Young left Nick in the trustworthy (?) hands of the science team and returned an hour later for their usual report, only to find that literally no work had been done. Brody was sitting with his leg up on the console, nursing a nasty bruise. Volker was sulking. Park and Nick were snugged together at another console as Park told him what things meant and which buttons to push.

"Can he fly the spaceship yet?" Young asked.

"You gotta go through training first," Nick said absently. He pointed to something on the console and addressed his next question to Park. "What's that one?"

"That's 'z'. Makes a zzz sound."

Confused, Young walked up behind them and saw they weren't staring at the console at all. They were staring at a piece of paper with the alphabet on it in Park's bubbly handwriting.

"He can't read," Lisa explained without prompt.

"But he's six," said Young. "I could read when I was six."

He thought, but didn't add, And I'm a lot dumber than Nicholas Rush.

"And the colonel's much dumber than Nick Rush," Eli piped up. Young sent him a glare.

"Yes, well," said Park, "Nick also tells me he doesn't attend school."

Young raised his eyebrows and looked at the boy.

"What?" said Nick defensively. "I don't like the bus. The big lads ride the bus. And I never went to school with Mum and Da."

"Can't you walk?"

Nick let out a derisive laugh that was eerily similar to his elder self.

"I'm six," he said, "and I live in Glasgow. East Side."

"East Saa-eeed!" Eli called. The room in general gave him a disapproving look. Flushing, he turned back to his console.

"What's wrong with the East side of Glasgow?" Young asked.

"Big lads," said Nick.

It was very hard not to say "who the hell are the big lads?"

"Big lads," Young repeated. "You mean big kids?"

Nick nodded. Slowly, Young came to remember what else the six-year-old had said.

"What do you mean, you never went to school with Mum and Da?" he asked. Nick only shrugged. Young narrowed his eyes, ready to go full-out interrogation mode on the boy when his radio blared to life.

"Colonel Young, come in," said Camille's voice. Young pressed down the transmitter.

"Wray, this is Young. What is it?"

"I need to talk to Dr. Rush."

His eyes flickered to the other side of the room. "You mean Nick."

Pause.

"Yes. Nick. Can you bring him down?"

Young glanced at the boy, whose eyes were plastered to the console. He seemed much more content cuddling with Park than talking to Camille.

"I'll see what I can do," he said, and let his thumb slip off the button. "Nick," he called. Briefly, the boy looked up. "You want to meet some more people?"

For a long moment, Nick didn't move. Then he jumped off Park's lap and bounded over, hesitating a little before taking Young's hand. The colonel gaped down at him, then stared around the room in shock. Park beamed, Volker sulked, and Eli gave him a grin.

Brody was still nursing his bruise.

"Well," said Young awkwardly, "come on."

He didn't like it.

Colonel Young stood across the room from the desk where Camille and Nick were sitting. His arms were crossed and his face was set in a scowl.

He. Did. Not. Like. It.

"Nick," said Camille, trying to sound gentle but coming off more as patronizing, "I really need you to tell me about your dad. OK? Did he ever hurt you?"

Nick stared at the table, tracing patterns on it with his finger and refusing to meet her gaze. Intellectually, Young knew that Camille was right – they should try to find out as much as they can, try to learn more about the difficult man. It would make him easier to deal with as a child and as the scientist they knew.

He still didn't like it.

"Did your mother hurt you?" Camille tried again. Exasperated and angry, Young couldn't hold himself back from speaking.

"Maybe he's not abused," he snapped. "Maybe that's why he's so upset. You're insulting his parents."

Camille didn't even look his way.

"Tell me about your parents," she suggested. "What do they do for a living? Where do they work?"

Not looking up, Nick shrugged.

"Do they ever hurt you?"

Eyes on the table, he shook his head and shrugged at the same time.

"Nick," said Camille softly, grabbing his hand and making him flinch, "you can tell me, OK? I won't make fun."

Young was forced into action when Nick's mouth wobbled and he started to cry.

"All right!" he said loudly, swooping in and grabbing the kid. "I think we're done here."

He suspected that Camille was formulating an argument – probably something to do with 'he's not crying, he's just tearing up' – but frankly, he was having none of that.

"You OK?" he said when he'd stormed out properly. He set Nick on the ground but didn't quite let go.

"Uh-huh," Nick mumbled.

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

He totally wasn't worried about the kid.

At all.