Insert usual disclaimers here. Thanks to all who's reading! Hope you're still enjoying it. Thanks to everyone who lets me bounce my plot bunnies off of them!

Warning: Some language in this chapter. Younger readers take note.

Gordon crept softly through the quiet house. Everyone was asleep and he idly wondered why he wasn't in bed. Because you idiot, admit it. You missed him too.

He sighed and made his way down the stairs. The flight from the island to Boston had been long even with the powerfully souped up engines of Tracy One. He and Virgil had shared piloting duties, along with telling Alan to "sit down and shut up, he wasn't flying." Alan had finally thrown himself in the back seat of the plane and sat sulking for the rest of the trip.

Gordon had to admit he was glad. The little twerp got on even his nerves sometimes.

He sighed again. It had surprised all of them when Jeff had called, asking them to come to Boston. He would have bet his trust fund that John didn't want to see them, but their father assured them otherwise. And when John took Gordon aside and whispered that he wanted to talk privately, Gordon just couldn't say no. Add the fact that his father caught the whole exchange...

So now here he was, wandering around in the dark, hoping he wouldn't trip and kill himself in the unfamiliar surroundings. He heard a faint noise coming from the kitchen and made his way there.

Gordon peered into the darkened room. "John? You wanted to talk to me?"

"Yeah Gords. I do." Came John's disembodied voice.

Gordon stumbled into something. "Why the hell are you sitting in the dark? Forget to pay the electricity bill?"

"What can I say, I'm used to the dark."

Finally Gordon found the light switch and flipped it. A pale yellow light bathed the kitchen. John was seated at the table, a beer in front of him, his other hand in his lap. Gordon sat down across from him. "So, what did you want to talk about?"

John shrugged and took a long pull from his beer. "Stuff."

"What kind of stuff?"

John took another drink. "You and me kind of stuff."

They sat in silence for a long while. "Well?" Gordon asked finally.

"Well what?"

Gordon rolled his eyes. "Look canary boy, you're the one who wanted to talk. If I'm going to have to drag it out of you, why bother." He got to his feet and started towards the door. "Call me when you decide what you want."

Gordon was halfway to the door when John seemed to materialize in front of him. "I know what I want Gordon." He said in an oddly emotionless voice.

Gordon frowned. "John? What are you—" His voice was cut off with a gasp of pain. Gordon stumbled backwards, crashing into the table. He stared down at the blood blossoming through his shirt then looked up at John, fear in his eyes. "John...why?..." His eyes rolled up in his head and he passed out.

John held the blood covered knife in his hand and smiled.

Gordon sat bolt upright in bed, his heart beating erratically. He tore the blankets off his chest and peered down at himself.

A nightmare...it was a fucking nightmare.

He glanced at his clock and saw that it was a little after 4:00am.

He took a shuddering breath and grabbing his swim trunks, marched outside. He paused by the pool, and knowing no one as there at this early hour, pulled off his pajama pants and slipped into his trunks. He took a deep breath and dove into the water.

He was nearly halfway across the pool when he broke the surface and began cutting through the water with a powerful stride. He continued doing laps until a stitch started in his side. He made his way to the edge of the pool, and hoisted himself out to sit on the edge, his body quivering with exhaustion, his thoughts in turmoil.

"Gordon?"

Gordon's head snapped up as Alan stepped out onto the terrace. "Alan, you scared the crap out of me."

Alan padded up to sit down next to his brother. "You're up early, couldn't sleep?"

Gordon shuddered with the memory of the dream. "You might say that." He glanced over at his younger brother. "You?"

Alan shrugged. "I've been thinking..."

"About?"

"John."

Gordon shivered again. "What about John?"

His voice came out higher than normal and Alan frowned. "What's bothering you Gordon?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing my ass."

Gordon looked up sharply at his brother. "Dad hears you talking like that and you're toast."

Alan snorted. "First off, he's like a million miles away, second, I'm not afraid of the old man."

Gordon raised an eyebrow. "Oh no? What about the time—"

"Shut up Gordon." They both grew quiet. "Tin-Tin and I had a talk the other day." Alan said a few minutes later.

"Oh? Trouble in paradise?" Gordon batted his eyes at his brother.

Alan scowled. "No." He snapped. "She told me...she said Hood is going to try and kill John."

Gordon started in surprise. "What!"

Alan nodded. "She can...hear his thoughts sometimes. Hood wants John dead to get back at Dad."

"Fuck." Gordon got to his feet and started towards the house.

Alan scrambled after him. "Gord wait! Where are you going?"

"I've had it with this Al. We have to do something."

"Yeah? Like what?"

"I don't know!" Gordon stopped and banged his head against the wall. "What the hell can we do Alan?"

Alan leaned with his back against the wall next to his brother. "I don't know Gords. Guess we just have to wait and see what happens."

"I'm tired of waiting." Gordon growled. He looked over at his brother, still keeping his forehead on the wall. "Does Dad know about this?"

Alan shook his head. "No. We're going to tell him next time he calls. If John's out of earshot that is. I don't think he needs to hear he has a death threat hanging over him."

Gordon chuckled. "You're right there Sprout." He sighed once more, then straightened. "C'mon, let's see what we can scrounge from the kitchen before the others get up."

Alan brightened. "Great idea!" He bolted down the hallway.

Gordon watched him go, then pushing his nightmare to the back of his head, followed his little brother through the house.

John stared in confusion at the blood on his hands and clothes. Then he noticed the eight-inch butcher knife in his hands. What the hell is going on?

He had just started down the stairs when he heard the scream.

"Virgil get in here! Some one call 911!"

John bolted down the stairs, taking them two at a time and flew into the kitchen. The sight in front of him was horrifying.

Gordon lay on the floor in a puddle of blood. It pooled out from a deep wound in his chest. Virgil was franticly checking him over while Alan stood, unmoving next to him.

Jeff was on the phone, presumably calling for help.

"What happened?" John demanded.

"We found him like this. Some one must have broken in." Scott looked up and froze, his face losing all color. "John, what the fuck did you do?"

John looked down at the knife he still held tightly in his hand. He gasped in shock and dropped the knife to the floor. "No! I...I...It wasn't..."

Now everyone was staring at John, all except Virgil who was still working on Gordon. Jeff shook his attention back to the phone. "Yes, the door's unlocked. Hurry!" He turned back to the boys. "An ambulance is on its way."

Virgil looked up, his tawny eyes filled with tears. "Don't bother. He's dead."

John bolted upright, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He stared down at his shaking hands, his mind still caught in the nightmare.

Beside him, Christa stirred. "John?" She called sleepily.

He concentrated on breathing evenly. "It's OK, go back to sleep."

She cracked one eye open. "What time is it?"

"A little after six. Go back to sleep."

She mumbled something incoherent and rolled over. John got out of bed and pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He quietly made his way down to the kitchen. He set a mug of cocoa in the microwave and grabbed a bagel. While he was cutting it, he looked at the knife in his hands and dropped both knife and bagel with a clatter.

"John? You're up early."

John whirled at the sound of his father's voice. "Dad! You startled me." He turned back to the counter, his heart pounding in his chest. He picked up the discarded bagel, and with shaking hands, finished cutting it, trying hard to avoid his fingers.

"Sorry son." Jeff poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot. "What are you up to today?" No answer. "John?"

John started. "Huh? Oh, I—I'm not sure yet."

Jeff frowned. John seemed unusually distracted and on edge this morning. "Son? Everything alright?"

John looked up and smiled. "Yeah Dad, everything's fine. Just not awake yet." He popped the bagel in the toaster.

Jeff heard the quaver in John's voice but decided not to push the issue. He didn't want to drive his son away now that he was actually opening up. "Christa off today?" He asked, changing the subject.

"Yes...no. No, she goes in this afternoon." John shook the fog from his head. "You going to see Scott?" John asked as he passed his father the bagel.

"Later this morning." Jeff sat down and peered at the blackened bread in front of him. "John, how can you screw up a bagel?" He quipped.

John glanced down and grinned sheepishly. "It's a gift?" They both laughed and John got out a box of cereal and two bowls.

They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. "Scott suggested that we have everyone come out when he gets out of the hospital. I thought—"

"NO!" Jeff looked up in startlement. John forced his voice to sound normal. "No. I...I'm not ready to deal with everyone just yet."

Jeff nodded, not quite convinced that was the real reason. "OK, another time then." He got to his feet and stretched. "I'm headed up to the office to do some paperwork before I head to the hospital. Thanks for breakfast." He said wryly.

John laughed. "Wait until you see what's for lunch!"

"I'd rather not." With a wave, Jeff headed upstairs.

John waited until he knew his father was out of earshot, then hurried to the vid- phone in the living room. Glancing around quickly, he dialed the island.

"Hello?"

"Virgil."

Virgil broke into a wide grin. "John! How are things? Called to cry over your beloved Red Sox?"

John ignored him. "Virg, where's Gordon?"

Virgil frowned. "Down in the pool, where else?"

"Are you sure? Is he alright?"

"Yeah, he's fine. I was just down there with him. He's currently trying to drown Alan." Virgil peered closely at his brother. "John, what is it?"

John breathed a sigh of relief and put his face in his hands. "Nothing...It's nothing."

Talk to me bro."

John looked up and smiled. "Just forget it Virg. And there's no need to mention to anyone that I called, OK?"

"John..."

"Look Virgil, I'll explain later."

"Yeah, sure you will." Virgil didn't sound convinced, but sighed. "How's Scott?"

"Doing well. The docs said the damage wasn't as bad as they thought. They're expecting a full recovery." John answered.

"That's great!"

"Yeah, it is." John ran a weary hand over his head.

"How are you feeling?"

John shrugged. "Fine. Ribs are just about healed. They don't even bother me anymore."

"Good. They probably would have healed faster if you could stay out of the rip tides."

John's head snapped up. "How did you know about that?"

"My spies are everywhere John." Virgil grinned. "Caught it on the news. Nice job by the way."

John blushed. "Thanks." He muttered quietly, then sighed. "Virg, I have to go. Talk to you later."

"Sure bro. Say hi to Dad and Scott."

"FAB." John cut the connection. He leaned back on the couch. A dream, it was just a damn dream. He can't hurt them. He can't hurt you.

"Are you sure about that John?"

"Shut up. I'm not listening to you."

"Then who are you talking to?"

John ignored the voice and went into the kitchen. He scribbled a note and left it on the table, then marched out the door without another word.

Scott stared glumly down at his breakfast tray. The eggs were a runny congealed mass on the plate and the toast had the consistency of cardboard. He tried a sip of coffee and nearly gagged. Pushing the tray away, he stared morosely at the ceiling.

So lost in gloom, he didn't hear the door open. "What's the matter rocket scientist, not hungry?"

Scott looked over to find John standing in the doorway, a brown paper bag in his hands. "Please tell me that's something to eat..."

John grinned lazily. "Maybe it is...maybe it isn't. What's it worth to you?"

"You'll find out, once I get my hands on you." Scott growled.

John merely continued to grin as he peered into the bag. "Let's see what we've got..." He pulled out a cup and smelled, closing his eyes in mock ecstasy. "Mmmm...smells like Jamaican Blue Mountain."

"You son of a bitch, give me that!" Scott leaned forward as far as his injured shoulder would let him and snatched the cup from his brother's hand. He breathed in the scent before taking a sip and sighed. "Thank God..."

John laughed and sat down in the chair next to the bed. "There's more." He rummaged in the bag and came up with an egg and sausage croissant and a half a dozen blueberry muffins. He also pulled out another cup for himself.

Scott wolfed down the breakfast sandwich with relish, than started on the muffins. John snagged one for himself and they sat in comfortable silence.

"Damn I needed that...Thanks Johnny." Scott let out a sigh of contentment.

"No problem Scott."

Scott shifted to a more comfortable position on the bed. "Physical therapy starts in about an hour."

"Want me to leave?"

"Nah." Scott sighed. "I hate being this weak."

John snorted. "You had a shoulder replacement Scott. You're not going to bounce back in a day. It's going to take time." He flashed his brother a smile. "Relax 'Rafa', you'll be back playing Centre Court in no time."

Scott glared. "I can beat your backhand any day weenie-boy."

John narrowed his eyes at his brother. "Is that a challenge?"

"No it's a promise."

Both burst out laughing. "I've missed you Johnny." Scott said, trying to catch his breath.

"I've missed you guys too." John sobered. "Well most of you anyway."

"John..."

John got up and paced the room, one hand on the back of his neck. He came to a stop, staring out the window. "Scott, can I talk to you? And have none of it get back to Dad or the others I mean?"

"Sure John, what's up?"

John was quiet a long time, his gaze never leaving the window. "I think I might be going insane." He said, his voice almost a whisper. "I see things, hear things, things that aren't really there. Things that can't be there." His eyes closed. "I don't know what's real and what's not. I have hours...days that I can't account for! I have no idea where I've been, what I've done. And it's not because I'm drunk." He shook his head. "The drinking helps. At least if I'm too drunk to stand, I'm too drunk to go anywhere...hurt anyone..." His voice trailed off.

"Hurt someone?" Scott frowned in concern. "What are you talking about?"

John sighed. "I get these feelings...urges. I don't know where they come from. I just lash out at whoever's nearest, like that mugger..."

"What mugger?"

He shrugged. "About a month ago, Christa and I were coming back from dinner and some guy jumped us and demanded our wallets. I beat the shit out of him Scott. I would have killed him if Christa wouldn't have stopped me." He paused. "Scary thing is, I enjoyed it."

Scott felt a chill run through him. John's voice was eerily robotic with no trace of his earlier warmth or humor. Not knowing how to respond, he waited for his brother to continue.

"I don't want that to happen to anyone else. I'm thinking about checking myself into a hospital before I hurt someone...or myself."

"Jesus John!" Scott struggled to his feet and walked over to his brother. "Don't talk that way!" He started to place his hand on John's arm.

John jumped back, throwing his hands up in warning. "Don't! Don't touch me!" His eyes were wide with fear. "You don't understand! I killed him Scott. I killed him and I was glad."

Scott shook his head in confusion. "What are you talking about? Killed who?"

John turned away, clenching his eyes shut and leaning on the windowsill. "Gordon. I killed Gordon. I killed my little brother."

"You didn't kill Gordon! For Christ's sake John, I got off the phone with him not an hour ago! What the hell is going on?" Scott demanded.

John grew quiet again. When he finally spoke, his voice was once again cold and emotionless. "I've looked into it you know. I even found a place that sounds perfect. McLean Hospital in Belmont. They specialize in chemical dependency and psychotic disorders. Sounds like just the place for me, don't you think?"

Scott shook his head. "Stop! Stop this! This is crazy John!"

John turned, a small, sad smile on his face. "Crazy, that's me." He turned back to the window. "Ironic isn't it, that Gordon had it right from the beginning. I am a liability. To our organization, to our family, to myself." He shrugged. "Sometimes I think we'd all be better off if I just ended it. No more worries all around."

Scott grew cold, his body trembling. "John no..." He said hoarsely. "Don't say that."

John looked up at his brother, an unreadable expression in his eyes. "I feel like I have no choice Scott. That it's the only way to make him stop."

The hell with this! Scott gritted his teeth and gripped his brother by both shoulders, forcing John to look up at him. "You listen to me John Glen Tracy. Stop talking that way! You are NOT a liability and you are NOT crazy! Dammit John! It's been awful not having you around, what kind of whole would you leave in this family if you killed yourself?" Scott's grey eyes bored into John's blue ones. "I thought you were smarter than that John. Or at least, not so selfish."

John face turned red with shame he tried to look away. Scott grabbed his chin and forced him to look back. "So I don't want to hear anymore of that kind of talk, do you hear me?" Scott growled, his tone broking no argument.

John's eyes filled with tears. "I won't...I'm sorry Scott...I'm so sorry..."

"Promise me!"

"I promise! I won't do it!" Tears began leaking out of his eyes. "God Scott..."

Scott pulled John close, wincing in pain, but ignoring it. He ran his good hand through John's hair. "I don't know what I'd do without you bro." He said hoarsely.

"You won't..." John's voice was muffled against Scott's chest. "I'm sorry..."

Scott pushed him back and stared deep into his eyes. "I'm going to hold you to that promise John." He said firmly.

John nodded and pulled away, wiping at his tears with the hem of his shirt. "I don't know what got into me Scott." He said quietly a few minutes later. "I know I've been acting like an ass but..." He looked up with haunted eyes. "I'm glad you're here..." He whispered.

Scott eased himself back down on the bed. "I am too bro." He winced again. "Must be just about time for my meds."

John frowned. "How does it feel today?"

Scott shrugged. "OK, all things considered. Rosie says if I make it through the rehab, I can go home sometime next week."

John sat down next to his brother. "You OK with that? The rehab?"

Scott nodded. "I have to be. I want my life back John."

"I know the feeling."

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Scott spoke up. "So, tell me about you and Christa."

John shrugged. "What's to tell?"

"John."

"I've never felt this way about anyone Scott. She's amazing."

"And she's good in bed too huh?"

John blushed to his hair. "You'll never know."

Scott chuckled at the expression on his brother's face. "As long as you're happy pal."

"I'm trying to be. She helps." John said simply. Then he sighed and stretched. "I'm going to head out and snag a nap. Didn't get much sleep last night."

"Yeah, I noticed you looked like shit." Scott grinned.

"Stay away from the mirrors there yourself Sleeping Ugly." John clasped his brother's hand warmly. "Thanks Scott."

Scott smiled. "Anytime Johnny. Get some rest."

"You too." With one last wave, John left.

Scott's smile faded and he dropped his head in his hands. Dammit that was too close! Hood has really done a number on him. He laid his head back and stared up at the ceiling, sighing. I just hope it's not too late.