Feeling every inch a recalcitrant child, John made his way to his father's office. I'm twenty-eight years old, he thought. I should not feel so nervous. And yet he did.

That wasn't the only emotion that was washing over him in waves of cold sweat. There was anxiety. There was terror. And worst of all, there was the anger.

Anger had started to consume him. And that was probably what this conversation was going to be about. Since he'd come home four days before, he'd fought with just about everyone. Even Elijah. Shame burning his cheeks, John slowed his pace and leaned against the wall. He hadn't meant to fight with any of them. But it was as if his usual calm demeanour, his natural filter, had dissolved. There was nothing left to stop his rage from spewing forth. So now John found himself slowing to a crawl, heading for the biggest dressing down the Tracy family had seen since Alan shattered all the windows at Colorado University.

John stopped as he neared the lounge. Droplets of sweat slipped from his forehead and he fell against the wall, eternally glad that no one else was around. It was the middle of the day but the rest of his brothers were on a rescue. Something about an earthquake. John hadn't been at the muster. What was the point? He couldn't help, anyway. Disregarding the explosive temper, he still wasn't fully healed. He ached.

And most of the pain wasn't physical.

He was close, so close, to his father's office. But he couldn't make it through the lounge. He just couldn't. That was where it had all happened. That was where his life had fallen apart. Again.

That was another reason he hadn't answered the emergency klaxon. He hadn't been back in that room since he'd come home. And I don't think I'll ever be able to go in there again.

It wasn't just the pain. It wasn't just the injuries to his face, his lost sight, or the fact this came so close on the back of the other ordeal. No. It was worse.

It was the humiliation.

Sinking to his knees, John bowed his head. His hand slipped away from the wall and he stared at the floor, counting the lines in the woodgrain.

All of his brothers had managed to escape. All of his brothers had helped in the rescue attempt. And what had John Tracy done? Been tied to a chair and humiliated – again.

What are you?

As the question assaulted him once more, John pushed his glasses up and jammed the heels of his hands into his eyes. No. Not again. Not this again.

Because it kept coming back. That image of the chasm. The knives, ripping and tearing at his skin.

No, no, NO!

"Dada!"

At that, John pulled his hands from his eyes and blinked as they adjusted to the glasses again. What?

"Dada dada dada!"

And there, crawling towards him with the most enormous smile on her face, was Lyra. His little star. His little darling.

And she was crawling so fast. With such confidence, such joy. John looked up and there behind her, watching, was his father.

Jeff didn't say anything. But there was no fury on his face. The anger and dressing down that John had expected was loud in its absence. Instead, Jeff leaned against the wall and watched as his only granddaughter sped towards her father.

Lyra paused. The smile fell from her face.

Then John wiped his eyes and nose and reached out for her. And the smile was back.

"Da-da-da-da-da!"

Reaching out, John pulled her onto his lap and held onto her for dear life. He inhaled her smell, so full of vitality, so perfect. He brought his hand up to stroke the back of her silky blonde hair. It seemed to grow thicker every day. He rubbed circles on her back, feeling the ever-strengthening muscles flex as she moved. So strong. So perfect.

"She's missed you," Jeff said as he approached.

Easing himself onto the floor, he unfolded his long legs and groaned.

"I'm sure not getting any younger!" he said.

Lyra began to squirm, so John relinquished his grasp and let her decide where to go next. And that location was nestled in between her father and grandfather. As she started to pluck at the seams of his jeans, John shook his head.

"I don't see why she's missed me," he said, pangs of guilt stabbing at him. "I've hardly been here for her."

Jeff's face darkened and he shook his head.

"None of that, son," he said in a tone that could not be argued with. "Up until the wedding you were doing an excellent job.

"Yeah," John said, "but then 'Captain Disaster' here struck again."

He snorted. The self-depreciating sound made Lyra jump. And…was that a frown? Before he could think about it more, Jeff was speaking again.

"Stop that, John." His words were delivered with a scowl. But it was a scowl tinged with worry and something else John couldn't put his finger on. Fear? "None of what has happened has been your fault. None of it. You've been very unfortunate but it hasn't been your fault."

John felt his temper flare that that word. Unfortunate? That's a very light way of putting it. But for the sake of his daughter, he kept a lid on his anger. Or at least, most of it.

"Unfortunate doesn't quite cut it, Dad," he said, trying his best not to grit his teeth.

"I know, son," Jeff said. "I really do."

John's first instinct was to snap back. Every ounce of his being wanted to fight back, tooth and nail. How could you know? How the hell could you know?

But of course, Jeff Tract did know what it was like to have life lock its jaws around him, to have the best part of his being ripped away. Because Jeff had lost Lucy and in doing so, had almost lost himself.

So John closed his mouth and let Lyra start tugging at the toggles on his sweatshirt. He swallowed.

"Dad," he said.

And then he couldn't speak for a long while. The three generations of Tracys simply sat on the floor of the hallway for a while. The air was air-con cool and filled with the sounds of Lyra's babbling and the smells of lunch wafting up from the kitchen. Jeff didn't press his son to continue. He just waited. To John, that was the kindest thing he could have done.

After some time, he swallowed and spoke again.

"Dad, how did you pull yourself back together after the avalanche? I mean, you lost Mom and you lost Grandpa Grant and you nearly died yourself. And Alan was in the hospital for a long time, too. And when you got out, you had no wife and no father and five kids to look after. How the hell did you do it?"

Jeff grunted out a laugh and brought a hand down to rest of Lyra's head. The little girl turned around and beamed at him.

"Ga-ga-ga-ga-ga!"

And Jeff grinned back. Then he looked at John and nodded at his granddaughter.

"That's how," he said. "You kids pulled me though."

Then his face darkened. John could almost see the memories flicking through his father's mind like an old black and white projector.

"There were some very, very dark times just after your mother and your grandfather died. There were times when –" Jeff's voice caught and he coughed. "There were times when I wished I had died as well – God forgive me for ever thinking that." Lyra clambered into his lap and he kissed her forehead. "But I did. Lucy and I were childhood sweethearts. I'd met her at sixteen and we stuck together like paper and glue all the way through college, through the W.S.A." His face took on a determined set. "You know, when she didn't make it onto the crew for the first moon mission, I nearly didn't go myself!"

The two men shared a chuckle but the mirth quickly subsided. Jeff leaned back, the crown of his head resting on the wall.

"She had been with me for so many years. We had gone through so much together. And then she was gone. It felt like the best part of me had been ripped out. Not just my heart but… Whatever made me, well, me. I didn't know who I was anymore. I didn't know what I was supposed to do. And I became so angry for the longest time." When he turned his grey-blue eyes on John, he smiled sympathetically. "And I think that's how you feel right now."

Pulling his legs up so his head rested on his knees, John nodded.

"Yeah," he said.

His voice was almost inaudible. The two men were quiet for a time again. Lyra snuggled against her grandfather's chest, babbling in her own secret language.

Eventually, Jeff broke the silence.

"Son, I think we need to get you some help again."

Again.

The word cut like a knife. I'm at the bottom of that chasm, John thought. The only way out is to grab those blades and climb. Slowly, he nodded.

"I think you're right Dad."

And at that, something changed. A damn broke deep inside him. Suddenly, John found that words were spilling out of his mouth, unchecked and unstoppable.

"I feel like I'm broken," he said. "I feel just like you said, Dad. Like the best part of me has been ripped out. I don't even know who I am anymore. I just…" He buried his face in his knees for a moment before continuing. "I feel like the person who was valedictorian at Harvard, who was part of the Hermes V mission to Mercury, who discovered the Tracy Quasars… I feel like I don't know who that person is anymore. I feel like… Like I've been split in two and all of that has been left behind. And what's left? Nothing."

Jeff nodded, biting his lip. Lyra clambered down from his lap and started gesturing for her father's attention.

"Dada! Dada!"

John smiled and unfolded himself, lifting her onto his stomach. She started to play with his blond cowlick.

"Son," Jeff said.

The way he said that one word, the anguish in it, made John's head spin. He snapped around to look at his father. Jeff's eyes were glassy.

"Dad, what –"

Before he could finish, Jeff had started to speak again.

"Son, I'm so sorry," he said. "I'm so sorry that all of this has happened. I should have taken your place. It was my responsibility to bear the brunt of that madwoman's fists." John tried to interject again but Jeff raised a hand for silence. "What happened to you was my fault – both this time and last time. I should never have let you drive yourself to the airport. I shouldn't have allowed that woman to lay a hand on you. I shouldn't –"

"Dad!"

John's tone made both Lyra and Jeff jump. There was anger blazing in John's eyes again but this time, it was different. It was like – anger turned on its side. Or even, turned outward.

"You cannot be blamed for what happened to me. You didn't do anything. You didn't put me in danger. You cannot be held responsible for any of their actions. They made the choices, not you. It is not. Your. Fault."

There was a flash in Jeff's eyes. Something akin to victory. John slumped back against the wall. He'd been trapped.

"Why is there one rule for me and another for you, then, son?" Jeff asked.

John absently ran a hand over Lyra's head. The little girl reached up and grabbed his fingers.

Jeff reached out and gently squeezed John's shoulder.

"Having one conversation on the floor of a hallway isn't going to cure everything," he said. "But it's a start. I have a few very good contacts within the World Government, who've forwarded a list of names of therapists who do intensive work on PTSD. I'd like to arrange for one of them to see you."

John gritted his teeth. Everything in him was recoiling from the idea. No. Not again. But sense prevailed and he relented.

"Alright, Dad," he said. "But… I don't want to do it here. There's just…" His voice broke and he coughed. "I don't want everyone to think they have to walk around on eggshells or not ask how it went – or feel like they have to ask. I just… I can't have them all looking at me like I'm an invalid."

Jeff nodded slowly. John could see the seeds of an idea germinating behind his eyes.

"Maybe I could ask Penelope if we could use Bonga Bonga," he said. "That way you'd be far enough away for some privacy but not so far that coming home in a hurry would be prohibitive. And," he added with a smile, "if you want some company and someone to help look after little miss here, I can think of a good candidate."

John smiled but ducked his head.

"Would you release him from duty for however long it took?" he asked.

Jeff shifted on the ground and winced.

"Of course," he said, then winced again. "Now, if you don't mind, I need to get up from this floor. My old bones are killing me!"

John chuckled and rose alongside his father.

"C'mon, Dad. It can't be that bad. I mean, Grandma's in her eighties and she can still hold her own – and deliver a mean football tackle, from what I've been told!"

Jeff grunted but there was still a smile on his face.

"Your grandmother is a special case," he said. "Now, let's go and check in with your brothers. Then I'll call Penny and make arrangements."

Clutching his daughter in his arms, John followed his father to the lounge. As he approached the threshold, he breathed deeply. Jeff paused and gave him an encouraging smile. As John stepped into the room, he felt as though he clutched the first of the knives.

It's a start, he thought.