Bonjour!

Ha! I'm on time. See, I'm not completely hopeless, huh? And besides, it's a Friday, I had to give you something for the weekend. Hope you've all had a good week, and big hugs to all those who sent me all those lovely PMs, you really cheered me up! Thanks for the reviews, too, you guys never fail to make me happy. But I've said it before; thise really isn't doing anything for my ego. Lol.

Special hugs go to 'Wild Dog-untamed canine' for the lovely gift! It made me feel so happy, I decided to fluff up this chapter a little more. You rule, buddy!

Okay, hyper monologue over. Let's continue...

Thomas Palmar glanced up from his unconscious patient, peering across the room to where Scott sat on one of the beds. The younger man looked pale and exhausted, and was clearly struggling to stay awake. But lo and behold, the famous Tracy stubbornness was at large, and Scott was determined not to fall asleep until Virgil had been taken off the ventilator.

Thomas snorted softly, shaking his head. Fat chance of that happening. I can't take him off the ventilator until he begins to show some sign of waking up, since he needs to have the strength to breathe on his own. Hopefully, once his blood-ox levels have returned to normal, his state of unconsciousness will lessen slightly, and he'll start exhibiting the signs of primary response. As soon as he's out of the blue, I'll give him the chance to breathe independently. But that might not happen for hours. Scott can't possibly stay awake that long, not with all those pain meds in his system. Dammit, why are all Tracy men so darn stubborn?!

Suddenly, the doors to the infirmary 'swished' open, and Gordon strode into the room. Although there was a smile on his face, Thomas could see through the carefully sculpted mask. Gordon was stressed. And worried. And exhausted. Poor kid's been through a helluva lot recently. I'm surprised he hasn't already fallen asleep on his feet. I'll have to make sure that he gets himself into bed as soon as possible, or else I might end up with another patient on my hands.

Gordon raised a hand and gave him a small wave, his weary smile widening somewhat. "Hi, doc," he greeted playfully, grinning as Thomas shot him a mock-glare.

"It's Tom, Gordon," he sighed dramatically, setting down the hand-held scanner that he had been running over John's prone form. "Please don't tell me that you're suffering from trauma-induced memory loss?"

The copper-haired teenager put on an expression of utter confusion. "Who the heck is Gordon?" he asked incredulously. "I've certainly never heard of the guy. Although it is a very handsome name, don't you think?"

"So's Humphry," Thomas mumbled, loud enough for Gordon to hear. After a moment, the younger man gave up trying to pretend to be offended, and instead let out a soft chuckle. Pleased that he'd been able to lighten up Gordon's mood, Thomas slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out a penlight, bending back over the bed so that he could continue to assess John's condition.

"Hey Tom, how's he doing?" Gordon whispered, coming to stand at the end of the bed. Thomas looked up again, straightening slightly and shooting a brief glance towards the overhead monitors.

"His vitals are looking good," the doctor stated, running a hand over his chin as he spoke. "His blood pressure could be a little better, but overall I think he got lucky this time. That was one helluva knock he took by the looks of things. But all the scans have come back clear, so there's nothing to worry about. He sustained an extended concussion, with minor bruising to the frontal lobe. He's gonna have headaches for a week or so, but he should be fit for a rotation on-board Five in about three weeks."

Gordon gave a small sigh of relief, reaching down to place a hand on top of John's leg. "And how about his arm?" he pressed, wanting to eliminate any possibility of there being something wrong with his older sibling.

"Severe bruising, and a mildly sprained elbow," Thomas replied, leaning back over the bed and lifting up his penlight. "But nothing's broken. It'll heal within a week or so."

Suddenly, as Thomas gently pried opened one of John's eyelids and shone the penlight towards the blue orb, John let out a pained groan and took in a sharp breath, turning his head away from Thomas' hands. His face was screwed up into a grimace, his eyes squeezed tight shut against the dim light of the infirmary. Gordon's eyes went wide, and he swiftly rounded the side of the bed, putting a hand on John's shoulder.

"John?" he called, as the doctor reached out to cup the astronaut's cheek. "Johnny, can you hear me?"

John shifted slightly beneath the light coverlets, letting out a series of soft grunts as he began to awaken. After what seemed like an eternity, his eyes finally opened, the blue spheres squinting up at Gordon through heavy lids. Gordon smiled, taking John's hand in his and giving it a squeeze.

"Hey, Johnny," he murmured, watching Thomas out of the corner of his eye as the older man reached over to the metal trolley to retrieve something. "How're you feeling, bro?"

John closed his eyes momentarily, letting out a few more grunts as his face morphed into another pained grimace. "Ouch," he admitted softly.

Gordon nodded sympathetically. "Yeah, I thought as much."

Wincing up at his younger brother again, John blinked a few times in an attempt to clear his vision. "Wha' happened?" he mumbled.

"You decided to have an argument with a lump of concrete," Thomas explained softly, leaning back over John's body and putting a hand on his shoulder. "And I'm afraid to say that the concrete won. Game, set and match."

John just grunted in acknowledgement, closing his eyes again. "M'heads killing me," he whispered. "Light's too bright."

Thomas picked the syringe that he had retrieved from the trolley, taking up John's arm gently and turning it over so that the feed-valve on the IV line was facing upwards. Uncapping the needle, he inserted it into a small bottle full of clear liquid.

"John, I'm gonna give you a little shot of morphine to help with the pain," he said softly. "I'm just gonna push it into your drip, okay?

John grimaced, shaking his head and pulling his arm out of Thomas' grasp. "No," he muttered weakly. "No shots. Don't....don't want-"

"Hey, hey, easy, easy," Thomas soothed, taking John's arm again gently. "I'm not gonna give you a real shot, buddy. I'm just gonna push the drugs into your IV line, okay? It'll be over before you know it."

As the doctor carefully inserted the tip of the needle into the valve, Gordon reached down to cup John's cheek. Weary aqua-blue eyes peered up at him, bloodshot and heavy-lidded, but more focused than they had been before. He smiled reassuringly at his older brother, knowing from experience that a familiar face was the greatest comfort you could receive when you were in John's position.

"Not feelin' so good, huh Johnny?" he murmured.

John's eyes locked with his, the pain and fatigue tugging at Gordon's heartstrings. As it had done with Alan, his protective nature seemed to kick it's way to the surface, and before he knew what he was doing, Gordon had begun to run his hand over John's blond hair. It was matted near the forehead, where the blood had dried and congealed, but Gordon paid little heed to that. Like Alan, John had no other brother to turn to. And so Gordon felt it his duty to look after his older sibling - at least for the time being.

"Okay, pal, let's have a look at those eyes of yours," Thomas said gently, taking out his penlight again and reaching over to cup John's cheek. "Look at me for a sec, buddy. That's it, good job."

Satified with the results, Thomas smiled softly. Slipping the penlight back into his pocket, the older man straightened up slightly, his left hand resting gently atop John's chest. "Get some sleep, Johnny," he instructed warmly. "We'll be here when you wake up."

John's eyes slid closed slowly, and moments later Gordon felt his older brother's muscles relax against the mattress. He watched John's sleeping form for a few moments, content in the knowledge that the astronaut was going to be alright. Grumpy, sore and irritable - yes. But at least he was no longer in any danger.

"Gordon?"

Gordon spun round on the spot, his eyes locking onto the bed on the other side of the room. His eldest sibling was staring at him in surprise and weary confusion, a slight frown tugging at his pale face. Sharing a look with Thomas, Gordon strode towards the other bed, plastering a friendly smile onto his face.

"Hey, Scott," he greeted cheerfully. "How's the leg?"

Scott blinked at him as he stepped up to lean against the bedside. "When - when did you get here?" he asked, clearly trying to work out the science behind his younger brother's apparent ability to teleport from once place to the other.

"About five minutes ago, Scooter," Gordon stated, feeling slightly worried about Scott's unobservent behavior. Usually, very little indeed would be able to slip by unnoticed when Scott was around.

"Really?" Scott asked softly, glancing towards the door. Then he rubbed his uninjured hand over his face and shook his head. "Damn drugs," he muttered.

Gordon frowned slightly, his eyes running over Scott's pale features, and the massive bags beneath his cobalt-blue eyes. Scott let out a sigh and turned to look at him, an identical frown of concern appearing on his face.

"You should be in bed, Gords," he said quietly, reaching out to squeeze the younger man's arm. "It's pretty late."

"Actually, it's pretty early," Gordon corrected, glancing down at his watch. "It's past four o'clock in the morning. And besides, I'm not the one who needs to sleep; you are."

Scott shook his head. "I'm fine," he murmured.

"Scott, that wasn't a suggestion," Gordon replied evenly. Scott looked over at him and raised an eyebrow.

"You're giving me an order, then?" he asked mildly. "Sorry, kid, but I'm still the field commander here."

Gordon shook his head. "Nope, wrong. You lost your authority on medical grounds because you were incapable of leading a rescue team with half your leg sliced off."

Scott leaned back against the pillows, shaking his head wearily. "That's kind of an exaggeration, Gordo," he smiled, closing his eyes momentarily. "But nice try. Besides, Dad's in charge now that we're back at base."

"Then how come you didn't listen to him when he ordered you to lie down and go to sleep?" Thomas inquired softly, smiling over from where he had been jotting down notes on his hand-held datapad.

Scott opened his eyes again and sat up a little straighter. "Because I don't need sleep," he insisted. "It's just these darn drugs making me feel drowsy. I'll be fine in an hour or so."

"Yeah, and I might become 'Miss America'," Thomas muttered. Gordon let out an amused snort at the doctor's comment, shaking his head slightly as he rested his hands on the mattress and leaned against the bed.

"Why don't I get you something to eat first?" Gordon offered. "Onaha left a plate of chocolate-chip cookies in the kitchen for us so that we could replenish out energy levels once we'd gotten home from the rescue. D'you want me to go grab you a couple?"

Scott smiled slightly, looking thoughtful. "Cookies do sound good," he reasoned, pausing momentarily. Then he sighed, shaking his head. "But not right now, Gords. I'm not really very hungry."

Gordon let out a small sigh. He knew that Scott was blaming himself. Dammit, the guilt was pouring out of him like a burst pipe. But he could also see the familiar pattern of unintentional self-abuse that was beginning to form. True, it wasn't exactly enough to cause damage, but it was still worrying. If Scott were allowed to do things his way, he wouldn't eat, sleep or drink until all of his brothers were conscious and out of harm's way - regardless of the effects his actions had on his own body. And Gordon wasn't about to let that happen. At least not when Scott was under his watchful eye.

"Listen, Scotty," he began softly, perching on the edge of the mattress. "Dad's stressed enough as it is. He's worried about you, okay? He just doesn't want you to end up collapsing, like-" he paused, swallowing down the lump that had risen in his throat. "Like Virgil did. Just get some sleep, alright? Please? For Dad's sake."

When Scott refused to reply, Gordon balled his hands into fists and dropped his head, feeling the stress rising within him. "Dammit, Scotty, please don't do this to yourself," he whispered. "I can't cope with having all three of you like this!"

Gordon sensed a movement beside him, and tensed momentarily as two large arms encircled his slight frame.

"Hey, it's okay," Scott murmured, and Gordon slowly felt himself relaxing against him. "Virgil's gonna be fine. John's gonna be fine. We're all gonna be fine, Gordo. Right, Tom?"

"Right," the doctor agreed, stepping away from John's bed and moving over to check on Virgil. "His vitals still have room for improvement, but he hasn't been showing signs of traumatic retraction, which - to be perfectly honest - I had been expecting, considering the severity of his pneumothorax."

"What's 'traumatic retraction'?" Gordon asked, sitting up a little straighter and allowing his older brother to keep an arm slung around his shoulders.

"Traumatic retraction," Thomas began, shining his penlight in Virgil's eyes as he spoke. "Occurs when a lung - or a specific area of the plural cavity - suffers from an injury of some sort. If the fibrous tissues within the muscles have been damaged, this can often cause what's more commonly known as a 'secondary pneumothorax'. They aren't anywhere near as serious as a tension pneumothorax, but they're certainly something to watch out for. Especially since Virgil's lungs are rather weak at the moment."

"So what do we do if he has one of these 'traumatic retractions'?" Scott inquired, waking up a little more as he gazed at the unconscious form of his younger brother.

"Well, the chest tube that I inserted earlier will allow me to reduce the pressure within the plural cavity," Thomas continued, reaching over to the metal trolley beside Virgil's bed and pulling on a pair of surgical gloves. "So there's really nothing to worry about. He's gonna be fine. I just need to clean up this gash on his arm, and then I'm gonna want to take a look at that hand of yours, Gordon."

Scott pulled away from his younger brother slightly, taking Gordon's hand in his and frowning at the nasty cut that ran from the top of his wrist to the centre of his knuckle. Gordon merely looked at it in mild fascination, reflecting on how easily he had forgotten about the minor injury. Well, I did kinda get distracted when Virge collapsed. I didn't even feel it until just now. Man, I must be tired.

"Where'd you get this?" Scott asked softly, running his fingers along the jagged edge of the cut.

"Right after the earthquake," Gordon replied, wincing as Scott pressed a little too hard. Pulling his hand away, he rubbed it slightly. "I think I sliced it when I fell. I'm still trying to figure out if it happened before or after the canister exploded. I think it was after. Anyway, it doesn't matter. It's not exactly deep. And don't sweat it, Tom, I'll just slap a disinfectant band-aid on it. It'll be fine."

Thomas raised his index finger and shook it from side to side, not looking up from his work as he sat at Virgil's beside and inspected the wound on his arm. "Nuh-uh, kiddo. You know the rules. The medical officer has to check over every bump and scrape, and that includes the one on your hand."

"But Tom," Gordon began, a tiny hint of a whine in his voice. "It's just a little-"

"Nope," Thomas interrupted, peering more intently at the gash of Virgil's arm. "Not gonna work. Now shush, I'm trying to concentrate. Honestly, you're just as bad as you were when I had to clean up your scuffed knees as a kid. Man, you were so cute back then. I've still got a photo of you sitting on your Dad's knee, grinning from ear to ear because I gave you the red bandages on your knees."

Gordon felt a blush creep onto his face, and Scott let out a fond chuckle. Then the aquanaut smiled slightly, giving a small shrug and letting out a sigh as he allowed his gaze to drift over to John's bed. The room was silent for a moment, other than the constant 'whoosh-hiss' of the ventilator, and Gordon felt himself growing sleepier, the rhythm of the single noise lulling him into a calm and peaceful state of mind.

"What the-?"

Gordon blinked, snapping out of his daze and turning to look at Thomas, who was frowning at Virgil's wound. He immediately felt his heartbeat begin to quicken as the familiar sense of dread rose within his chest.

"What is it, what's wrong?" he demanded worriedly, feeling Scott tense beside him.

"There's something embedded in the wound," Thomas mumbled, almost to himself. "It's small but - but I can't honestly tell from this angle. I'm gonna have to run a couple of biothermal scans to see if I can pinpoint a foreign body in there."

Gordon exchanged a worried glance with his eldest sibling, and Scott tightened his hold around Gordon's shoulder. Gordon sighed, shaking his head slightly. There would certainly be no point in trying to get Scott to go to sleep at the moment. Until they had discovered what was wrong with Virgil's arm, both Tracy-sons wouldn't allow themselves to become distracted by anything.

Not even cookies.

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Jeff smiled softly as he ran a hand through Alan's hair, gazing into the young teenager's peaceful face as Alan dozed against his side. He hadn't intended to let Alan fall asleep again, but it wasn't as if he'd been able to prevent it. The kid had been exhausted. After Jeff had assured him that everything was alright, and had given Alan a brief explanation about Virgil's condition, the boy had literally run out of battery. And Jeff hadn't had the heart to wake him. However, they'd been sitting slumped against the wall for a good fifteen minutes now, and it was beginning to get uncomfortable.

Letting a resigned sigh, Jef sat up a little straighter, giving Alan a gentle shake. His youngest son grunted, taking in a sudden breath and opening his bloodshot eyes, squinting up at his father. Jeff smiled and ruffled Alan's hair.

"C'mon, kiddo," he murmured. "Let's get you into bed, hmm?"

Alan sat up a little straighter, blinking the sleep out of his vision as he shot a hesitant glance towards the door.

"Can't I stay?" he asked softly, his voice muffled with fatigue. "I wanna be here when Virgil wakes up."

Jeff shook his head, squeezing Alan's shoulder. "You need to sleep, Alan," he stated. "It's been a long night. For all of us. You can see Virgil and the others tomorrow, they're not going anywhere."

Alan turned his head back to the side and gazed up at his father, a pathetic 'puppy-dog' expression upon his face. Jeff grinned, shaking his head.

"It ain't gonna work on me, son," he drawled, his voice lined with amusement. Alan frowned slightly, his bottom lip jutting out in a way that it hadn't done in years. Jeff chuckled softly. "Pouting isn't gonna get you anywhere, either. C'mon - bed."

Jeff stood to his feet carefully, stretching his cramped muscles and rotating his shoulder to allow the blood to flow back into his arm where Alan had been leaning against him. He glanced back down at Alan, rolling his eyes when he noticed that his youngest son had already closed his eyes again.

"Alan," he called softly, smiling when the teenager squinted up at him. "Don't make me carry you."

Letting out a weary sigh, Alan pressed his hands against the floor, slowly pushing himself to his feet. Jeff was forced to reach out and grab him by the arms as he toppled sideways, his fatigue affecting his balance. Putting an arm around his son's shoulder, Jeff steered him slowly down the corridor, being careful not to walk too fast. Alan was practically sleep-walking, his eyes drooping closed as he stumbled down the main corridor towards the staircase that lead to the right wing of the house. Jeff was grateful that they managed to make it up the stairs without any unfortunate tumbles occurring, since Alan didn't seem to be paying much attention to where he was going. But at last, they arrived at the door to Alan's bedroom.

"Alright, son, you go on in and get changed into your PJs," Jeff instructed, opening the door and giving Alan a gentle push so that he moved forwards. "I'll be back in a couple of mintues. Try to keep your eyes open until I get back, okay?"

At Alan's weary nod, Jeff pulled the door closed, leaving Alan alone in the quiet bedroom. Rubbing a hand over his face wearily, the teenager stumbled over to his bed, sitting down on the edge of the mattress and blinking in an attempt to moisten his dry, stinging eyes.

Man, I'm tired. I really can't bothered to change. Why couldn't I have just slept in the corridor outside the infirmary. It was perfectly comfortable there. And it was close to Virge and the guys. I really wanted to stay near them so that I'd be able to check on them whenever I wanted to. But I guess Dad's right, I do need to get some sleep. Man, it's already past four o'clock in the morning! I've never gone on a rescue that lasted this long before. I wonder what's the longest mission Scott and the other guys have been on?...

Snapping out of his own thoughts with a slight jump, Alan remembered that he was supposed to be doing something. Letting out another sigh, he mustered up what little was left of his energy reserves, standing to his feet slowly and stumbling slightly as a wave of dizziness washed over him. Shaking his head in an attempt to clear the thick fog out of his mind, he reached up to rub at his temples. Man, his head was sure starting to ache. He really did need to sleep.

Eventually, although he did not quite know how he managed to find the energy to do so, Alan had managed to get changed into a light pair or pyjama shorts and T-shirt. He sat back down on his bed heavily, putting his head in his hands and pushing the tips of his fingers against his closed eyelids as he tried with all his might to fight off the fatigue that threatened to pull him back into the land of dreams. His mind began to wonder, his body feeling lighter and lighter as the last tendrils of his energy started to slip from his grasp.

Suddenly, he felt the bed dip beside him, and he glanced up in surprise. His father smiled back at him softly, and Alan had to blink several times to clear the fuzziness out of his vision. He sat up a little straighter, his gaze dropping to the objects in Jeff's hands.

"Wha's'at for?" he asked, his voice sounding muffled. Jeff held out the glass of water to him, waiting until Alan had a firm grip on it before letting go. As he began to open the bottle of ibuprofen, he answered,

"You're gonna get dehydrated if you're not careful. And I can tell that you've got a whopper of a headache. I'm not gonna let you get sick again so soon after getting better. Here, hold out your hand."

As Alan obeyed wordlessly, he glanced up at his father. Jeff was concentrating too hard on shaking two of the small pills into Alan's hand to notice, but Alan didn't need to look into his father's eyes to know that the Tracy patriarch was concerned about him. The usual worry lines were always easy to pick up - especially since Alan had seen them on numerous occasions throughout the Summer break. Although he tried not to smother him too much, Alan knew that his dad was still as worried as he had ever been about his 'baby' boy's welfare.

Alan swallowed the pills, discovering that he had been more thirsty than he had first thought as the cool water soothed his parched mouth. Letting out a long sigh, Alan handed the empty glass back to his father. Jeff set it down on the bedside table momentarily, taking Alan by the arm and pushing him gently towards the top-end of the bed. Alan felt his arm throb suddenly, and automatically pulled away. Jeff was immediately alert, a worried frown now making itself prominent upon his face.

"What's wrong?" he demanded, concern lining his voice. Alan shook his head, rubbing his arm and glancing down at the floor.

"Nothing," he murmured. "Just a bruise."

"Let me see," Jeff instructed, moving closer to Alan's side and extending a hand towards him. Alan sighed in resignation, holding up his arm and allowing his father to take it gently in his hands.

Jeff winced as he saw the long line of blue and purple bruises that lined the underside of Alan's arm, running from his elbow to his wrist. Running his thumbs over the skin carefully, he searched for any areas of excessive swelling, relieved when he found none.

"Satisfied, commander?" Alan asked, his weary-but-cheeky grin bringing a smile to Jeff's face.

"Watch it, short-stuff," he warned playfully. "Or you'll be on checklist duty for a month."

"Go back to school in three weeks," Alan reminded him, before letting out a yawn that threatened to split his jaw in two. Jeff smiled again, releasing Alan's arm and pulling him in for a gentle one-armed hug. There was a short moment of comfortable silence, before Alan asked a question that had been poking at him from the back of his weary mind.

"Hey Dad?" he began, leaning his head on his father's shoulder.

"Mmm-hmm?" the older Tracy inquired, glancing down at what he could see of his son's face.

"If something - if something happens to Virge or - or to one of the other guys whilst I'm still asleep," he continued softly, biting his bottom lip. "You'll come get me, right?"

Jeff frowned slightly, pushing Alan away from his shoulder and turning around on the bed so that he was facing the teenager.

"Alan, listen to me," he said softly, cupping Alan's face with both his hands. "Nothing's going to happen to your brothers, alright? Don't worry about it. They're in good hands. Tom's taking good care of them. I promise, Al, everything's okay. Honest."

Alan nodded mutely, feeling his resistance shatter as his walls crumbled. If he had felt exhausted before, it was nothing in comparison with the way that he felt at present. He was completely and utterly shattered. His father pulled him into his chest, wrapping his arms around Alan's smaller frame firmly and putting a hand on the back of his head. Then a soft kiss was planted in Alan's hair, and his dad pulled away again.

"Alright," he said, smiling softly. "Time for bed, sport. I don't wanna see you up for at least eight hours, got it?"

There was nothing left within Alan to argue with, so he complied willingly, not even complaining when his father pulled the duvet over him and leaned down to ruffle his hair. With a final tender caress, Jeff stood to his feet, striding towards the door and turning the handle.

"'Night, Dad," Alan called wearily, as his father waved a hand over the sensor and the lights switched off. Jeff's silhouette appeared in the doorway, his frame outlines by the light that streamed forth from the corridor.

"Goodnight, son," Jeff replied, before pulling the door slowly closed behind him, leaving the room in almost complete darkness. For the first time in a long while, Alan was thankful that his drapes were such a dark shade of blue.

Putting a hand beneath his head, Alan wrapped the other arm around the duvet, pulling it close to his body as he rolled onto his side and closed his eyes. Letting out a weary sigh, he allowed himself to relax. Everything would be alright, just as his dad had promised. There was nothing to worry about.

And with that comforting thought, Alan Tracy drifted off to sleep.

Alan has finally settled down, but what about the other two conscious Tracy boys? Will they be willing to lie down and rest, or will there stubbornness get the better of them? And how serious is Virgil's injury? How much damage could have been caused by a 'foreign object'? Find out soon!

Okay, folks, that's it for today. Thanks for taking the time to read the chapter. I hope you all enjoyed it. PLEASE REVIEW and make me an even happier bunny than I am right now! Although, of course, concrit is always welcomed and appreciated (hint hint, t-d!). The next chapter should be out on Monday or Tueday, depending on how real life decides to treat me. If it plays fair, then Monday. If not - well, you can guess. Lol.

Laters!

xoxoxoxoxoxox