Scott sat waiting for the local anaesthetic to kick in, not that he needed it. He couldn't feel anything anyway, but they had to follow procedure. The nervous tension twisted Scott's stomach making him glad he hadn't eaten that morning. It'd taken three and a half weeks to get the paperwork completed, submitted, and approved. He'd been allowed to be an exception on the trial. It'd all gone through yesterday and having consented to having his cells harvested in hopeful preparation, the stem cells required for the treatment were ready to go. The sooner the better they'd said, well this was the quickest turn around they'd had. Scott was certain his name helped. Now he was lying on the operating table, arm extended and secured in a special metal cage, waiting for the first treatment to start. The anaesthesiologist smiled at him, his eyes a soft gentle brown which reminded him of Virgil.

"If you could turn your head so we can see if you can feel anything."

Scott did as he was told, confirming no, he couldn't feel it every time he was asked.

"All good then, all set to proceed."

Scott turned again to watch the anaesthesiologist get up and stand to the side of the room and Dr LaGrouse take his place. Dr LaGrouse was the one who was trained to do the procedure, though other doctors were watching and being trained.

"Okay Scott, as you know we've mapped your arm and identified places where there is damage. I'm going to use the computer to target those places precisely."

Scott nodded, already aware of the ins and outs. A tray containing a row of syringes containing his stem cells was wheeled beside his doctor. Scott took a deep breath and watched as each was inserted in turn. He wanted to see. There was no pain at any point. When all had been inserted, he was left with an arm covered in small dressings. He was the taken to a side room to recover. It was a formality, they had to let the anaesthetic wear off. A few hours later, his arm was dressed and placed in a sling and Virgil was flying him home. Grandma knew his aftercare instructions and he was aware of the immense physiotherapy involved. He could only hope it was worth it.

The tingling sensation that occurred as Virgil manipulated his arm was a good sign. It was a bazaar feeling but with the second treatment tomorrow, Scott was starting to feel positive for the first time in a while. Virgil's grasp on his skin was firm but light and was the most welcome feeling in the world to Scott. The first time he had felt something he had been alone. Once he'd confirmed it to himself, he'd cried. That sensation was now getting stronger and although the limb was still limp, Scott could feel where it was. He felt it hit the table and tap his side with every step he took. When Scott went for his morning run the wind set off his nerves, reminding him that the arm was there. Scott was learning the value of touch.

"Okay Scott, I needed you to try and bend your elbow for me."

His brother held his arm at an almost right angle, Scott's forearm sitting lightly in Virgil's palm. Scott focused on the muscles he needed to move, thought as hard as he could, sending the thoughts down to the appendage. Nothing happened. Not even a twitch. Virgil's hand moved to gently cup his wrist.

"Can you move your wrist?"

Again, Scott concentrated. Forcing the thoughts down towards the joint. He released the breath he'd been holding with a sigh. Still no movement.

"Now the fingers."

Scott tried to clench his hand, tried to make a fist. He wanted to close his hand. His eyes closed in effort only for him to let go, releasing the air from his lungs.

"Scott, do that again, but keep your eyes open and on your hand, okay?"

Scott did as he was told, commanding the hand as he stared at it, fighting the urge to close his eyes in concentration. A wiggle. Just a twitch in his third and fourth finger. His heart jumped. Was he seeing things? Trying again, his fingers quivered. Just a little.

"They...they moved."

Virgil's brown eyes met his. The grin on Virgil's face lit up his eyes, which Scott swore were looking a little watery.

"They sure did."

Virgil was grinning ear to ear, and Scott's own eyes started to water. He knew it was small, but it meant so much more. Signals could reach his fingers. The treatment was working. Virgil pulled him into a hug, which Scott returned with his strong arm, heart jumping at the idea that he might just be able to reciprocate with both soon.

The research team was ecstatic with his progress. They had given him four treatments in the end. Another harvest would be required if he wanted more, however they didn't believe it was required. Scott had full feeling back in his arm and basic movement. His grasp was firm enough to hold a glass of water and he was starting to improve his fine motor skills. He could just about feed himself with a spoon in his left hand. His treatment was considered successful and a miracle, but for Scott he wasn't even halfway to where he wanted to be. Scott still looked to the sky every day, waiting for his chance to get back up there in the pilot's chair. Scott wanted more, and his eyes were set on more physiotherapy. Virgil and Grandma were always keen to help. Scott had spent so much time with his Grandma, running through the same exercises, day in and day out, as well as having to let her help him do simple things. They'd become closer.

The company was now all over the media as the people who had given Scott Tracy the use of his arm. People were writing in hoping of receive treatment and funding flooded in, including some from Tracy Industries. The trial was to be expanded, allowing some of the many desperate people to have a chance to hope. Many of the new volunteers would be content with Scott's results, their lives changed forever. Scott understood their desperation, desire and chasing of hope.

After another round of testing, he left the facility smiling. They had confirmed that there were still changes happening, that his progress hadn't started to slow and that they could see further improvements to his motor control. Not that a downward turn would stop Scott at this point, he'd keep doing until either there was no more hope, or he was back to full fitness. He'd already spoken with the aviation society, had seen how they allowed people with various disabilities to become pilots. He knew he would be able to fly again in some capacity, but his eyes and heart were still set on his Thunderbird. How he wanted to sit in that seat again and fly her as fast as she could go. Scott would keep pushing.

Scott's body ached as he sat at his father's desk. They had gotten back from the ranch that day, and as much as Scott hated to admit it, yesterday's trial had been harder than expected. He had tried to keep his fitness up, tried to stay at the same level as his brothers, but obviously it hadn't been enough. Though Scott could now train properly, his left arm having caught up somewhat to his right in strength. His left had always been weaker anyway, and the gap was probably still larger than it was originally, but Scott could cope with that. He, and his brothers, were all aware of it and could work around it. Though considering the starting point, considering where he had come from, to be back to International Rescue standard fitness was fantastic.

The scars on his arms were now a reminder of the hard work he'd put in to get to where he was. They allowed him to help others too, showing them the potential that stem cell treatment held. He had met a few of those who'd been struggling, who had needed some hope. Like the teenager who'd had her spine broken doing sports, who was now learning to walk again. Hope was something International Rescue gave people in need, and Scott had welcomed another way to bring hope when he couldn't be part of the team.

Scott lent back in the chair and held his left hand up, clenching and unclenching a fist. He had proved himself strong enough, had passed the test and regained his pilot's licence. The joy of flying himself to New York the next day had been amazing. Brain's had then allowed him to fly Thunderbird One, letting Scott get used to the upgrades that had been added since he'd last sat in the seat. That had set Scott's eyes on the home straight, and now he'd passed the final hurdle. He'd passed the International Rescue fitness requirements. His status had been updated. Looking beyond his hand his gaze fell on the light fittings on the wall. It had been eighteen months since the last time he'd stood between those lights. Eighteen months since he'd pulled them down to head out on that last fateful rescue. How they had all thought it would be his last. Scott smiled. He was ready. If a call came in, he would be the first to launch.