AN: I had this idea based on spoilers I read, and wanted to post it before events on the show eclipse it. It's a bit raw as a result, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.

Astrid was alone when the doorbell sounded. She was in the study—a space she loved. When she was alone in the house, it was her favorite spot to read or peruse the Internet on her laptop. Though she believed the immediate danger was behind her, she was still wary about unexpected visitors. Stephen had made good on his promise that she was safe from his uncle. More than that, Roger's return signaled a change ahead for the Tomorrow People. One that she hoped would mean an end to the life of fear and violence they lived. In spite of all this, she still approached the door—her own front door—with the kind of caution she once reserved for dark alleys. It was silly in a way. If it was a tomorrow person with ill intent, they could have teleported in; if it was an Ultra hit squad, they wouldn't have used the bell. Still, she crept up quietly, and cautiously checked to see who was there.

"John!" John was leaning—no, supporting himself against doorjamb. Astrid threw open the door, and John stumbled in. Seeing the state of him, she reached to him out at once. He allowed himself to half collapse into proffered arms. She held onto him in silence for a moment. He was a mess. There was so much she wanted to ask, but now wasn't the time.

With one arm around his waist to support him, she pushed the door shut with the other. She helped him to the study and eased him into her dad's comfy leather chair. Only now did she take a close look at him. What had been apparent at first glance—that he was badly battered—came into stark perspective now. Cuts and bruises marred his face, and his gingerly movements, punctuated by winces, gave evidence of more bodily damage. Wordlessly, she helped him shimmy out of his trademark leather jacket. In the process of doing so, she could see that his wrists were badly bruised and abraded as well.

"We need to get these cuts cleaned up," was all she could think to say. Action would keep her thoughts and worries at bay. As she turned to leave him, he reached out and caught her wrist. "I'll be right back," she reassured him. Then, placing her hand over his and giving it a gentle squeeze, she added, "I won't be a minute—I promise." He said nothing, but released her wrist, and sank back into the chair. He closed his eyes, which she could see were red-rimmed and puffy, as though he'd been crying. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, and turned away as she fought back tears of her own.

She went straight back to the front door to make sure it was locked and secure. Then she pulled the curtains in the study and living room. The lower floor suddenly seemed cave-like—cool, and safe. She hoped—no she needed it to feel safe. Finally she moved quickly upstairs.

When she returned, she brought hydrogen peroxide, cotton balls, and antiseptic cream to clean and dress his cuts. She kneeled beside him, and carefully doused some cotton with the peroxide solution. "John?" His eyes opened and he looked at her—perhaps without really seeing her, she thought. "I'm afraid this is going to sting," she told him. He silently nodded, and closed his eyes again.

Astrid began by gently cleaning a cut on John's cheek; then moved on to one over his brow. It was clear that he was not yet ready to talk. Astrid worked in silence. For his part, John alternated between closing his eyes, and opening them, and watching her blankly.

Astrid wondered how things had gone wrong. She thought Roger's return would herald an end to their troubles. But perhaps, like Stephen and the others, she was caught up in the myth of Roger, rather than the man himself. Powerful or not, he was just one man. Astrid had seen the hope and excitement amongst the Tomorrow People over Roger's return. At the same time, she'd noticed that John held back, but she hadn't given it much thought until now.

By now she was finishing cleaning all of the visible cuts, and dressing each one with an ointment designed to keep infection from setting in. There was little to be done about the bruises. They would heal in due time. It was a poor substitute for going to a clinic, but she knew from experience that this would suffice.

Astrid sat on the ottoman facing him and took his hand once more. "Do you want to tell me what happened?" she asked softly.

He'd given himself completely to her ministrations and been so quiet, she thought perhaps he'd fallen asleep. So it came as a surprise when he responded, "They used me." The voice was John, but not John. He opened his eyes, but did not look directly at her. Instead his gaze was unfocused and distant. Unshed tears gathered. "They used me, Astrid. I was nothing more than a pawn in their power play against the Founder."

Astrid was almost afraid to speak, lest he withdraw again. Still she asked, "Who, John?"

"Jed and Roger. They let me live half my life believing … they let me carry this guilt around. Guilt that I thought defined me, guilt that ate at me everyday. And now … I …" His voice caught.

She had no idea what he was talking about, but she didn't want him to feel that she was interrogating him. So she settled on, "I'm glad you came to me. How can I help? Do you need me to contact Cara or Stephen? Do you feel strong enough to teleport now?"

John turned his face away from her. "I can't," he let out in a harsh whisper. "The Founder took my powers." His hands clinched reflexively into fists. Then the tears came at last. "I fought him. I resisted as long as I could, but in the end … I … he …"

Astrid could hardly bear it. She went to him, and cradled him in her arms as best she could. She let him take the time he needed. When the squall had passed, she said, "John, we should get in touch with Cara. She'll be worried about you. They'll all be worried about you."

"Don't you understand?" he asked harshly. "I'm no good to her now. I'm no use to any of them anymore. I don't know how to live like this."

Astrid realized with a start how little she knew or understood their world. How, she wondered, how did the founder take John's powers? Was it permanent? Or could they be returned to him? That it was painful was apparent from the state of him. He was right that there was much she didn't understand, but there was also plenty that she did.

She pulled back so that she could look him in the eyes. "You're the same person you were before, John."

"I don't know who I am if I'm not one of them, Astrid. Protecting them has been my whole life. Now I can't help. I can't fight. If anything, I'm a liability to them."

"John, you're the same person you were before," she repeated emphatically.

"You have no idea, Astrid—no idea what it's like to have a piece of yourself ripped away." His heartbreak was palpable to her.

She said nothing for a moment, unsure what to say. What possible words of reassurance could she offer? He was right—she had no idea what he was going through. But what she did know was that when she needed it, he was there to lift her up. Now she wanted to do the same for him. "Do you think you're the first person to lose an ability that they relied on their entire life? Do you know how many sighted people lose their vision to disease or accidents? Or how many soldiers go off to war and come back without a limb … or two? It's hard, but they go on. They don't just endure—they reclaim their lives. I know it's hard right now, but you will too."

John squeezed her hand and nodded slightly.

"And I'll be here to help. I promise," she told him.

"Hey, that's my line," he said sounding much like his former self.

"It is, isn't it?"