Disclaimer: see chapter one

AN: my apologies for the excruciatingly long wait. Had some serious illnesses these past few months, and have been working on getting myself healthy again, so fan fiction took a bit of a backseat. For those that sent me PMs, reviews asking me if I would finish this, or even if you are just reading, I assure you I will. Just asking for a little bit of patience with this. Thanks, and hope you enjoy the chapter.

Chapter Fourteen – Not Worth It

His eye flickered up and down.

Up and down.

Up and down.

Pupils dilating and contracting to adjust to the change in light, his eyes snapped open. His surroundings were dim, and he could just make out the vague silhouettes of various pieces of machinery looming ominously towards him from the wall.

Have they captured me again? He thought desperately, fiddling with the tubes that were entering his body. The tubes were leading to various liquids in various bags, hanging from a rod. Have they torn me away from those that believe in me for some freakish medical experiment? Am I like a human guinea pig for some sick disease cocktail?

He didn't know where the hell he was. Disorientated and confused, his mind could only grapple at the endless possibilities regarding his location. Either way, the Lieutenant refused to remain vulnerable. He had to get out of there.

It was only when he tried to move his legs, he remembered what had happened. The words jumped out at him like fragments, and Scott had to piece them together.

Gunshot.

Wound.

Spinal column.

Paralysis.

Pain.

Lots of pain.

Crap.

Pain, coupled with paralysis, in any situation, was never good.

I may never walk again.

That traitorous thought entered, unbidden into his mind. He pushed it away just as fast as it had entered.

With a groan of frustration, Scott gave up on trying to move his legs.

"Ah, you're awake, Lieutenant."

A shadow moved closer towards him, moving to adjust one of his wires. Scott yanked the wires away from the shadow, snarling slightly.

"Relax, Lieutenant. I just want to lower your saline solution."

Unable to do much more than glare at the shadow – Scott could figure out it was a she – he let her fiddle. Whatever kept her happy meant less trouble for him.

"I'll get the doctor for you," she added, with a kindly smile.

Doctor? That could only mean one thing. He was in a hospital. He was safe. Unless…

No. No-one would be that twisted.

Would they?

What if this was a trap? A way of getting him to lower his guard, by providing him medical care that had been denied from him for so long? What if he really was still inside that hellhole?

Dammit, Scott hated psychological mind games.

"It's nice to see you awake, Lieutenant," the doctor said, grabbing a data pad off the edge of his patient's bed. "We were beginning to worry about you, given the fact that you hadn't woken up yet."

Scott's face pulled into a puzzled frown.

"I imagine you have a few questions," he continued. "First of all, I'm Dr. Burns, and I'll be overseeing your treatment while you're with us in the UN Base Camp hospital."

So, he was safe. But what about the others? He had wondered.

"You've undergone quite a bit of surgery to put everything back together again. Your ribs have been realigned, and the radius in your left arm has been reset so that the bone knits together in a straight line. We've run a few tests on your blood work, and we're keeping you on a course of antibiotics to help fight off some infections you have, as well as having a constant feeding drip attached to your body, as you are seriously malnourished. To be honest, Lieutenant, we're amazed that you made it this far without succumbing to these."

So, I'm fine. What about the others? He thought desperately. Just because he was okay, it didn't mean the others were alright too.

"However, there is a lot of swelling and bruising around your spinal column. As far as we can tell, based off the x-rays, MRIs and CT scans, it would be more beneficial for us to wait for the swelling to settle down before we determine if we can pull the bullet out from your spine, and if there will be long-lasting damage."

Scott's eyes darted towards the doctor, a ray of hope radiating out from them.

"There is no definite fact we can give you in regards to your spine, so there is the possibility, as slight as it is, that you will walk again."

Despite the elation that ran rampant through his body, Scott couldn't stop his eyelids from drooping slightly.

"I'll let you get some rest. We're mighty glad to have you back with us, Lieutenant. Mighty glad."

The door to the dorm John shared closed with an audible slam as his roommate stalked out in a temper. John shrugged, with no feeling of remorse – the guy was a jerk, especially as an anti-military fanatic, claiming that those who enlisted in the defence forces deserved everything that came their way.

Something inside of John snapped, and it took all his self control to not beat the guy to a pulp. He could only imagine the look of disappointment on Scott's face if he did that.

With a sigh, John pulled his multi-purpose data pad towards him, beginning a vid-call with his brother.

"Hey, Virg," John said.

"Hey, John." Hesitation. "What's wrong? You look slightly… angered, to say the least."

"Oh, just a… disagreement with my roomie. No big. So, how about you? Settled into Denver yet?"

"Whoa, slow down, Johnny," Virgil laughed. "It's only my first day. As a freshman. It'll take a while."

"That it will," John agreed. "That it will."

There was more silence. John could see Virgil twisting some paper in his hand. A nervous habit, it indicated that Virgil had something to say, but he didn't know quite how to phrase it.

"Okay, Virg. Spit it out."

"I feel… different."

John raised fine, blond eyebrows, not knowing how else to respond. This, under normal circumstances, would have been Scott's forte. Scott had always been the one to guide them through moments like these. But Scott wasn't there anymore. It was up to John to fill those shoes.

"Different? You're bound to feel different. Moving away for college is a big deal, you know."

"No," Virgil sighed, face twisted in pained annoyance. "It's not that. Don't worry, John. I don't think anyone would understand the way I'm feeling. My legs still like jelly when I walk on them, by the way."

"That's not good, Virg," John berated light-heartedly. "What's going on?"

Virgil shrugged, not really sure how to answer John when he himself didn't understand the sudden onset of his jelly legs.

"C'mon, Virg, it's me," John wheedled.

"Hey, it's nothing," Virgil reassured John. "If you really wanna worry about someone, worry about Gordon."

"Gordon?" John sighed. "What elaborate prank has he pulled this time?"

Virgil shook his head. "No, no prank. He's just had a lot of lower back pain. Started about the same time I got jelly legs. Spooky, huh?"

"Yeah, spooky," John murmured thoughtfully. "I'll give Gordon a call in a few hours, see how he is. Hey, Virg, promise me something."

"As long as there's no weird, perverse sexual practices involved, you know I will."

"No," John chuckled. "Not this time. If it hasn't dissipated within the week, go see the doc. Promise me."

If it was strange for Virgil to hear the order from John, it was twice as strange for John to be saying it. This was the kind of stuff Scott dealt with. This was Scott's forte, not John's. But since Scott wasn't there, John felt obligated to step in.

Virgil twitched, as though he was trying to shake off an irksome fly. The words sounded forced, coming from John. "Yeah, whatever. Listen, I gotta go, John. Take care and I'll talk to you later."

John's fine, blond eyebrows rose fractionally as he replied in kind.

Wow, he thought as soon as the image fizzled out in a line of static. Virg's really antsy right now. I've only ever seen him like this twice before. Must have to do with coping with all these changes. Yep, that's it. It'll settle down by next week. Guess I'll give Gordon a call now.

And with that thought, John sped-dialled the number for home on his data-pad and began reconnecting with his two youngest brothers.

The Lieutenant's sleep had been troubled for the past week since he had awoken – he was, understandably, plagued by night terrors.

Post-traumatic-stress disorder, he had been told after the first restless night. He would be receiving treatment for it as soon as he was physically strong enough to, which couldn't come soon enough.

With a start, Scott's eyelids snapped open. Another nightmare, Goddammit. He wondered how long it would last. He wondered when life would revert back to normal. He wondered if his life would ever be normal again, or did he have to establish a new sense of normalcy?

He wondered.

"Well, nice to see you too, Scott."

One ocean blue eye swivelled to his right. "Hey, you. How's things hanging?"

"Oh, y'know, could be better, could be worse," the visitor answered lightly. "More importantly, how are you?"

Scott shrugged with his right shoulder.

"You did good when we were there, Scott. You more than good while the rebels had us."

"So did you, Jess. You patched me up, when I needed fixing. Especially towards the end." Holding onto the railings, Scott hoisted himself, with difficultly, from a lying position into a seated one. "How's everyone else?"

Jess chewed on her lip. Theex-captive brown haired medic was unsure of how much information she should divulge.

"Jess, everyone else made it, right?" Scott's tone demanded an answer.

"Well, no, not really, Scott," she mumbled.

"And what does that mean?"

"It means…. Listen, Scott, I really don't think –"

"What does it mean?"

Jess lowered her head, unable to look Scott in the eye. "Out of the three hundred of us left, only fifty made it out."

Scott could only mouth words, as his voice box seemed paralysed. "How?" he eventually croaked out. "Why so few?"

"I don't think –"

"Just tell me!" Scott snapped, tired with all the dancing around the facts. "Please. I don't remember and I need to know. Just tell me."

Swallowing painfully against the lump in her throat, the brunette recounted the events that had transpired.

It went like this.

Scott had been unceremoniously dragged back to a safety prisoner-of-war housing base after he had collapsed when the bullet speared his spine. Other prisoner-of-war captives had created a makeshift barricade against their captors, in the vain hope that it would prevent the irate captors from inflicting more pain and suffering on them. Of course, as expected, the barricade did not hold out for an extended period of time. The captors made little work of breaking down the barricade, before picking out captives, one by one, and leading them away to certain death.

"And they did all of that because they couldn't get to me?" Scott asked rhetorically, voice hollow and bitter, turning his head to stare out of the window.

He didn't even need to look at his junior officer to know she was nodding her head.

"Why the hell didn't you give me up, then? Two hundred and seventy four should still be alive! You had no right in shielding me from them! They shouldn't have had to give their lives for me."

"But it was okay for you to give your life for them, was it, Lieutenant?"

"Yes," Scott replied, adamant in his convictions. "Because it was my life to give. Two hundred and seventy five people should not have died to keep me safe. I'm not worth their lives." He glanced down at his immobile legs. "I'm not even worth one life."

The junior medical officer placed her hand on his good shoulder. "Scott."

"Don't say it," Scott cut her off, knowing what was coming. "Just… don't say it."

Knowing that any attempts to continue the conversation would be futile, the medical officer turned to leave the room. When she reached the doorframe, she stopped and faced Scott.

"It wasn't your fault. Please try and remember that. It wasn't your fault."

For the first time since the revelation, Scott looked at his visitor. "If that's what you have to say to absolve yourself from guilt…"

Not knowing how to respond to that, she left, closing the door quietly behind her, leaving Scott to his own troubled thoughts.