Who knew that time could fly and drag at the same time? It was a concept Gordon could not comprehend. Three months had passed since his brother disappeared. There were days that seemed to slip past unnoticed, a flurry of rescues and hard work. Then there were the days when every second felt like an hour; one of those days had been his birthday. There wasn't a lot of love on Tracy Island that particular Valentine's Day. Instead of pink hearts and birthday candles, they had lit purple lanterns and sent them up into the sky, towards the stars that John loved so much.

Gordon snorted. Today was one of the days that dragged and he had hidden himself in the games room, shying away from even Alan's company. Sending up the lanterns had been his only birthday request. He didn't want a cake or presents; all he wanted was to send a signal to the universe. Show my brother the way home. It was twee and pointless but he wanted to do it anyway. He had to do something.

In the time John had been gone, some things had changed and some had stayed the same. Tin-Tin was changing every day. She was around six months gone and her swollen belly looked enormous on her slender frame. Pity swelled in Gordon's heart. This should have been the happiest time of her life. The whole family should have been revelling in the impending arrival of the first great-grandchild. No matter how they tried, though, there was always something missing. Like a smudge on a window or a single missing petal on a flower, there was always something not quite right with the picture. Gordon leaned on his pool cue and shook his head. It wasn't fair. But then again, none of this was fair.

The way International Rescue operated had also changed. Matthew had been subjected to an intense training regime for Thunderbird Five and April was his first month on solo duty in the sky. To use his own words, the man's head had been pickled with the amount of information and the speed of the training, though he seemed to cope well enough. Elijah had been training for Thunderbird Four at a slower pace but he too seemed to be a quick learner. Not the world's most graceful driver, Gordon thought, but he's doing all right.

Without much enthusiasm, Gordon potted a few pool balls. The cue clicked loudly in the silence and it sounded as though the balls were falling down an endless abyss. The arrival of the new recruits had been of more help than they would ever appreciate. With two more bodies, it meant that Alan wasn't confined to Five and also that one Tracy could be in England at any given time, waiting.

What were they waiting for? John to walk through the door of a police station? Hey, guys, sorry to have screwed you all over for three months, but I'm back now! Gordon potted another ball. It was more than just waiting, he knew. It was about having someone nearby, someone who could greet their brother as soon as he appeared.

Or identify his body when it was found.

"Dammit!"

The cue smashed against the wall after Gordon flung it from him in a rage.

"Whoa, fella, calm down!"

He spun around to see Virgil standing in the doorway, his face creased with concern.

"I can't calm down," Gordon said, his breath coming in shallow gasps. "I'm so fucking angry. I feel like I could scream."

Virgil took a few slow steps towards him.

"I know," he said.

"I mean, we have some of the most advanced rescue equipment in the world and, when one of us needs rescuing, it's totally useless! Is that the definition of irony or what? I don't know. The one who would know is John and he's not here!"

Erupting like a volcano, all Gordon could feel was anger. It spewed from every pore, burning and slicing at his skin.

Then he felt a pair of arms surround him, squeezing until he stopped shaking and felt his temper begin to recede again.

"I know," Virgil said. "There are days when he's not here and I think he's just up in Five. Then when I remember he's not, the guilt feels like knives."

Gordon returned the hug with a brief squeeze.

"I wish there was done thing we could do," he said. "Some magical technology that could zoom in on him."

"We could have done it with the edible transmitter," Virgil said, "but it was recovered with his luggage. We could maybe have done it with his watch but it was found crushed at the side of the road. It must have fallen off."

Gordon planted his hands on his hips and ground his teeth together.

"It's like the universe is conspiring to totally screw us over."

"We just have to hope and pray that he turns up somewhere - alive."

"I won't believe he's dead until we have a body to bury," Gordon said, forcing the syllables through his teeth.

"Me neither, bro. We have to keep holding on. But flying into a rage every time you think about it isn't healthy."

Gordon rankled at the criticism but forced himself to nod in agreement. Virgil was right, as always.

"I know," he said. "It's stupid and pointless and it doesn't make me feel better. I just do it without thinking."

Virgil nodded and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"We all do, sometimes," he said. "We need to try to keep our minds off it as much as possible." He held up a hand to stop Gordon's retort. "I know that sounds callous but it's not meant that way. You need to think in terms of self-preservation. If you worry yourself into an early grave, you won't be there when John turns up so you can give him punch for disappearing."

"I guess you're right," Gordon said, allowing himself a gentle laugh. He retrieved his cue and checked it for damage. "I wonder what he's doing now?" he asked.

Virgil glanced at his watch.

"It's eight a.m. in England," he said. "Maybe he's having breakfast and plotting his escape."

"I hope so, Virg," Gordon said. Then he tossed the cue across to his brother. "Now, help distract me. Let's play."

~oOo~

The toaster popped and John grabbed the jelly - or jam as the Brits called it. He snatched up the toast and grabbed a knife. Amelia would be downstairs in a few minutes and he liked to have breakfast ready for her. Her mother certainly didn't bother to ensure she was fed before school.

Cutting it up into triangles, he placed the toast on a chipped plate and started making tea. Grace hadn't complained about his habit of making her daughter breakfast. She probably didn't much care.

Sure enough, just as he was splashing milk into her cup, Amelia appeared at the bottom of the stairs and shuffled into the kitchen.

"Morning," John said.

"Good morning," Amelia replied.

And that was the extent of the conversation. The girl hid behind her hair and ate her breakfast. Then she would pick up her school bag and go and wait by the car until her mother appeared. Once Grace had bundled her into the car, ensuring that John was safely locked up in the house, she would drive off and John would have forty-five minutes to himself.

That was the only good part of the day.

After making himself a cup of dreadful freeze-dried coffee, he would sit at the kitchen table and revel in the silence. Nothing stirred within the house. There were no creaks or grumbles. There was no danger. For that forty-five minutes, he could close his eyes and almost pretend he was somewhere else.

Of course, it didn't last long. Soon enough Grace would cross the threshold, back into his nightmare. In the better days, she disappeared into her work room and left him alone. The woman made, of all things, hand-sculpted and painted figurines, often taking commissions for families who wanted something to commemorate a lost loved one.

The irony was not lost on John. Not a bit.

On the worst days, she would head straight for the kitchen and his heart would sink. The pills would be in her hand and he would dutifully open his mouth, waiting to be doped up.

What choice did he have? John stared into the mug, the lukewarm liquid lapping against its edges. He had tried to flee once more after Grace had made her threats. It had been Gordon's birthday. Valentine's Day. Something inside him had snapped. He needed to be gone, needed to be back home. He had made for the kitchen, tried to spirit away the keys, but she had caught him.

Then Amelia had paid the price. The girl was off school for three weeks after the beating she took. A new pang of guilt pressed on his head like a pair of closing jaws. It was my fault, he thought. She suffered because of me. There was no way he could do that to her again, no way he could be responsible for such pain being inflicted in someone so young. So instead, he vowed to bite his tongue and stay in the house, falling into a macabre routine.

Not that it made things any easier. The desire to flee burned brightly and every day, he thought about what it would be like to be out in the fresh air again, what it would feel like to have a clap on the shoulder from his father, a rib-squashing hug from Gordon, or to taste the warm comfort of his grandmother's fresh-baked apple pie. He curled his hand tightly around the mug and did his best to stop his eyes from welling up. Tears didn't help. Tears weren't useful. They wouldn't change a thing.

Crying wasn't the manly thing to do. Not that he felt much like a man any more.

John sniffed and leaned back in his chair, swallowing hard. He knew that wasn't true. He wasn't any less of a person, any less of a man, because he had been subject to abuse. Suffering at the hands of someone else, being forced into submission to save the life of a young girl, was not unmanly. Maybe it was even heroic.

But it damn well didn't feel that way.

John wiped his eyes and shook his head. He had tried to imagine what each of his brothers would have done in his situation. He couldn't help but feel that they would have found a way out, discovered some kind of secret passageway or would have overpowered their captor. He knew, though, that in reality it wouldn't have been that way. When it came down to the choice of saving yourself or saving a child, every one of them would have made the same decision. Wait. Protect.

He palmed his face and sighed.

Why? The question went around and around in his head. Why had this happened? What was it that he had done, whether in this life or a previous one, that made him deserve this torment? He reached up to slide his hand over the short fuzz of his hair. Grace kept it short. Somehow, that was one of the worst parts of his ordeal. He had always prided himself on his mane, carefully styling it into the most perfect shape. It was his one vain indulgence. Now it had been taken away. It's only hair, he told himself.

That wasn't true. It was control. It was lack of freedom. It was being treated like a possession, and that was exactly how she saw him. She dressed him in whatever way she wanted, as though he were some kind of life-size doll. That's all I am to her. I'm not a person. I'm a thing.

He set his mug on the table with a bang and gritted his teeth.

"I'm not a thing," he said. "I'm a person."

At that, the key turned in the lock. Desperation almost drive him to insanity. He could rush the door and just flee.

And leave Amelia behind to face the consequences? No. He just couldn't do it.

So Grace entered the house unscathed and locked the door behind her.

"Oh, John," she called out in a sing-song tone. "I have some news for you."

John didn't answer. There was no point. She didn't really want to talk to him, anyway. She just talked at him. Grace walked into the kitchen and shrugged off her coat, hanging it on one of the pegs behind the door.

"Would you like to know what it is?" she asked.

Again, John didn't answer. He simply sat on the chair and looked at her.

"I think you'll be interested in this news," Grace said, sitting down opposite him and reaching for his hand. He didn't flinch when she grabbed it. There was no point in that, either.

"Well, you know the way I've been feeling quite poorly, recently? I had my suspicions and now I know for certain. John," she said around girlish giggles, "you and I are going to have a baby. Isn't that wonderful?"

John blinked a few times and leaned in closer to her.

"Excuse me," he said, not quite believing his ears. "Could you repeat that?"

Grace lightly slapped his hand and shook her head.

"Don't be so silly. You heard me just fine. You and I are going. To. Have. A. Baby."

John slumped back in the chair. It felt like his brain was short circuiting. A baby. A baby. Grace had not noticed his near comatose state and continue to prattle on excitedly.

"I always wanted another one after Amelia and, to be honest, I thought I was a bit too old for it. But it seems not! How amazing!"

Just as before, John did not answer. This time, though, he rose from his chair and walked away. He climbed the stairs, walked down the hall and into the room that had become his own. He closed the door with care and cross the room to sit on the bed. And then he did the only thing he could do in that moment.

He burst into tears.