Hi, there! Late and short, but in. =)

39

...Or Jeff, in all his glory-

Sometimes, you're the windshield; sometimes, you're the bug. Sometimes, you're the hurtling rock that smashes that windscreen, creating a blizzard of bug parts and glass. Or, so Colonel Jeff Tracy told himself, as he struggled to reconcile battling pasts.

He'd been dying; lost, cold and alone. Down to his very last swallow of water. His final scrap of dried food. Only, now he was somehow back home, nursing a drink and talking with Gordon, Brains and Lee Taylor, as thousands of sims flickered past on the holo-globe. At least his heart rate had dropped. That was a positive.

About the same time that Jeff finished his second sandwich and ordered another, a pair of comm lights flashed up on that blue-whirling globe. One was Pete McCord, calling from Jupiter Station. The other was Scott, on a very high frequency, tightly encrypted line. He wanted to answer both, but Scott was probably taking the greater risk, and had correspondingly less time to talk.

"Lee…"

"I got Pete," barked the rugged old pilot, grinning widely enough to take off the top of his head, almost. "That whorin', cussin' card-cheatin' sumbitch owes me a rematch, an' he ain't gettin' out of it, this time!"

Brains drifted away with compressed lips and stiff shoulders, trying to escape the distraction of Taylor's loud voice and wild threats. Jeff only smiled.

"Copy. Keep him on the line. I'll hurry it up, on my end," he promised, summoning a privacy field for the other call. His oldest son's face appeared, looking oddly tilted and poorly lit. In a storeroom, or something.

"Dad?!" Scott's voice and expression were strained. Tense. "The message said emergency, and… something's changed. Feel like we've run a marathon PRT, over here. What's happened, Sir?"

Jeff's heavy grey brows… so like those of his son… crouched low over stern brown eyes. Couldn't just ask "have I always been here?" without sounding crazy. Right.

Gordon's muscular silhouette hovered at the edge of the holo-field. Unable to see or hear Scott's call, the swimmer would not leave his father's side. Had managed an awkward side-hug, even. Something he wouldn't have done before… whatever had just been erased. Whatever had just not quite happened.

Clearing his throat, Jeff said,

"Brains is running some tests on the timestream, looking for continuity flux, whatever the h*ll that means. But, on my end, I feel like…" he quit talking, as Scott turned his head a bit and hissed to someone off-camera,

"Distract her. I don't care. Use your imagination. Make love to her, if you have to."

By the time Scott turned back, blue eyes once again drilling his father's image, the retired astronaut had changed his mind and his story.

"I feel like I've been through the wringer," he told the young man. "Elevated pulse and respiration, hungry, thirsty… but physically sound." Then, "How much longer will you be stuck in that d*mn worthless game, Son?"

Scott puffed out a short sigh.

"Not sure, Sir. We've completed one round already. Won it. Due to head out for part two this morning, post-breakfast. John's been hunting for possible loopholes…"

"Tell him to stand down. I've got the situation under control," said their father, with a very slight smile. "Tell him and Virgil…" Something. Too much emotion rose up like brambles, cutting off what he very much needed to say. Scott nodded, though. Somehow, he got it.

"Yessir," he said. "I will. Same back."

The flickering, primitive holo cut off after that, so Colonel Tracy dropped his privacy field. Was instantly blindsided by Alan, who shot from the stairs and across the living room floor like a blond-haired asteroid.

"Dad!" whooped the boy, all gangly thin arms and big ears; wet face, tight hug and sourceless wild feelings. "It's you! It's really you! Dad, guess what?! I graduated! I did it!"

Gordon peeled him off with an apologetic grin.

"Kids, y'know?" he said, over the torrent of cursing and friendly abuse from McCord and Taylor. "No self-control. I blame all the screentime, me."

Another time… another Jeff would have brushed the two off, or made a sharp comment. Here and now, after the rescue that somehow had never happened, Colonel Tracy pulled in both boys for a quick, rough hug. Didn't say: I prayed so hard for a chance to see you again, one last time.

"I knew you could do it, Son," was all he told Alan. And, "Missions are the cure for excess screen time. You're in charge, Gordon. Show him the ropes."

The red-head's hazel eyes widened. Then he grinned at his father.

"On it, Dad," he enthused. "By the time we're through, this guy 'll be running the family business and flying better than Virgil. Step one, get you scanned for ID and piloting privileges," he went on, dragging Alan away.

Silence behind him warned Jeff that his two best friends had wrapped up their pissing contest to listen. He straightened up, set his broad shoulders and turned, then, ready to face whatever came next.