There was always a hum. Night or day, a constant background drone in the world he lived in. Some found it annoying, John knew, but to him it was a comfort. Each system had it's own particular tone that melded together into one sound that said 'safety': for if the sound wasn't right it meant the systems weren't right and it might be time to put his helmet on.

John couldn't tell if it were night or day right now, but the sound he was so carefully attuned to wasn't right. There was barely even a hum at all. Something beeped, but none of his systems should beep like that and it intruded in on his thoughts. It made him aware of the surrounding darkness and how still he was. Was he asleep? Dreaming? It was a bit dark for that.

What was the damn beeping? Not the oxygen recycler or the lighting panels. The airlocks shrieked more than beeped, at least they did when opened and spewing atmosphere into the void. It wasn't right which meant he didn't know what was going on and he felt a brief flare of panic that spluttered out: he didn't have the energy to sustain it. It didn't seem to matter.

Sometimes there were grumbles: subtly different in tone but easily distinguishable for someone who was so accustomed to noticing small changes in his environment. Sometimes he thought there might be sense to them: words on the edge of understanding but when he tried to focus it melted away. They were infuriatingly and confusingly familiar and nonsensical.

There was a lot of numbness, in that darkness that wasn't sleep, as if he'd sat on his foot for too long, but over his entire body. The only feeling was when something plucked at him: his arms, his chest, his feet. He wanted to be left alone. Why wouldn't they let him sleep? He didn't want to sleep anymore. Was he asleep?

He was so confused.

Worse than the annoying plucking was an annoying itch. Right under his chin. It nagged at him. He couldn't rest, couldn't sleep, with the itching and the plucking and the grumbling and the god-damn beeping.

When they reported the twitches, the doctors told them not to expect too much too soon. They said that it was a good yet early sign and they would need more patience before there was much more improvement.

Scott and Virgil had shared a look and said nothing: doctors knew medicine but they knew John, and like all the Tracey's John never stopped once he had started something. They weren't a family of quitters. So it came as no surprise to them when just a few hours later John began mumbling and the twitches became proper movement.

Scott had to catch John's hand, worried that he would dislodge one of his i.v lines as he waved it around, and pulled it back down to the bed.

"Just lie still would you." he said softly, not expecting a response.

"C'n't."

Scott took a sharp breath inwards, heart leaping suddenly and Virgil sat up straighter, alert. That was more than a mumble!

"What was that?" Scott leaned in close to hear John's quiet reply.

"C'n't. It'hy"

"Itchy? Where?"

"Chin."

"We'll take care of that, you just need to lie still, ok?"

"K."

Virgil rubbed a soothing hand over John's chin and neck to release whatever irritation was held there.

"Better?" Virgil asked in a tone that was usually reserved for those they rescued: confident tones carefully crafted to be reassuring and calming. "Must have been from when I shaved you earlier. If I'd have known that was all it takes I would have done it a lot earlier. Can you open your eyes for us?"

"Can sh've m'self" John muttered, sounding grumpy at the suggestion he was incapable. "Mmmm eyes are 'pen."

Scott smiled: John hadn't said that for years, but as kid it had been a common mantra when he was being turfed out of bed to avoid being late for school.

"They're really not. Will you try?"

John huffed, but with some obvious effort began to move his lids. Scott grabbed a nearby cloth and wiped some of the detritus of sleep from his eyes, helping them to unstick. With some gentle encouragement on their part and frantic blinking on John's they could at last look him in the eye.

"You have no idea how happy we are to see you awake." Virgil said, leaning in and giving John's arm a squeeze.

John's gaze shifted back and forth: skipping and jumping, looking a little unfocused but also clearly able to discern between the two of them.

"Did my alr'm n't go off?"

"Something like that." Then in a lower voice Scott turned to Virgil "Go get someone." he instructed. Virgil gave a nod and left the room swiftly. This day had been quite a turnaround: from despair in the morning to a quiet hope with Virgil's arrival that had flourished in the last few minutes.

"Should h've w'ken me up."

"We tried."

John moved his arm again, perhaps to scratch that pesky itch, but paused with his hand just above the bed. He glanced down and Scott thought he might be realising for the first time that he wasn't actually at home as his confused gaze travelled from the line on the back of his hand to the monitors to the unfamiliar view from an unfamiliar room.

John frowned and the digital representations of his heart and blood pressure began to pick up. He tentatively touched his stomach, where that wicked piece of shrapnel had shredded him.

Scott caught that hand before it could mess with the bandages and gave it a gentle squeeze to bring John's attention back to him.

"You need to leave that alone and calm down. I know you're good at staying calm under pressure and I need you to use that now. Just... take a few deep breaths or something."

John did as he was told but then shifted sharply with a grimace and a hiss. "Scott." he pleaded voice scratchy but noticeably stronger. "What's goin' on. Why does it h'rt?"

Scott didn't think anything could be harder than the days watching over John as he lay comatose and still, but maybe, just maybe, seeing his little brother confused and in pain was worse. He squeezed his hand harder.

"What do you remember?"

"Beeping."

"Beeping?"

"Yeah. S'mething's beeping. But it's n't the air lock."

Scott spared a quick glance at the array of monitoring equipment that was indeed issuing an array of beeps and pips – it had formed the background to his days and nights: a rhythm conducted by John's heart and lungs.

"Not the air lock. Don't worry about it. The beeps are a good thing."

"Oh. 'K"

"Do you remember being on Five. There was... an explosion."

"Yes. No. Maybe. S'mething with... Brains?" John's brow creased and Scott didn't know to be worried that he was having trouble or pleased that John might be spared the memories of those terrifying moments. All Scott could do was offer a few words of comfort as the medical staff rushed in and he was once again ushered into the corridor where Virgil was lurking.

"He talking?" Virgil asked, leaning against a wall.

"Yeah. He's a bit confused and I don't know how much he remembers, but he's talking. He's actually awake Virgil." Scott found that his eyes were a bit moist from the relief, unashamedly wiping them on Virgil's shirt as the other pulled him in for a tight hug.

"What did I tell you?" Virgil said in his ear.

They only pulled away when a doctor slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her.

"We are very pleased with his condition. Very pleased indeed." She said briskly. "He's likely to have some moments of disorientation and he is on quite a lot of pain relief while we find the right level, so it's perfectly normal for him to not make much sense."

"When he can he come home?" Scott asked.

"My, you like to move fast don't you? Let's just give it a few days to properly assess any lasting affects before we start talking about discharge." She was a little disapproving, but now that John was awake Scott just wanted him home. "You can go back in if you like, but he's asleep again. He did say to tell you -" the doctor smiled, looking Scott directly in the eye " - that you looked tired and were grounded for twenty four hours. He told you to go home and get some sleep."

Scott could imagine John saying just that. He'd said it on a couple of previous occasions when they had burned the candle at both ends, pushing man and machine to their limits. He'd never said it from a hospital bed before, but as usual Scott had to admit he was right.

"That sounds like a really good idea."