A/N: Thank you again to everyone who has left reviews. This is such a lovely fandom to write for. Also, there was some weirdness when I tried to post this chapter the first time, so I'm reposting it. Sorry if you've already read it. I'll do my best to get the next one posted soon :)

Since it's no longer the 1960's, I've based my interpretation of Jeff and the way he interacts with his kids on the version of him we saw in 2004, and on the way they talk about him in TAG.

Half an hour into Jeff's vigil, John woke. His pain and confusion were obvious and heartbreaking, and all Jeff could do was hold him through it, urge him to keep breathing. He knew the moment John's brain kicked in, because he went utterly still, and then he pulled back slightly to stare up at Jeff with watering, disbelieving eyes.

"Dad?" he said, his voice a little rougher than it should've been.

Jeff's throat tightened, but he managed a small smile.

"Hey there, kiddo," he said, stroking a wayward lock of hair back from John's clammy forehead.

John remained frozen, just staring at his father.

"I'm dead," he whispered finally.

Jeff felt his expression twist as guilt and anger punched him in the chest. Damn Barrett to hell.

"You're not dead," he said, smoothing over his expression and squeezing John's shoulder bracingly. "I can't say for certain, but I'm pretty sure death isn't supposed to feel quite as crappy as you look right now."

John just kept staring up at him. Jeff sighed.

"Look at me, John."

The command was entirely unnecessary. John's wide eyes were already fixed on him, and they didn't appear to be going anywhere. He might even have been holding his breath.

"I didn't die in that crash," Jeff told him. "It was a trap, and they were waiting for me, to take me here. I've been a prisoner all this time, not a casualty."

Jeff could see that lightning-fast mind of John's racing, assessing and analyzing all of the available data, all of the possible interpretations. He watched disbelief, suspicion, confusion, wary hope, more suspicion, flicker one after another through those eyes he'd inherited from his mother.

But finally, inevitably, John appeared to arrive at the only possible conclusion. His breathing hitched, and he raised a hand to touch Jeff's arm, as if making sure he was solid. He bit his lip, the sheen in his eyes finally starting to overflow.

"Dad." It wasn't a question this time.

And then John was sitting up and throwing his arms around Jeff, tucking his face against his father's shoulder and clinging to him tight. Jeff held onto him just as tightly, closing his eyes and pressing his cheek to the top of John's head. His son was warm and solid in his arms, real.

God, but he'd missed his children. All of them.

"John, I need you to tell me what happened, all right?" he said, reluctant to disturb the moment, but needing to know. "Were any of your brothers with you when you were taken?"

John stiffened. He let go of Jeff and gave him an alarmed look, apparently struggling to remember.

"No…" he said slowly, frowning in concentration. He rubbed the back of his hand over his eyes. "I was talking to…to Scott, and Virgil. Alan too. But they weren't…" His expression cleared. "They weren't with me. I was running a rescue by myself, a damaged satellite. Thunderbird 3 was on the way, but they hadn't gotten there yet."

Jeff started breathing that much easier, and he sent up a word of thanks that probably went unheard. He redoubled his focus on John.

"Walk me through it, son," he said. "You were running the rescue. Did you dispatch from Thunderbird 5?"

"Yeah." John shook his head as if to clear it. He raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, winced, and lowered it again. "Yeah, I was talking to Gordon, but then the distress signal came through. It seemed normal at first, just an asteroid strike. I was closeby, so I went in the exo-pod."

"The exo-pod?"

"What? Oh, yeah, I guess Brains designed it after…well, when you weren't around." John frowned, but then the hint of a smile touched his face. "It's amazing, Dad. It's like a jetpack but way more sophisticated; it's like having wings. Brains built in these quantum processor chips that make the response time-"

"You'll have to tell me more about it later," Jeff interrupted, pointed.

John took the hint. He cleared his throat.

"Anyway, when I got to the satellite, things started to get weird. I couldn't reestablish contact with the satellite technician. Scott was running control from your workstation, and he said he couldn't pick up any life signs from the satellite, but I was still getting readings from one person. And the external damage didn't look like it was more than cosmetic. So I went inside, and I still couldn't find anyone. But when I went to look at the systems…I knew something wasn't right. The damage to the electronics was almost surgically precise, and only certain systems were affected. It was like someone had done the exact damage I'd be looking for with my scans after an asteroid hit." John frowned. "And I guess that's exactly what did happen."

"Probably," Jeff agreed, doing his best to tamp down on the anger rising in his chest. Barrett may have been evil, but he was clever too, and he would have planned every element of John's capture down to the last detail.

"Anyway, that was when I noticed that the way things had been set up, the satellite was going to blow any second. I should've just gotten out, but I thought…well, I thought maybe…" He shook his head, grimacing. "God, I guess that was pretty stupid."

"You thought someone was still in trouble," Jeff surmised.

"Yeah. All those clues, every sign that screamed TRAP, and I still went blundering in there trying to be a hero."

"You were acting on instinct, and that instinct was to try to save someone." Jeff settled a hand on his son's knee. "If you think I'm anything but proud of you for that, think again."

John blinked, and his eyes started to shine a little brighter than usual again.

"Thanks, Dad," he said softly. He looked away and cleared his throat. "Anyway, I was talking to Scott and Alan and Virgil, trying to tell them what was happening, when I felt this…this shock, I guess, all through my body. It shorted out every single piece of electronics in the exo-pod and my suit and it…it didn't knock me out, exactly, but it was like I had no control. My muscles weren't responding."

He shuddered slightly. Jeff knew the sensation he was talking about. The same weapon, if that was what it was, had been used on him. It was a unique kind of terror, to be totally aware and yet without any semblance of control, and it sickened him that John had been forced to endure it.

"Everything happened kind of fast, after that," John went on. "Someone must've been on the satellite after all, and they grabbed me out of the exo-pod and pushed me into this tiny crawlspace and sealed me in, and I think the rest of the satellite must've blown up, because it was loud and everything was shaking but then it just got dead quiet, like the artificial atmosphere was gone."

John fell silent, his gaze growing distant. Jeff waited, but he didn't continue.

"How long were you in there, John?" Jeff asked quietly. He could just imagine it, the horror of being trapped in the dark by an unknown enemy, unable to move, to hear, to see. Any amount of time would have been too long.

"I don't know. A few hours? It felt like…" John swallowed and shook his head, gaze hardening. "It was probably at least four or five hours. I kept expecting my air to run out, but whatever I was trapped in must've had its own supply. Towards the beginning, I felt these vibrations, and I thought I heard something, but it stopped eventually. I think…I think it might've been Virgil and Alan looking for me."

Jeff blinked.

"Alan?"

"Yeah? Oh, yeah, Dad, Alan's been running real missions with us for over a year."

John's countenance brightened slightly as he talked about his little brother, but Jeff stilled.

"You let your fifteen-year-old brother go on dangerous, life or death missions?" he asked.

"He's sixteen now, and I know what you're thinking, because we felt the same way at first," John said, raising a hand. "We tried to keep Alan home, or just on practice flights and that kind of thing. But one of those practice flights turned into an actual emergency, and he couldn't have handled it better. So Virgil started bringing him along on some of Thunderbird 2's missions, and he kept showing us that he was a qualified asset. You'd be so proud of him, Dad, he's grown so much. He's saved my life more than once."

"And how many times has one of you had to save his?"

John looked down, and Jeff knew that the answer also had to be more than once. He shook his head.

"John-"

"Dad." John raised his head again, and his eyes were full of conviction. "He's not a little kid anymore. He's ready. And the rest of us look out for him."

Jeff forced himself to take a deep breath.

It struck him then, how much of his sons' lives he'd missed. The thought made him ache, and he wanted to ask John about everything else that had happened to him and his brothers in the past two years, but they had more important matters at hand.

"Okay," he said. "We can talk about all that later. You were telling me about what happened to you."

"Right." The shadows entered John's eyes again. "Well, if those vibrations I felt were Alan and Virgil looking for me, they were gone for hours before whatever I was in started to move. I got jostled around for a while, maybe half an hour? Pretty early on I felt what had to be atmospheric reentry, and with pretty second-rate shock absorbers. I still had no control over my body."

Jeff was sitting close enough to feel the shiver that rippled through John. He wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and his son slumped against him.

"When they finally opened whatever it was, I couldn't really see at first. Then people were grabbing me and I-" Jeff tightened the arm around John as he shuddered again, more violently this time. "Maybe it was the adrenaline, but I started to get some control back then. I guess they weren't expecting me to recover from whatever it was as fast as I did, because they weren't ready for it when I started to fight them. I got the drop on the first one…" He frowned down at his scraped knuckles. "But then someone else must've drugged me because I can't remember anything after that, and the next thing I do remember is waking up here feeling like…well, like I wouldn't've been surprised to find out I was dead."

John fell silent as his narrative ended. After a moment, he lifted his gaze to focus on Jeff.

"I can't believe you're really here."

Jeff smiled sadly, sorry that it should be so surprising.

"I just wish you weren't," he said. He sighed, looking over his son. "But still…it sure is good to see you, Johnny."

John gave him a small smile.

"Likewise," he said. "We all missed you."

The smile faded as quickly as it had appeared though. John pulled away slightly to face his father.

"But what's going on, Dad? Where are we? Is the Hood-?"

Jeff held up a hand.

"One thing at a time," he said. He settled himself more comfortably against the wall. This might take a while. "The man holding us is named Kingsley Barrett."

"Of Barrett Enterprises?" John asked, startled.

Jeff nodded.

"But you weren't too far off, when you asked about the Hood. He and Barrett seem to be cut from the same cloth. They have similar interests, similar companies. Similar morals too, so they don't care about who they hurt, so long as they make a profit."

Jeff sighed, tilting his head back against the wall. He supposed he should start at the beginning, too.

"I got shot down on my way home," he said. "Landed in the water."

"I know," John said quietly. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. "I was watching when your signal cut out. Gordon spent hours and hours looking for you, but all he could find were a few pieces of your plane."

Jeff's chest tightened. He could just picture it: Gordon searching the dark sea in his faithful submarine, refusing to give up even as his father's chances dwindled, his brothers all waiting anxiously for the smallest piece of news. And then the aftermath. Jeff had seen what his boys had gone through when Lucy died, and he'd never wanted to be responsible for doing the same thing to them.

"I'm sorry," he told John now. "I never saw it coming. I tried contacting you, but whatever I got hit with must've had a cloaking signal, because I wasn't getting through to Thunderbird 5. There were divers waiting for me the second I hit the water. They knocked me out, and I woke up here."

Jeff looked around the cramped room. It was small and bare, slick white walls disrupted only by the doors to the hallway outside and the equally spartan bathroom.

"I still have no idea where exactly 'here' is," he said. "We could be on the moon, for all I know."

"Nah," John said with a strained smile. "International Rescue's been to the moon too many times since you disappeared. We'd've noticed a secret base."

Jeff raised an eyebrow, but once again resisted the urge to ask about the time he'd missed.

"Good to know, but still not quite enough to narrow it down," he said. "Anyway, I woke up here. I was alone for a few hours, but then Barrett came in."

He felt his fists clench, and he had to make a conscious effort to relax them again. "I didn't understand what was happening, at first. I'd met him before, in a few business meetings. He'd approached me about a partnership with Tracy Industries. I never liked him much, but I never thought he'd be capable of something like this. To be honest, I don't think he'd really been expecting me either. He shot down a Thunderbird, and he didn't know who he'd be pulling out of it. But he didn't let that stop him.

"He laid it all out for me, that first day. He told me I was the new head of his R&D team, and that I'd have the 'opportunity' to design a whole new fleet of vehicles for him." Jeff shook his head. "He wants weaponized versions of the Thunderbirds, John. He wants their power and versatility, but with enough destructive capabilities to make him unstoppable. He'd be able to hold the whole world hostage, and no one would be able to do anything about it."

"Are you sure it isn't the Hood?" John asked. "This all sounds just like him, and we were positive he was responsible for what happened to you. He could just be using Barrett's name; you wouldn't know…Oh." He frowned. "You did know who the Hood was before your crash."

Jeff grimaced.

"John, I would've told you and your brothers if I thought it would help."

"It's okay, Dad. I know you were just trying to protect Kayo.

"She told you?" Jeff asked, surprised.

"Er, something like that. She said you'd always known though."

"I did. I'm just not in the habit of judging people for things outside of their control." He'd also privately hoped that Kayo's knowledge of the Hood would allow her to better protect Tracy Island and its inhabitants from him.

"Neither are we. Kayo's still a sister to us."

A warm swell of pride rose in Jeff's chest. John's focus seemed to have returned to the matter at hand though.

"But why not just try to steal the Thunderbirds and add his own weapons?" he asked. "And does he know you're not our engineer?"

"I may be no Brains, but I still know my way around a rocket," Jeff said wryly. "I could do what he's asking, in theory. I just, you know, can't. I'd be doing the kind of harm I've always tried to protect people from. As for why he hasn't tried to steal the Thunderbirds…since I've been gone, has anyone ever suspected Barrett of any wrongdoing?"

"Not to my knowledge," John said.

"Exactly. Right now, he's free to act without much scrutiny. If he went after the Thunderbirds, the GDF would be onto him as fast as you could raise an alarm. He wants to be able to take the world by surprise, seize control before anyone knows what hit them."

"Makes sense." John frowned. "So Barrett has been trying to get you to work for him this whole time?"

"Unsuccessfully. Not for lack of trying though. I don't think he ever expected it to take this long. He neglected to factor in what your grandmother calls my 'stubborn fool bullheadedness.'"

Jeff smiled, but John didn't.

"He's been trying to get weapons designs out of you for two years?" he asked.

"Well, he goes through bouts of focus," Jeff said, trying to minimize the damage he could suddenly see looming. "Sometimes he'll forget about me for a while as he works on other projects."

"Sometimes," John said. "But the rest of the time…" His eyes drilled into Jeff's. "He's been torturing you."

It wasn't a question, but Jeff still couldn't answer it. John went pale.

"I don't want you to worry about that, John."

"Don't worry about-"

"No. It was nothing I couldn't handle, and it was a possibility I accepted when I decided to start International Rescue." He'd never been blind to the dangers of the path he'd chosen, although it would've been a lie to say he'd been anticipating this particular scenario. "Besides, Barrett needed me intact. He knew he couldn't do anything too damaging, physically or mentally. He spent the first few months just trying to convince me verbally."

But that was the problem, wasn't it? Barrett couldn't hurt Jeff, but he apparently had no such reservations when it came to his son.

"John," he said, quiet. "We've got bigger problems now."

John frowned at him for a long moment before his eyes went wide. He swallowed, fear flickering across his features.

"Dad…" Jeff could see the moment he understood, and it broke his heart. "Why am I here?"

As he guided the rocket back into its bay, Scott was acutely aware that he was touching down absent the cargo he'd sworn to himself not to return without. The knowledge weighed on him like a physical burden, threatening to crush his heart in his chest.

I'm sorry, Johnny. I'm so sorry.

Virgil didn't look at him as they released their safety restraints and rose from their seats, but Scott knew his brother was in a similar state. He wanted to say something to him, to pull him close like he hadn't since Dad died, to do something to ease the misery that was radiating from the younger man. But for all that Virgil was often the emotional support of the Tracy family, he could be terrible at receiving it himself. Scott didn't think he'd be allowed to help, not yet. And he didn't have the first idea how, even if he were. Not when he was feeling the same way.

But he had to try. He always had to try.

"Virgil-"

"Scott," Virgil cut him off at once, still not looking at him as Thunderbird 3's hatch slid open and the loading platform extended towards them. "I'm sorry, I- I just-"

There was a frantic edge to his voice, a wildness, almost. He was going to fall apart, Scott realized with a lurch, and he didn't want his brother to have to witness it.

"I understand," he said. "Just- I'm here, all right?"

Virgil nodded tightly without looking at him, and he strode away the second he could, his long legs carrying him quickly out of sight.

Scott stayed behind, completing Thunderbird 3's usual post-flight checks, making sure he left Alan's ship exactly as he'd found it. It gave him something to do, something familiar and mindless. Too mindless. Because the last of his numb denial had worn away now, and there was a storm brewing in its wake.

Finally, there was nothing left for him to do but exit the rocket, striding out into the massive hangar that held the rest of the Thunderbirds. Well, most of them. Scott's eyes were drawn inevitably to the circular platform with the number '5' emblazoned on its side. It was so often empty that he rarely noticed it, rarely gave it any thought. He'd taken for granted the fact that it didn't need to be empty.

There was no reason for it, nothing to be gained, but Scott's feet carried him out onto the platform anyway. He tilted his head back, looking up at the hatch high overhead. Three weeks ago, that hatch had opened to allow the space elevator to carry John up and away from his home, out of reach. And none of them had known it would be the last time.

Scott opened his mouth and screamed, a wordless, furious, devastated cry that echoed through the cavernous hangar. He wasn't sure who or what he was screaming at, maybe the heavens that had claimed his little brother or the father who'd left him with the crushing responsibility of looking after his siblings alone or a God he'd never believed in or the universe at large. He just knew that when he ran out of breath, he filled his lungs and screamed again, and again, unleashing the tide of grief that was trying to swallow him whole.

And when it was over, he was on his knees, head in his hands as he gasped. His throat and eyes burned and his shoulders shook and he still couldn't breathe. But he had to. Because he was still alive, and so were his other brothers, and there was nothing to do but keep going.

Finally he rose, feeling like his body weighed a thousand pounds. When he turned, he caught sight of the silent figure waiting behind him at the edge of the platform, and he froze. He just stared at Alan, at something of a loss for what to say.

"You didn't find him, did you?" Alan asked. His voice was small and ragged with pain, but it was the slightest note of hope in it that twisted the dagger in Scott's chest.

Mutely, he shook his head. Alan's expression crumpled, and he looked away.

Alan had been growing into a remarkable young man lately, more than holding his own as a true member of International Rescue. But just then, he looked all of five years old again, being told his mom wasn't coming home. He wrapped his arms around himself, and Scott could tell he was just as close as Virgil had been to falling apart. But unlike Virgil, he might be willing to let his big brother help.

Scott closed the distance between them and folded Alan into his arms, holding him close.

"I'm sorry, Alan," he whispered. "I'm sorry we couldn't bring him home."

Alan let out a muffled choking noise, and collapsed against Scott's chest. He began to cry, gut-wrenching, shameless sobs. It was probably the first time he'd broken down since this nightmare began, and the force of his grief wracked his small body. Scott held him tightly, as if he could singlehandedly keep him together.

Alan was too big to be carried, but Scott scooped him up anyway, cradling him close to his chest. He felt narrow fingers tangle up in his shirt, grabbing hold as if he'd disappear. But Alan wouldn't be losing any more brothers. Not tonight, not ever. Scott wouldn't allow it.

He carried Alan up to the hall that held all of their bedrooms, but then he hesitated. It wasn't something they talked about much, but he knew that Alan hadn't slept in his bed since Dad died. Scott had never pressed him for a reason; they all dealt with their grief in their own ways. But he didn't want him to be on the floor tonight.

So he headed for his own room instead, kicking off his boots by the door and using his foot to tug back the covers on the neatly-made bed. He tried to set Alan down on the mattress, but his brother wouldn't let go of him, and quite frankly, Scott didn't want to let him go either.

In the morning, he would talk to Brains, call the GDF, start trying to figure out what had happened, how everything had gone so terribly wrong. But for now, he would be a brother.

He climbed into the bed beside Alan, not caring that he was still wearing his flight suit. He tucked the covers over both of them, letting Alan burrow in close. Scott curled protectively around him, as if by doing so he'd be able to shield him from the world. As if it wasn't already far too late for that.

A sliver of light entered the room, growing wider with a soft creak as the door was pushed open slowly. Scott looked up to see a familiar silhouette framed in the doorway. Gordon didn't say a word, and he hesitated on the threshold, as if not sure whether or not he was welcome, too old to receive the same comfort as his little brother.

Scott freed one of his arms and lifted an edge of the blanket in silent invitation. Gordon strode forward at once, climbing into the bed on the opposite side from Alan. He curled up into a tight ball, his back pressed against Scott's. Trusting his big brother to protect him from what waited in the dark.

When Scott began to cry, he tried to do it silently.