He'd finally convinced John to attempt to take a nap, shifting up to the spartan living quarters tucked into Two's airframe- a tiny bathroom with a shower just wide enough to turn around in, a basic kitchen unit for heating up frozen meals and making hot drinks, a cupboard of spare uniforms and another of toiletries, towels and bedding, and four narrow bunk beds built into the wall.

He could hear Virgil snoring softly behind the curtain of his favourite bunk- top right, next to the door and John had rolled into his preferred bunk, bottom left. He wasn't asleep yet but he was dozing, lying on his side with his back to Scott, half out of his uniform so that Scott, sitting on the floor, could stroke the back of his neck. Despite the concussion, the lingering adrenaline, stress and strain of the day was making it hard for John to let himself spool down to rest and he needed the calming effect of his 'off switch'.

Unbidden, something their father had once said to him had come back to Scott as he mulled over events, unable to keep himself from questioning his decisions and feeling his anger start to flare again as he counted the darkening bruises he could see blooming on John's back and sides from the desperate fight he'd been in.

"We don't start fights son, especially not when we're angry."

The memories surrounding the words came flooding back to him, crystal clear despite the intervening years. It was at the end of a rough day when Dad said that to him, stern disapproval putting lines in his brow and pulling down the corners of his mouth.

They'd been sitting in the old wooden swing seat outside the house, the clouds overhead providing a welcome cool evening to cap off a hot day, in addition to the coolness of the ice pack that Jeff had wrapped in an old tee-shirt and gently pressed to Scott's black eye.

"I didn't start it!" A fourteen year old Scott flared back at him, fury and grief and helplessness raging within him. "They were teasing Virgil, then Tom made a crack about Mom dying." He flushed with embarrassment when his voice broke mid sentence. "I had to do something! It wasn't fair and it wasn't right!"

"So you leapt in to teach them a lesson, fists flying." Dad's frown deepened. "Three against one, and got your butt kicked."

Scott looked down and away, cheeks burning with shame, shoulders hunched and tears pricking at his eyes.

"Hey." A finger under his chin brought his head back up, but he refused to meet his father's gaze. "Scott, look at me." The instruction was firm and he reluctantly made eye contact, expecting further condemnation but finding love there instead. "I'm not angry, Scott. I'm glad you stood up for Virgil, but how you went about it could have been better, that's what I'm disappointed about. You can't make good choices when you're angry." A half smile curled Jeff's lips. "You're just like me when I was your age- can't stand bullies, gotta do the right thing." He observed, then his half smile became rueful. "'Cept with me I picked a fight with a guy on the school wrestling team and got my nose broken twice because I didn't learn the first time 'round. C'mere, son."

A shift and Dad had his arm around his shoulders, tugging him close. Scott leaned against him, his head on his dad's chest, the affection a balm to his wounded ego and hurt feelings. "Scott, never fight angry, okay?" Jeff told him, his voice firm. "As soon as you do you've lost all control of the situation, and if they provoke you into throwing the first punch, they've just won, no matter how many of their teeth you knock out."

"So what should I do?" He asked sullenly, still smarting over being told off.

"Match what they use." Was the response. "If they're using words, use words back and call for backup if you can. If they swing a fist then you can start swinging back because if they start the fight, then you've got the right to end it." Jeff chuckled ruefully. "Well, that's the ideal, and that's what my Pa taught me. I'm still learning that lesson Scott, and I expect to still be learning it when I'm old and grey." He admitted. "My temper's a lot better these days, but there's still a few things that push my buttons like nothing else."

Scott blinked in surprise, not expecting his father to admit to having a weakness like that. Strangely enough it humanised him in some way, knowing that his father, despite all his achievements, was flawed and yet somehow was all the better for his recognition of those flaws.

Knowing that made him feel a bit better about his own flaws.

"But," Jeff continued, "if you're fighting someone it's to end the fight, and that's it. Once they're down, the fight's over. You then help them up, give 'em a tissue or whatnot, and that's it. Leave the rest to the authorities, the people with the right to take the next step. You keep at it past that point, you've just become what they are. If you fight angry, you're more likely to take it too far. I don't want that for you, your Mom and I didn't raise you to be a bully. You understand?"

He'd just nodded, not really wanting to speak.

"Now," Scott could hear the smile in Jeff's voice, his tone becoming more conspiratorial, "your Grandma thinks I don't know about the mint chocolate chip ice cream in the basement freezer. I think after today, you and me deserve some of that, yeah?"

He smiled back, despite the split lip. "Yeah."

Sitting cross-legged on Two's deck as he tended to his brother, Scott felt a small smile tug at his face at the memory, but it faded when he recalled the problems facing them.

Sure, he knew that by the time they got home there'd be screeds of data, names and photos for them to work with, but he still didn't know what they would do with it. Sure, they could hand it all to the GDF and some of it might even be admissible in court, but between getting that information into the GDF's hands and the authorities getting into gear and shutting Pandora down there was going to be a big block of time that they could use to come after them again. It was just how bureaucracy worked.

But there was one thing that Scott knew for sure. No matter what the outcome of the meeting that they were going to have, Pandora were not going to lay a finger on his family ever again. They'd picked the fight, and they'd just swung the first punch. He wasn't going to fight angry, but they'd started it and he was going to finish it.