Disclaimer: see chapter one

AN: Bit of an early Chrissy prezzie for you. Hope you enjoy, and if I don't update again before the 24th, have a great Chrissy and New Year.

Chapter Twelve- Things Can Only Get Better

Groaning, Scott moved his head slightly. It probably wasn't the smartest thing to do, since he didn't know if his spine was injured, but he couldn't stay still.

'OK,' he thought to himself. 'I can feel my legs, and my arms. Well, I can feel a bit of pain in one of my arms. It must be safe to move. I can't lie on the road, waiting for someone to come. I have to move; there's no other option.'

Ever so gingerly, Scott dragged himself into a sitting position, ignoring the sharp pain that shot up his arm like red-hot knives. With his other arm, he removed his helmet, and rubbed his hand over his head, wincing a bit as he reached his temple. 'Should get that checked out by a doctor later today.'

With a super-human effort, Scott somehow managed to heave his bike back onto two wheels, and lug it back to the farm.

"OK, Ben, fire away."

"Jeff, you need to strap Jack into his chair, and then go back into the CM to re-route five amps to the LLC."

"Copy that."

"Nick," Ben continued, as soon as Jeff had left the LLC. "I need you to restart the Guidance Chip, the Altitude, Speed and Gravitational Force Modulator and the safety computers."

Nick looked at the instrument panel in front of him. "Um, Ben, there's an awful lot of condensation up here, and we stripped most of the wiring off the components to fix our oxygen problem. What's the deal if everything shorts?"

Ben hesitated. "Um, I'm not sure, Nick. We'll just see how it works. Houston out."

Nick sighed and narrowed his eyes. "This is like driving a toasting toaster through a drizzling car wash."

"Where've you been?"

Scott froze, and spun around on the spot, blinking to rid himself of a dizzy sensation.

"I know you weren't here for most of the night. Where were you?"

"How do you know I wasn't here for the night?" Scott retorted aggressively, although most of his aggression came from the pain around his shoulder.

"Please, give me some credit for my intelligence; I'm fifteen, I'm not an idiot. First of all, we share a room, and as quiet as you were, you still woke me up when you closed the door. Secondly, when Grandma asked me to wake you up, I called your name and you didn't respond. Then, I proceeded onto shaking you awake. You can imagine the surprise I got when my hand sunk into soft and squishy stuff. So, because I'm intelligent, I pull back your covers and find a pile of pillows piled in a heap. I've been covering for you ever since. Where've you been?"

"I went to The Rock." Scott closed the door, and pulled a clean T-shirt out from a drawer.

"In the middle of the night?! Why did you go there?!" John inquired incredulously.

"On a whim." Scott replied sourly, grimacing as he shrugged out of the T-shirt he was wearing.

"Bloody hell, Scott!" John exclaimed as he saw Scott's shoulder. "What've you done to your shoulder? You look like you've gone to war and returned as a veteran. Have you seen the size of the swelling on that?"

"It's nothing." Scott dismissed. "It's just a bruise. It'll be fine." He made his way to the door, only to find John barring it with his body.

"How did you do that?"

"I… fell." Scott said, hating himself for telling a partial truth. "I took a corner too sharply, and then I fell. Now, will you let me go down? I need to make an appearance to Grandma so she knows I'm back."

"You mean up." John corrected, as he followed Scott down the stairs.

"Whatever." Scott sauntered into the kitchen, picked up a slice of bread and peeled off the crust. "Morning, Grandma."

"Good morning, sweetie. You're up late. Did you have a good night?"

Scott stood there, with a piece of bread hanging limply in his hand. 'She can't know,' Scott thought desperately. 'She can't. I'm so dead if she figures it out.'

"Scott? Did you have a good night's sleep?"

Scott jerked his mind back into reality. "Yes. Well, no better than normal, I guess." Guiltily, he crossed his fingers behind his back. "Hey Grandma, I'm not going to be here for dinner."

"Why?" Josie looked up from where she was chopping onions to place in Gordon's sandwich.

"I've got a ice hockey friendly at lunch and practice after school. Coach wants to start our practice season early."

"OK. Do you know when training will be over? I can pick you up from the ice rink."

"Don't worry; I'll walk home." Leaning over the workbench to grab all five lunch bags, Scott hollered, "Guys, come on. We gotta go, otherwise we'll miss the bus."

"How are the computer systems holding up, Nick?"

"They're fine for now. Haven't shorted yet."

"That's good. One less thing to worry about. Has Jeff come back yet?" Ben asked.

"Yeah, he back. Just checking Jack's strapped in OK. Don't want him flying out of the windshield as we re-enter."

"Good. Now, I need you to disconnect from the CM. You don't need it. It's literally a dead weight hanging off you."

"Ben, before I disconnect, the re-entry procedures; did you calculate the weight correctly? Because the waste disposal tanks and one oxygen tank are empty."

There was no answer.

"Scott, you ready to go?" Tom leaned casually on the locker door, skates knotted together at the laces and slung over his shoulder.

"Yeah, give me a minute." Scott groaned. Under his breath, he added, "the floor needs to stop spinning."

"Scott, you OK?" Jack had joined them, and stood on Scott's other side.

"I'm fine." He said, trying not only to convince his friends, but also himself. "Why wouldn't I be OK?"

"I dunno. You just seem… out of it. You're not using your shoulder very much, and you've been quiet, I guess."

"I have a bit of a headache, and I bruised my shoulder. No big deal." Scott closed the door of his locker, indicating that the subject was also closed to discussion.

"Houston? Houston!" Nick called, in a frenzied panic. "Houston, are you receiving?"

"Nick, calm down." Ban was back. "There is a slight issue with the weight, but hopefully we can remedy the situation. Have you disconnected from the CM yet?"
"No. That's a negative."

"OK, I need you and Jeff to go back into the CM and find anything that can act as weights."

"Houston, I can't go." Jeff interjected. "Jack's taken a turn for the worse."

"What's happened to Jack?" Both Ben and the flight surgeon strained their ears to see what Jeff would say next.

"He's slipped into a delirium, he swings from being a human heater to being a human Popsicle. I need to stay and monitor him, keep him in touch with reality."

"Good thinking Jeff. OK, Nick, make sure they can be secured easily and they can be stowed away." Ben instructed. "Like Jack, we don't want them flying through the windshield as you re-enter."

Like the rest of his team, Scott hung onto the wall, as they listened to their coach. "OK, this is the first match we've had in a while. It's a friendly match, but it's still a match, so no slacking. I want every team member to pull their weight, and play at their very best. I want you to work as a team to ensure success. Most importantly, I want it to be a clean game. From all of you." She eyed each team member beadily, daring them to disagree. "I know there have been some altercations between certain members of the opposition, but I do not want to see any of you sitting in the penalty box because of something completely unrelated to hockey. Do you understand?"

"Yes Coach."

"Just remember, if you can't beat them in an alleyway, you ain't going to be able to beat them on the ice. Usual warm up, twice around the rink."

Scott pushed away from the wall, ignoring the pounding sensation in his head, ignoring the constant pins and needles shooting up his arm, ignoring the sight of the ice spinning beneath his skate.

"Scott," Tom called out, sounding muffled because of the mouth guard. "You coming or what?"

"Yeah, I'm coming." Scott replied, before his legs crumpled from underneath him and the world turned black.

"Houston, we are separating from the Command Module now. We will try and stream some live footage down to you. Failing that, we will record the footage from up here, and send you some stills." Jeff informed, while inserting a blank disc into the camera.

"Roger that, Orbita."

"Separating now." Nick flicked some switches and tapped away at his data panel. "Houston, we have separated from the Command Module. It looks… bad."

"Bad as in?" Ben prompted.

"Bad as in the heat absorber has been blown off." Jeff said while filming. "Houston, what are the chances that that has happened to the LLC? And what happens on re-entry if the heat absorber has been damaged? Will the LLC be able to withstand the friction and not melt into a pile of soup metallica?"

Light.

A bright, white light.

That was the first thing Scott saw. Then he noticed the shapes. A hockey stick. A helmet. Shin guards, elbow guards and shoulder guards. All of this seemed strangely familiar to Scott, but he couldn't quite remember why. And then it came back to him; the ice rink and the match.

"Did we win?" He asked softly, startling all members of the team.

"Err, not exactly." Tom supplied.

"Did we," Scott swallowed. "Lose?"

Jack mulled over his answer. "In a manner of speaking."

"Did we…" Scott trailed of into silence, knowing he was right. "You did, didn't you."

"We forfeited the match. You honestly didn't think we'd let you play after that, did you?" Coach confirmed. The look on Scott's face told her everything she needed to know. "More to the point, why were you willing to play with a broken collar bone? Do you know what could have happened if there was a pile up on the ice and you were at the bottom of the heap? Why were you going to play?"

Scott looked his coach evenly in the eyes. "No slacking."

"Your family have been informed. John and Virgil are already here, but they're waiting for the others to arrive." Coach sniffed, miffed at Scott's reply. "The doctors had to take some CT scans and x-rays of your head as well. You had a nasty knock on the ice."

"OK."

"They're waiting on the results. It should tell us if there's any swelling or internal bleeding." Coach paused. "Do you want to see John and Virgil?"

"Please."

"OK, we'll send them in. And Scott, I don't think you'll be playing for the next three months."

"It only takes eight weeks to heal a bone." Scott argued.

"I said," Coach snarled, as she shepherded the team out the door. "Three months."

Scott was only given a moment before John and Virgil sprinted into the room.

"Just a bruise, huh Scott?" John asked rhetorically.

"OK, maybe I was wrong about that."

"I think it's more than just a bruise Scott. Tell me, are you feeling fine right now?"

"Apart from feeling lopsided, and having a headache the size of North America and Russia combined, and the constant feeling of being on teacup rides at the fairground, I'm good."

"That's not funny, Scott." John growled; his over-protective instinct kicked in, radiating anger at Scott.

"I never intended it to be funny." Scott closed his eyes, hoping to block out the light and the anger.

"Hey, Scott, was it a clean break? Or was it a multiple fracture? Have you had a nerve and tissue damage check yet?" Virgil asked, while scrambling over to Scott's shoulder to take a closer look.

Scott clumsily tossed him his medical chart.

"Let me see, clean break, no damage to surrounding tissue or nerve or blood vessels. What about your head?"

"What about my head?" Scott asked, as a doctor entered his room, holding several scans.

"It's not good news." The doctor responded, thinking Scott's question was directed at him. "The scans show that you have a hairline fracture in your skull. This is supported by the headache and explains the unequal size of your pupils. You were lucky, this is a simple fracture, meaning it should heal in eight weeks without complications. I am a little perplexed, though."

"Why?"

"According to your coach, when you fell on the ice, you fell on the back of your skull. The fracture is in the vicinity of the temporal lobe. It just doesn't make sense. These types of fractures are most consistent with head injuries from an automobile accident."

John glared daggers at Scott, while Virgil narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

"Now we have that out of the way, you will need to wear a sling and a figure of eight bandage on that shoulder. You cannot play any contact sports until full mobility has returned, and then you must take it slowly. With the head injury you cannot play contact sports nor do anything to aggravate the fracture. If your headache worsens, or you lose consciousness again, you must return back to the ER for observations. Other than that, I'm happy to discharge you." Scans in hand, the doctor walked back out of the room.

"You fell off your bike." John repeated Scott's words.

"I'll say yes on a mere technicality."

"Would you care to tell us what really happened?"

"OK, I'll be straight with you guys. I was coming back from The Rock, and this car rammed into the back of me. The bike lost balance, and sort of fell to the ground, so yes, on a mere technicality, I did fall off my bike."

"Did you file a report?" John asked, while sitting on the end of his brother's bed.

Scott shook his head, and John rolled his eyes exasperatedly.

"I didn't get a number plate, I didn't get a make and model; I don't even know what colour it was!" Scott exploded. "How the hell am I meant to file a report if I don't know the basic facts?!"

"I don't know!" John flared back.

"Exactly!"

"Um, Scott," Virgil said timidly. "Can I ask you something?"

"You just did." Scott pointed out.

"OK, well, I'll ask you another thing." Virgil paused. "Did you know you were hurt?"

Knowing he was going to regret this, Scott nodded.

"And one more thing, were you ever going to get checked out to see if anything was wrong?"

Scott nodded once more.

"When?"

"After the afternoon hockey practice." Scott admitted.

John slapped a hand to his forehead, and Virgil pounded a fist on Scott's table.

"Why didn't you get it done first thing in the morning?" Virgil asked forcefully, trying to remain calm.

"I had school in the morning."

"You know you have to have head injuries checked out straight away! Why didn't you?! Dammit Scott! You could've slipped into a coma or worse! For a guy who's on his way to gaining a scholarship at one of the most prestigious universities in America, you sure are stupid."

"Alright, alright, I get it!" Scott interrupted. "It was a stupid thing to do, and I was being an idiot! And I won't do it again. Guys, you do know we can't tell Grandma."

"Tell me what, boys?"

"Orbita, we do not think that the heat absorber has been damaged in any way. There is no evidence to suggest that it will not absorb the heat." Ben reassured them, wanting to say the good news before the bad. "We are more concerned about the parachute deployment. We suspect there may be some damage done to parachute number two, since it was closest to the tank that exploded." Ben was tapped on the shoulder. "Um gentlemen, I'll be right back." He placed his headset on the back of a vacant chair, and walked over to Gene. "What is it?"

"We've had a phone call, requesting that we pass on a message to Jeff about one of his sons. It's not good." Gene looked down at the message, scrawled on a Post-It note.

Ben peered over the note, trying to decipher the message. "Gene, you have to tell Jeff."

"What if this compromises his judgement, and he makes a bad call? It wouldn't just be him affected, two other men would be affected too; do I need to remind you that one is in a critical state?!"

"Gene, you don't understand! This is what will make Jeff determined to make it back to Earth! The one thing Jeff cares most about in life is his sons!" Ben looked Gene straight in the eye, appealing to his compassionate side. "He's their father. He has a right to know this. He has a right to know this now."

Gene caved. "Go tell him. Let him down gently. Try and make it as brief and as painless as possible. He still has to bring them back to Earth."

"Thank you." Ben walked back to his headset, wondering how to phase this. "Orbita, this is Houston. Do you copy?"

"Houston, we copy." Nick replied. "What can you tell us about the parachute issue?"

"Um, it should be OK with the three other parachutes. Is Jeff there?"

"Yes Ben, I'm here."

"Are you sitting down?"

"Yes." Jeff answered slowly.

"Oh, Jeff, I'm sorry to have to tell you this."

"Tell me what?" Jeff's tone was as sharp as razors.

"It's about one of your sons. I'm afraid there's been some bad news."

AN: I'm not entirely sure of which sport Scott played when he was at school, so for the purpose of this story, let's just say it was ice hockey, 'kay? ;)

Anyway, please review.