John storms furiously to the space elevator, not even sparing a glance for his morning coffee and bagel, sitting uneaten and at least eighteen hours cold in the kitchen.

"What the actual hell did you think you were doing?" he is yelling as soon as Scott is in sight, relaxing on the couches. The nerve of him to be so laid back about this!

"I was rescuing people." Scott puts down his book with a roll of his eyes.

"By almost getting yourself killed, and giving me a heart attack." John could feel his blood pressure rising, the grip of a gravity headache squeezing either side of his temples.

"It was fine."

"Its. Not. Fine. Do you know how much that girder missed you by? Seven inches."

"Then I timed it just right."

"Gah Scott! Why can't you understand that functionally - mathematically - seven inches in that environment is nothing. It's a god damn rounding error and just because you got away with it this time doesn't mean that -" he pauses for a second, a wave of dizziness hitting him from nowhere. He swallows thickly. "It doesn't mean that you can pull stupid stunts like that. I can't -"

He's hot all over, suddenly sweating. "I can't -" Has someone turned up the heat? He blinks heavily and the whole room recedes. He's looking down the wrong end of a telescope with cotton wool stuffed in his ears because he's sure Scott is saying something but can't make it out. Can't even see him properly all the way over there, dark walls narrowing his vision to that far point. "I can't - I can't - "


John's rage may be white hot, and scalding when you're the only one in it's path but Scott isn't quite ready to concede yet, more than willing to defend his actions that saved lives. He raises one eyebrow questioningly as John stops, wavering, and his concern increases when John starts to slur, blood draining from his face.

"John? Are you ok?" He reaches out, but isn't quite quick enough – or close enough - to catch him as John's eyes roll up and he crashes to the floor in a heap, narrowly missing hitting his head on the step.

"John?" Scott leans over, taps his cheeks for a reaction. "John? Can you hear me? Damn it."

Scott grabs a medical kit and hooks the portable scanner into John's suit. What he sees makes him sigh deeply, but relax. Not a stroke or a heart attack, but a massive rise then drop in blood pressure, – reentry no doubt - and shockingly low blood sugar levels.

He rolls John into the recovery position, just to be safe, and crawls round to stuff a cushion under his head.

"Hope you're not going to be too bruised after that, but serves you right for yelling at me." Scott runs a gentle hand through John's hair, pushing it back from his brother's forehead, making sure it still lies neatly. John always likes his hair just so, as he would hate to make a bad first impression on someone calling for help.

Colour slowly seeps back into John's cheeks, his brow creases in a frown and his eyes crack open. Unsurprisingly, John picks up his rant where he left off, muttering "I can't do this without you."

"When did you last eat? Breakfast I'm guessing?" Scott asks, as John pushes himself slowly upright, understanding a few minutes behind consciousness.

"I... errr I started breakfast. Then we had a call and - "

"I get it, come on" Scott hauls John to his feet, steading him under the arm when he sways, just slightly. "I'll make you bacon and eggs so you have enough energy to tell me how much of an idiot I am."


I made it! Fab Five Feb 2020 completed before Feb 2021, yay, go me!