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Smoke filled the station and sparks flew everywhere. A few small fires burned in the corners. John dragged himself to the console, the pain in his head almost making him throw up.

"Thunderbird 5 to Tracy Island! Come in Tracy Island!" There was no answer. "Dad! Scott! Someone answer me!" Sparks flew, and John flinched.

They're not coming…

John tried another set of channels. "This is Thunderbird 5, I've been hit! I need assistance!"

You're all alone….

John looked up as the computer began flashing wildly. "LIFE SUPPORT FAILING." He hurriedly punched in commands, to no avail. "I'm losing all power! Repeat I'm losing all power!"

All alone…

John awoke with a start, for a moment, not knowing where he was. Breathing heavily, he looked around. A dream, it was all a damned dream…He glanced over at the clock. 5:30 am. Great, guess I might as well get up. He got to his feet and pulled on a pair of shorts and an old MIT sweatshirt.

He made his way down to the kitchen and pouring a glass of juice, sat down at the table. The house was dark, and only the faint sounds of traffic could be heard from outside. Feeling claustrophobic from the aftereffects of the nightmare, John put his glass in the sink and hurried out the door.

He walked down the block until he reached the footbridge over Storrow Drive. He paused in the center of the bridge and looked around. Traffic was slow on a Saturday, and there were only a few joggers out this early.

"You're alone John…"

He shook his head to clear it. Dammit! It was just a dream! He walked faster down the ramp towards the Esplanade, breaking into a jog when he reached the bottom. I'm where I want to be. I'm alone by choice. He jogged on for a few minutes until his chest started to protest. This is my body, it does what I want it to do. He pushed himself further until his vision began greying out at the edges and he couldn't catch his breath. Finally he came to a faltering stop and leaned, hunched over against a tree.

He stayed there, breathing heavily. His chest was afire with pain and his knees buckled. He crouched down, trying desperately to catch his breath.

"Are you alright?"

John looked up. There was a young woman watching him with concern. "Are you alright?" She asked again.

John nodded. "Y-Yes, th-thanks." He stood, a little too quickly and everything spun around him.

She grabbed his arm and eased him back to the ground. "Easy. Just relax." He felt her take his wrist in hers and knew she was taking his pulse. "Breathe in…out, slowly, that's it."

John's vision cleared enough to finally get a good look at her. She had creamy white skin, with deep indigo eyes. Her head was topped with a cap of short black hair. John smiled. "T-thanks."

She frowned. "What happened?"

He shook his head. "I was in an…accident a few weeks ago. Guess I just overdid it." He smiled ruefully.

"You think?" She helped him to his feet. John bit back a moan and his hand went automatically to his left side. "Let me see that." Before John could protest, she had pulled up his sweatshirt and ran her hands along his ribcage. When she gently pressed against his left side, he let out a hiss of pain. She looked up at him with narrowed eyes. "You have a broken rib."

John shook his head. "No actually, I have four."

Her eyes widened in disbelief. "Are you kidding me? Sit down now." She ordered as she helped him over to a bench and continued her examination. "This is a chest tube scar. Just what kind of accident were you in?" She demanded.

"Are you a doctor?" John asked, sidestepping her question.

"A nurse. I just got off from work and I usually take a walk before I head home. And you're changing the subject." She snapped.

"I was in a…plane crash." John answered. Well, not exactly a plane, but close enough.

She ran her hands along his chest again. John caught her hand in his. "Don't." He smiled. "It tickles." She couldn't help it and laughed. John held out his hand. "I'm John."

"Christa. Nice to meet you. Do you live around here?"

"No, not really. My family has a brownstone in town, and I'm just staying here indefinitely." He replied. "You?"

"I have a place over on Park Drive."

John's eyes lit up. "Near the ballpark?"

She laughed. "You a Red Sox fan John?"

"Who isn't? Do not tell me you like the Yankees." He frowned at her.

"And risk being disowned by my family? I don't think so."

"That's something then." He looked out over the Charles. The fog was beginning to burn off and there were a few scullers out, probably the Harvard team, he thought to himself.

Christa took his wrist again. "John? I'd like you to come back to the hospital where I work. I think someone should take a look at you."

John shook his head. ""No, I'm fine. Really."

"I don't think you are. You're breathing and pulse aren't quite steady yet. How long ago were you in the crash?"

He shrugged. "About three weeks, give or take a few days."

"Three weeks? You had a chest tube only three weeks ago and you're out jogging! You idiot!" She pulled out a cell phone and started dialing.

"Who are you calling?" John asked.

"An ambulance. You could have internal bleeding." She replied.

In a flash, John was on his feet and pulled the phone from her hand. "No! No ambulance. I'm fine." His tone softened. "Look, I'll head home right now—I'll even take a cab. And I have a…friend who's a doctor over at Mass General. I'll give him a call. OK?"

"Who is it?"

"What?"

"Your friend? Who is it? I work at Mass Gen."

Terrific. No way I can keep this to myself now. John sighed. "Dr. Steve MacLeod."

"Mac? You're friends with Mac?" She laughed. "I'm his nurse."

"His nurse?"

"I'm head of his surgical team. Small world huh?" She laughed.

John failed to see the humor. "Yeah, isn't it." He muttered.

Her eyes took on a faraway look. "We'll miss him."

"Why?"

She turned back to him. "He took a job in the private sector. Some kind of research I think. Mac's being very mysterious about the whole thing. He leaves in about a week."

So, Dad convinced him to sign on. Interesting… John sat back down, carefully trying not to wince and set her off again. "So, how long have you known Steve?"

"Mac? Sorry, that's what we all call him over at the hospital." She frowned thoughtfully for a moment. "I've been part of his surgical team for almost two years now."

John nodded. "He's a good guy to work for then?"

"The best." She eyed him curiously. "You should know that if you're friends."

John looked away. "I haven't know him that long actually." He turned back and smiled charmingly. "So, want to go get a cup of coffee or something?"

"I thought you were going home to rest?"

John shrugged. "I figured a cup of coffee was the least I could do to say thanks."

Christa arched an eyebrow at him. "Are you asking me out John?" He blushed to his hairline and stammered something. He is cute, all that gorgeous blonde hair. The body's not too bad either, what I saw of it. And those eyes… "So, are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Asking me out?" She smiled impishly.

John groaned and put his head in his hands. "My brother is so much better at this sort of thing." He muttered.

She pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket and scribbled something on it. "Here. Give me a call later and let me know how you're feeling. Then later we can have coffee or something, and you can tell me all about your brother."

He took the paper and smiled. "Brothers. I have four."

"Four again huh? Now I'm intrigued."

"I'm an intriguing sort of guy."

She laughed again. "I'll bet you are." She yawned. "I'm sorry, I really need to get home. And so do you. I'll be checking with Mac to see if you called him."

"Yes mom." John carefully got to his feet, and together they walked up the path. He realized for the first time, just how tiny she was, as she barely came up to his shoulders.

John had to stop twice and catch his breath, refusing each time to call an ambulance. Finally, they crossed over Storrow Drive again, and John waved to signal a cab. "I'll call you later." He told Christa, one hand absently rubbing his chest.

She watched him in concern. "Are you sure you're going to be able to get home alright?"

"I'll be fine." He replied.

She jabbed her finger into his arm. "If you haven't called Mac by lunchtime, I'm calling him for you."

"I said I'd call!"

"You'd better."

"I will!"

"Get some rest!" She waved as John got into the cab and drove away.

By the time he got back to the brownstone, John's head had begun to pound in time with the throbbing of his chest. Cursing to himself, he hunted for painkillers, and not finding any, he stormed into the living room to lie down. Spying the liquor cabinet in the corner, he opened it and pulled out a bottle. Eyeing it for a moment, he pulled off the cap and took a long swig. The whiskey burned pleasantly down his throat, so he grabbed a glass and sat down on the couch. Pouring himself another, he leaned back, and waited for the alcohol to dull the pain.

Jeff sat at his desk, his forehead furrowed in thought.

Scott walked in, a file in his good hand. "Hey Dad, Brains thinks he might know what's going on up on TB 5. He said—what's wrong?"

Jeff looked up, his face a mask of concern. "I just got off the phone with Steve."

Scott felt a chill wash over him. "John?"

Jeff nodded. "Steve got a call from a co-worker this morning. Seems she was out for a walk, when she ran into your brother, jogging."

"Jogging?" Scott sat down in a chair. "What the hell was he doing out jogging?"

Jeff shook his head. "I have no idea. He wasn't doing it too well either from what Steve said. Seems this girl found John half collapsed against a tree and tried to call an ambulance."

Scott had to repress a smile. "Bet that went over well."

Jeff nodded. "She helped him to a cab and told him to call a doctor. He said he would. Needless to say, he didn't so she called the doctor she works for, who happens to be Steve, and told him what happened."

"She works with Steve?"

"She—her name's Christa, is head of his surgical team. John mentioned knowing Steve and promised to call. Steve never heard from him and went over to the brownstone to have a look."

"And?" Scott asked when the silence had gone on too long.

Jeff sighed. "He found your brother passed out on the living room couch. Drunk. At ten o'clock in the morning."

"Dammit!" Scott exploded. He got to his feet and stalked across the room to stare out the window. He turned back to his father. "So now what do we do?"

"There's nothing we can do Scott."

"How can you say that! He's your son!" Scott yelled angrily.

Jeff narrowed his eyes at his son's tone. "I know that. And I know that if we push John on this, he's going to run again. And this time we might not find him."

Scott's shoulders slumped. "Dad…"

Jeff walked over to him and placed a comforting arm around his shoulders. "I know Scott, I know."