes, I AM still writing this! Slowly. But it's happening. I'm in the process of going through and uploading new versions of all existing chapters. Nothing significant has changed, just fixing a lot of small spelling/grammar errors, and making some adjustments for reality. Estella getting from Venezuela to Maine in 12 hours with no notice? Not sure what I was thinking, it's taken me longer than that to get from Chicago to Portland.

ALSO I'm excited to announce I'm adding song lyrics to the beginning of each chapter - musical snippets that capture the essence of the chapter in my mind. I used to do this with every fanfiction I wrote, and I tried to avoid it with this one, but I just can't. I've developed a lengthy playlist that I listen to as I write this, and I want to share it with you all. It's like how the perfect song drives home the impact of movies and TV shows in a way that silence just wouldn't. So I hope you feel the same, I suggest you go back and check out the additions at the top of each chapter, and I encourage you to check out the songs/artists posted, because they're excellent!

And obviously, DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. Not Jonny Quest. Not the characters. Not the songs or lyrics I use. Don't sue me.

Original A/N: This is a story that has been a very long time coming. I first started writing it years ago and never finished, but unlike many ideas that never fully panned out, this one has plagued my thoughts consistently ever since. For some reason, I always came back to it, adding and changing things, only to ultimately abandon it again. I would like to think I'm back for good this time and planning to see this through to the end!

I realize the JQ fandom is more or less a ghost town these days, but no matter how old I get, these characters have always held a special place in my heart. Maybe there is no one left out there to even bother reading this, but if you are there and actually do take the time to read, you are wonderful and I appreciate you! Please review, I would love feedback and it would be a great motivation to finish up what will ultimately end up being a novel-length story.

Without further rambling, I give you. . . .

Like the Dust

Chapter 1
Resurrection

"If you close your eyes
Does it almost feel like nothing changed at all?
And if you close your eyes
Does it almost feel like you've been here before?"

- Bastille, "Pompeii"

It was a vicious winter's day along the coast of Maine. Half a foot of snow already blanketed the ground and the clouds were moving in again, a gray sheet that seemed to stretch infinitely in every direction. The trees rocked back and forth in a sea of wind as the ocean waves crashed violently upon the beach. The streets of Rockport were uncharacteristically quiet and empty for a Sunday, most people having chosen to hibernate away from the brewing storm.

As usual, the Quest family was the exception to the rule. Dr. Benton Quest had set out on a road trip to Portland, braving the adverse conditions with little more than a wave of his hand and the last-minute grab of a raincoat. He had a meeting that he'd scheduled months ago with Dr. Nathaniel Gilmore, the director of a prestigious scientific research center based in Italy. Any attempt made to dissuade him from making the drive was met with a long explanation of all the ways an alliance with Dr. Gilmore would help Quest Enterprises, and the rest of the family eventually caved in.

Jonny Quest, Benton's sixteen year old son, had tickets to a basketball game between two high-ranking local teams, and since the game had not been suspended, neither had his attendance plans. Hadji Singh, Benton's adopted Indian son, was originally supposed to go with Jonny to the game. Instead, without offering an explanation, he had changed his mind at the last minute; the eighteen year old was now bound for a movie and dinner date with a local girl that Benton had never so much as heard about before. He had the impression that it was Jonny's doing, but said nothing because Hadji had not protested.

With the three of them out and about, Race Bannon was the only one left in the Quest Compound on that dark and gusty afternoon. Benton had invited him to come along, but Race had decided that listening to two scientists talk about abstract theories that he didn't fully understand was not his idea of a good time. In the end, he had opted for an afternoon of solitude, which was a rare thing around the compound - so rare, in fact, that Race did not know what to do with himself.

After a couple of hours spent updating and inspecting the computer and security systems, Race made himself a sandwich, fed Bandit, and settled down to watch a little television before the weather inevitably knocked out the cable. The storm had begun again; the temperature had climbed just enough to turn the snow to rain, just as violent and heavy as anticipated. It was still far too cold for thunder or lightning, and the loud rain sounded lonely to his ears.

Sighing, he settled into the couch cushions. Bandit hopped up beside him and Race smiled faintly. Bandit was Jonny's dog, tried and true and as loyal as could be. He was friendly with all of them, but never expressed to anyone the kind of affection Jonny received. Of course, there had been a time when Jessie had been almost equal to Jonny in Bandit's eyes . . .

Race shut his mind off, forcing away the painful thoughts that were trying to creep back in. It was a skill he had become very good at. Focusing on his immediate surroundings, he scratched the dog's ears and gave him a bite of his sandwich. "You never did like storms, did you, boy?" he muttered to the bulldog.

It was peaceful for a solid half an hour as Race absentmindedly took in the repetitive Christmas specials that had plagued the television channels for weeks now, getting ever more frequent as the holiday drew closer. When the electrical system finally shut down, it happened without a bang or a flash; one moment the television was on, bathing man and dog in gentle blue light, and the next it was off along with all the rest of the lights in the house.

"Damn it," Race swore, but there was no heat behind his words. He was used to this, and his reaction was based more out of habit than actual annoyance. "IRIS, institute backup electrical systems."

He frowned when his order went unanswered. Perhaps he had tweaked IRIS's settings too much earlier . . . or perhaps with all the recent blackouts, they had used up the automatic backup energy reserves. If that were the case, he would need to manually initiate the final backup server from the basement.

He pushed himself up and grabbed a flashlight from the kitchen, muttering at how dark the clouds made the day for not even five in the evening. The rain pounded in his ears like thunder as he marched down the stairs. It took him five minutes to fiddle with the switches and remember the exact sequence to trigger the final generator, but at last he got it. He heard the hum of electricity buzzing to life again, and IRIS's soft voice suddenly spoke.

"UNIDENTIFIED STRANGER AT FRONT DOOR."

Race swore again, this time with more passion. Clearly, IRIS had been down at just the right moment for this stranger to make their way through the front gates unnoticed, otherwise he would have gotten a warning message as soon as they set foot on the property. Narrowing his eyes suspiciously, he wondered if this was more than mere coincidence.

"IRIS, has the individual exhibited any hostility?" he demanded as he climbed the stairs quietly.

"NO HOSTILE BEHAVIOR DETECTED."

"Have they attempted to go beyond their clearance boundaries?"

"NO CLEARANCE BOUNDARIES BREACHED."

"Describe the stranger," Race ordered, pausing at the top of the stairs, wondering if he should grab a gun, just in case. Lord, he hated blackouts . . .

"TEENAGE FEMALE. FIVE FEET, SEVEN INCHES TALL. 140 POUNDS. UNARMED."

Race frowned. "What on earth . . . ?" Had one of Jonny or Hadji's friends decided to wander up to the compound? It didn't seem likely. Most of the boys' close friends would be recognized by IRIS, at least by name, if not by granted access; and those that were not particularly close were unlikely to have braved such a storm to get here.

Finally, Race headed for the door, deciding against arming himself. He saw no point in frightening an innocent kid with a gun, and if IRIS's description was accurate, he could easily hold an unarmed teenage girl at bay if the situation came down to it.

"Disengage locking mechanism," he ordered IRIS upon reaching the door.

"DISENGAGED," her voice quoted back at him, though he knew this from the soft click of the locks undoing.

He opened the door, unsure of what to expect and braced for trouble. While most men would see no danger in such an alert, Race had learned through years of work in dangerous professions that he and his family could not afford to be lax in any way. Letting their guard down for even a moment could be enough to get someone killed. He had learned that lesson in the most painful of ways.

Night had almost completely fallen by now and he could see little more than the silhouette of a figure huddled before him. Behind him, he heard Bandit bark and whine softly.

"Hush, Bandit," he told the dog, then changed his tone of voice for the person on the porch. "Hold on a minute, I'll get the light." He fumbled blindly for the switch.

As the porch was illuminated, Race saw a stranger fitting IRIS's description perfectly. A girl stood huddled in the rain before him, wearing what looked like a man's shirt and baggy jeans, all soaked with water to the point of looking much darker than they must have really been. She was shivering, her arms folded across her chest, her face downcast, preventing Race from getting a good look at her. At first glance, she looked to have dark auburn hair, but he guessed that it would have been a deep red had it been dry.

"Hello, can I help you?" he asked.

The girl finally looked up and Race felt his mind explode.

It took him a long and breathless minute before he was convinced. She was so much older . . . taller, paler, more reserved. Her eyes were the same bright green, but there was darkness in them. Her face had matured with age, but it was the same face - his daughter's face.

When she spoke, her voice was cautious and frightened, "D-Daddy?"

Race felt as though his knees might give way beneath him and he half-fell against the doorframe. "Jessie?" he whispered hoarsely, disbelieving.

She nodded slightly, searching his face for something, looking hopelessly lost and scared and still holding onto herself tightly as though she were own lifeline. She seemed to be waiting for some confirmation as much as he was.

Hesitantly, half expecting her vanish if he moved too quickly, he stepped forward and reached out to her. He felt his hand connect with her arm, tangible and real and not at all an illusion, and his reverie was broken. He practically leaped forward and pulled her into his arms, embracing her tightly. She stiffened at his sudden hold on her and it took her a few moments before she relaxed and wrapped her arms loosely around him in return.

"My God, Jessie ... you're alive! You're back ..." he whispered disbelievingly.

He pulled back just enough to see her face, still gently holding onto her arms. He was afraid that if he let go of her she would disappear before his eyes.

"I can't believe you're here. . . . Are you okay? Are you hurt?" he asked shakily, looking her over. For the first time, he noticed that her lips were tinged with blue and she was shivering to the point that her teeth chattered. Her skin was icy to the touch. He needed to get her warmed up.

"You're freezing, let's get you inside," he said gently, not waiting for her answer to his previous questions. She just nodded and allowed him to guide her off the porch and into the foyer.

Race kicked the door shut behind him and ordered IRIS to put the compound's heating system on high. Jessie just stood there, shivering violently and looking around herself with a puzzled expression, completely silent. Not only was she on the verge of hypothermia, she appeared to be in shock.

Years of compartmentalization and emergency response training going into effect, Race knelt in front of her, forcing himself to stay focused. "I'm going to go get you some dry clothes and a towel, okay, honey? I want you to wait right here. I'll be right back, I promise." It was several long seconds before she nodded.

He took the stairs three at a time, not wanting to let her out of his sight for any longer than he absolutely had to. Going immediately to the guest bedroom, he began rummaging through the tall set of drawers. Jessie had grown so much that he didn't think her own things would fit her anymore.

Estella had taken to keeping some extra clothes at the compound because of how frequently she stayed with them in the months following Jessie's abduction. For a while, she had practically lived there with the rest of them, helping them follow every lead and track down every clue. The leads had dried up a long time ago, though, and it had been over a year since Estella's last visit, but Race knew that she still had some of her things stashed away. Just in case.

Race grabbed the first long-sleeved shirt he could find, along with a pair of sweat pants that looked warm. On his way back down the stairs he snagged a large towel out of the linen closet and hurried back to where he had left his daughter. She stood exactly where he had left her, looking around herself at the hallway and appearing horribly lost in the place she was supposed to call home.

"Here," he said softly, handing her the towel. "Dry your hair some, we need to get your body temperature back up. Come in here, there's a fire going."

Race led her to the den, where ten minutes ago he'd sat watching television like any normal day, trying his best to temporarily forget about the daughter he thought he'd lost forever. And now here she was. Shaking off the feeling of overpowering disbelief, he steered her over to the fire. The TV was back on, offering mumbled and indistinct background noises. Bandit was perched on the couch, watching uncertainly. As Jessie began slowly drying herself with the towel, the dog hopped off the cushion and approached her cautiously, wagging his tail questioningly.

Jessie paused as the dog drew closer, watching him without any reaction. She was so quiet and seemed so numb; Race tried to push back the uneasy feeling that kept trying to creep forward from the back of his mind. Finally, he knelt down beside the dog and started petting him.

"Jess, it's just Bandit," he said slowly, his voice neutral, keeping his eyes on her even though she still wouldn't meet his gaze. "He's not going to hurt you. You . . . remember Bandit?" He asked the last question cautiously. Three years was a long time, but it didn't seem likely that she would have forgotten something like this of her own accord.

She nodded slowly. "Yeah . . . I remember Bandit." It was only the second time she had spoken, but the tone of her voice unnerved him. There was no feeling, no inflection, no emotion. The longer he kept his reeling thoughts at bay, the greater the shadow of his fear became.

Bandit sat at her feet, wagging his tail. Hesitantly, Jessie reached out to him and patted his head. He licked her hand with feverish excitement for a few moments before she drew it away and continued drying herself.

"He certainly remembers you," Race observed softly. He sat on the arm of the chair, watching Jessie carefully. Now that she was marginally warmer, he realized that the paleness he had marked as signs of her low body temperature was actually only a magnification of her normal skin tone. She was so thin; Race wondered how long it had been since she had last eaten.

"Come on, honey," he said softly, "you get yourself out of those clothes. I'm going to get you something hot to drink while you change."

Jessie took the clothes he handed her without looking at them. She nodded again and continued to dry her hair, which was now cut so that it hung just below her shoulders. After hesitating a moment, he forced himself to take his leave to the adjacent kitchen.

He went immediately to the sink and began filling the kettle, but as he stood gripping the counter, watching the water flow out of the faucet, he felt the enormity of the situation hit him with all the force of a wrecking ball.

Three years! Three years since he had last seen her. Three years of searching, of desperation, of loss and grieving and being forced to accept that his only daughter was gone forever. And now here she was, three years older, so withdrawn and reserved, but alive! His hope for this moment had died some time ago, and now here she was.

All he wanted to do was hold her and refuse to let go. He had so many questions he wanted to ask her, so many things he wanted to say, but her withdrawal made him hold back. He still had no idea what she had been through, what had taken place in the last three years to cause the kind of reaction he was seeing in her now, and the last thing he wanted to do was frighten her.

Soft sounds of movement in the den pulled him back from his reverie and he realized that the kettle was more than full by now. He tried to pull it out from under the stream of scalding water, but the metal had heated up and it seared his hand upon contact.

"Shit!" he swore viciously, clenching his trembling hand and drawing in a deep breath. Keep it together, Bannon! he snarled at himself silently. His head was a reeling mess by this point, but he had to keep functioning. Giving up on the kettle, he grabbed a mug, filled it with water, and threw it in the microwave.

Re-entering the den a couple of minutes later with the finished mug of cocoa, he saw that Jessie had moved over to sit on the lounge chair positioned closest to the fire. She wore her mother's clothes and he noticed that they fit her almost perfectly now. For the first time, Race wondered what Estella was going to do when she found out . . . Benton and Hadji . . . Jonny. . . .

Jessie looked over at him as he entered, seeming a bit more lucid than she had earlier. "I fit in Mom's clothes now." She sounded dazed as she ran her fingers along the fabric of the sleeve.

The bewilderment and innocence of her statement made Race's heart break. "Yeah," he choked out. "You do."

He handed her the mug of hot cocoa and she took it gingerly, wrapping her hands around the warm exterior and staring back into the flames of the fire. She had the towel hanging around her neck, and although she still shivered slightly, a lot of the color had returned to her skin.

Now that the momentary crisis had passed, Race found himself at a loss for what to say to her. She was so distant already . . . he feared that pressing her too much would make her withdraw even further.

Sipping at the mug her father had given her, Jessie seemed to choke on the liquid.

"Too hot?" Race asked with concern.

"Yes . . . no . . ." She shook her head and frowned, setting the mug on the table at her side. "I don't know, the sweetness . . . it tastes strange. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it. You know I've never been hailed for my cooking skills," Race teased weakly. Jessie attempted a smile, but it only ended up looking pained. Her eyes wandered around the room, taking in the decor. They had shifted the furniture a bit over the last few years, but the room was more or less the same as it had been before.

"God, Jessie, is it really you?" he asked at long last, his voice shaking.

"I think so," she said, swallowing hard and staring at her hands as though she didn't recognize them. She looked ready to burst into tears, but was trying hard to fight them back.

"All these years . . . I never thought I'd see you again," Race whispered, his voice full of awe. "My god, Jess, we thought you were dead! So much time had passed, and knowing Sampson . . ." He couldn't finish the sentence. "What happened, sweetheart? How did you get here? Where have you been?"

Jessie wrapped her arms around herself and shook her head. For the first time since she set foot in the compound, she looked up and met her father's eyes directly, her face filled with fear. "I don't know," she said shakily. "I don't remember. . . ." With this admission, the last of her defenses crumbled and she curled in on herself, crying openly. Race moved quickly to her side, gathering her into his arms.

"Shhhh," he murmured gently, holding her tightly as she fell apart before his eyes. "It's going to be okay . . . you're home now, you're safe . . . we'll figure this out. . . ."

She cried for a long time, allowing Race to rock her gently as he used to do when she was a little girl waking up from a bad dream. He only wished that this nightmare could be shaken so easily.