Some things don't go quite to plan. Just as John pulled his t-shirt over his head, the emergency klaxon sounded.

"So much for a walk," he thought.

By the time John reached the lounge, his brothers, Elijah and Brains had assembled. There was no sign of Tin-Tin. She's probably with Adam, he thought.

A video feed of Matthew's face had replaced a copy of Van Gogh's Sunflowers. It had conveniently appeared in the lounge when the twins had joined IR. It makes sense, I guess, John thought. Portraits of sons, people will understand. Portraits of people who are supposed to be employees? Very strange.

Another strange thing was seeing someone other than Alan in Thunderbird Five. Matthew's red head was framed by the blinking instruments behind him. John felt a tiny twinge of guilt. I should be up there. It's my job. Sense beat back that thought. You will be again. But not now.

"What's the situation, Thunderbird Five?" Jeff asked.

Lyra was already in the stroller by his side. John crossed over to peer inside. She was resplendent in a new summery dress, topped off by a bright yellow hat.

"We've had a call from P.B. Corps in Brazil," Matthew said. "A gas riser on one of their offshore oil drilling platforms has failed and there's been an explosion. Not only that, a repair crew was underwater at the time, carrying out repairs on the rig's stanchions. Now they can't be reached. There's a possibility they might be trapped under debris from the explosion."

Jeff was in full-scale rescue mode already.

"Okay. Scott, off you go. Matthew will feed you the co-ordinates."

Scott nodded and crossed to the entrance to Thunderbird One. Jeff turned his attention to his other sons.

"Virgil, take Thunderbird Two with Pod Four. Gordon, you'll join him."

"Yes, Father," they chorused in unison.

Virgil made his way to the painting that marked his access to Thunderbird two. Gordon headed in the direction of the passenger lift. Alan stood up.

"What about me, Father?"

Jeff nodded.

"Yes, Alan. Virgil may need help in Thunderbird Two while Gordon is out in Thunderbird Four."

"F.A.B.!" Alan said.

He jogged to catch up with Gordon. John turned back to the transmission.

"I hope you're taking good care of my 'Bird," he said, his tone toeing the line between humorous and deadly.

Matthew grinned and shrugged his shoulders.

"Oh, yeah. I'm keeping the floors scrubbed and the windows polished – with only the occasional mad party with my alien buds." He stuck his tongue out as Elijah rolled his eyes. "Thunderbird Five out."

The screen clicked back to Sunflowers. Elijah pinched the bridge of his nose.

"All that time on his own isn't making him any saner," he said.

John gripped the handle of the pushchair.

"You get used to it eventually," he said.

The muffled sound of Thunderbird One's engines filled the air as the sleek ship shot up into the sky. Good luck, Scott, John thought. It felt strange. At this point in a rescue, he was the one liaising with the rest of the crew, giving them flight co-ordinates and keeping them updated about the rescue situation. Now, all he could do was watch as his brother rocketed off into the distance.

Within a few minutes, Thunderbird Two was in the air as well. Despite the knowledge that he wasn't well enough to join them, John couldn't set aside the thick feeling of despondency that settled over him.

Trying to distract himself, John turned to Jeff.

"I guess the stroll is off now, huh?" he asked.

Jeff, who was firmly ensconced at his desk now, nodded.

"For me it is," he said. His gaze flicked to Elijah and then back to John. After a moment, he spoke again. "There's not much you can do from here. Why don't you two take a walk anyway?"

"That sounds like a grand plan," Elijah said.

Before he had even drawn breath to object, John felt a hand on his elbow and he was unceremoniously ushered out of the lounge.

"For a shy guy, you're pretty assertive when you need to be," John said.

Elijah grabbed the front of the pushchair and between them, they carried it down the outdoor stairway to the pool. The water was already sliding back into place after Thunderbird One's launch.

"My private personality and my work persona are two different things," Elijah said as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

The scent of begonias and jasmine rose up in the heat. The sun was still warm, though the light was waning a little as the afternoon stretched into evening.

A year earlier, John would have come back with a witty retort. Are you calling me hard work? But the crushing feeling of abandonment was back, so he said nothing. I am hard work.

"Beach or garden?" he blurted out, trying to keep his negative thoughts at bay.

Elijah took a tiny step back, his eyebrows rising, but he recovered his composure quickly.

"I prefer the garden," he said.

John nodded.

"Me, too. I've always liked it."

Since arriving on the island many years before, Kyrano had cultivated a breath-taking tropical garden, a striking and radiant space filled with an array of ferns, plants and flowers. He had even cultivated a new species of orchid that would flourish in the high temperatures, naming it the anak cantik.

Meaning beautiful daughter, John thought. He glanced into the pushchair as they entered the garden, passing under the elaborate bamboo arch that marked the entrance. I have a beautiful daughter now, too, he thought. It just doesn't seem real.

Lyra was sound asleep, resting in the shade of the pushchair's hood. As they walked along the winding path, John recited the names of the plants. However, his attention kept being diverted by thoughts of his brothers as they jetted off across the Pacific towards Brazil. He didn't feel envy that he wasn't on the rescue. His mission tally was far lower than any of the others, and in truth, that didn't bother him so much. I know I'm not the G.I Joe of the family.

He snorted. Elijah gave him a questioning look, his eyelids narrowing around his green eyes.

"Nothing," John said. He spotted an arbour and started to walk towards it.

"Are you worried about your brothers?" Elijah asked, changing his direction to match John's.

"Not hugely," John said. "There's always that little niggle of fear. Is this the time when one of them doesn't come back?" He parked the pushchair beside the arbour and sat down. He leaned forward and rested his hands on his knees. "I guess that's how they felt all those months. Wondering if I would ever come back."

"They were very worried," Elijah said, sitting down beside him. "But not one of them gave up hope. They all knew that you would come back. And you did."

John snorted again as self-derision started to erupt.

"Yeah, but in what condition?" he asked. "I'm barely functioning. I don't think I'll ever be myself again."

"I know it feels that way now," Elijah said softly, "but it will get better."

John felt his anger start to vent.

"Oh, yeah? How could you –" He stopped himself mid-sentence as Elijah looked away, a veil of pain muting his expression. Anger gave way to shame. "Sorry. I forgot."

The other man shrugged, though he did turn his face back. There was something in his eyes, like a shadow of past suffering lingering somewhere behind his irises.

"It's fine."

Neither man spoke for a few minutes. A haze of insect song settled over them. Lyra made a few keening sounds but didn't waken. John leaned forward so far that his head was almost between his knees. Stupid, he thought. You can't act as if you're the only one in the world who's ever suffered. Think about Gordon and his accident. He didn't sulk and languish – he got himself into a wheelchair and started living his life again. Then, once he was back on his feet, he never looked back. Man up, Tracy.

But it wasn't as simple as that and he knew it. There was no question mark over who was to blame for the hydrofoil crash. It was simply an accident. Gordon couldn't have prevented it. But you could have prevented all this if you had simply walked away.

"Dammit!"

The cork popped and all his bottled emotions exploded out. John threw himself onto his feet and turned to face Elijah but when he spoke, he was really addressing himself.

"I couldn't have just walked away," he said, trying his hardest to keep his volume down and his breathing steady. "I couldn't. How could I walk away, knowing that a fourteen year old girl would be punished for it? Yeah, I could probably have overpowered Grace. Christ, I could have killed her – easily! But that would have made me just as bad as her. I had to let her do whatever she wanted to protect Amelia – and my family." He walked away a few paces, passing his hand through his hair, then turned back. "I mean, how would everyone have reacted if I'd been murdered, huh? They might never have even found the body, and what kind of mess would that have left behind?" He strode forward, coming nose-to-nose with the other man. But it wasn't Elijah's face he was seeing; it was his own. "I did what I had to do to survive. And it wasn't pretty. And I've half-killed myself. But at least I'm not dead."

His voice stumled on the last word. All strength left his legs and he felt himself sinking down. Elijah's arms were around his waist, taking his weight.

"Steady," he said.

Don't cry. Don't cry.

"At least I'm not dead," he said, his voice muffled against the fabric of Elijah's shirt.

He allowed himself to be guided back to the arbour and sat down again. He leaned in as Elijah wrapped an arm around his shoulder. I should move away, John thought. I shouldn't need this. I shouldn't need comfort.

He stayed where he was.

"Just hold on to that thought," Elijah said. "You're alive and you have a wonderful family – including a beautiful daughter. You have a lot to live for."

John tried to hide his sniffling, though there was no way to do so delicately.

"I know I have," he said. "It's just… Part of me thinks that my life will never be the same. It won't be the way it was supposed to be."

"And what was it 'supposed' to be?" Elijah asked.

The question made John's thoughts start to spin. What did I expect for my future? What do I think is going to be different now?

He sat up; Elijah withdrew his arm.

"I don't really know," he thought. "I was on the way to Cambridge to deliver a lecture. I guess I hoped I could develop my academic career."

"Is there anything stopping you from still doing that?" Elijah asked.

John thought for a moment.

"I… I guess not. So long as I'm able to pull myself together and stand up in front of a lecture theatre full of people."

"Did you ever have trouble with that before?" Elijah asked.

John gave a small laugh.

"No. I actually enjoyed it."

"So what makes you think it will be difficult now?"

"Because…" Because everyone will look at me and they'll know. They'll know what I've done. They'll see how pathetic I am. "Because…"

Elijah cocked his head to one side. Those green eyes were nearly hypnotic. John could not look away.

"You didn't bullshit me before," Elijah said. "Don't start now." He tugged on one earlobe. "My ears are finely tuned bullshit detectors. They'd need to be, after living with Matthew for all these years."

This time, John's laugh was louder.

"Okay, okay," he said. He paused and breathed deeply. "I guess I think that…"

But he stumbled on the words again. I can't. I can't say it.

As it turned out, he didn't have to.

"You think that everyone will be looking at you," Elijah said, "knowing that there's something wrong with you. Knowing that you're broken and dirty and that you're not worth a cent."

The starkness of the words brought grief to John's eyes but he kept it under control. He nodded.

"Something like that," he said.

Elijah's eyes were softer now. Again, John couldn't look away.

"I know what that feels like," he said. "To feel like you walk down the street with a sign above your head that says 'broken' or 'filthy' – or 'faggot' in my case, once they found out my attacker was a man."

He let out a derogatory laugh. Everything about him deflated a little, as though his life was escaping through a slow leak.

"How old were you again?" John asked.

"Nine. I was nine."

"Was…" John stopped. Should I really ask these questions?

Elijah gave him a weary smile.

"Go ahead," he said. "Ask. I don't normally talk about it but, in your case, I'll make an exception."

John nodded.

"Thanks. Was it…bad?"

Elijah looked away again.

"Yes," he said.

For the first time since he had returned home, John found himself on the listening end. For what felt like thousands of times, he had been the one divulging the horror. Now, he was the audience for another's story. At first, his stomach churned and he almost asked Elijah to stop. This is too much. It's too horrible. He was nine. And I thought Amelia was young.

However, in a strange way, it felt like he was getting back to work. How many times had he been on Thunderbird Five, listening as people told him the tales of their accidents or traumas or perils? In truth, this wasn't much different.

In truth, it felt as though someone really understood.

"I know why you think you'll never recover," Elijah said, kicking the ground with his left foot. "It does feel like that. I didn't really know what to do. I didn't tell anyone for a long time. I didn't even have the words to tell anyone at that age. Matthew got it out of me eventually." He gave another short, derisive laugh. "Our foster carers didn't believe me at first."

"You were foster kids?" John asked. "That must have been tough."

Elijah shrugged.

"Yeah, it was," he said. "We sort of bounced around the system for a while. They didn't want to separate us but it was hard to find a placement because – well, let's just say we both developed problems after I was…" He paused as though steeling himself to say his next word. "…abused. Matthew didn't understand. It was the first time that I had experienced something that he had no idea about. He couldn't help me and it caused all kinds of behaviour problems with him. He became angry, aggressive. He was suspended from school at least three times a year. Then there was me." He looked at John again. "Did you know that I used to be gregarious as a kid? I was pretty much the same as Matthew is now. But, after everything that happened to me, I sort of lost my way for a long time. I didn't see the world the same way anymore. I didn't feel like I was part of it, so I withdrew from it."

I can understand that, John thought. Sometimes I wake up and can't face the thought of getting out of bed.

"Did someone eventually believe you?" he asked.

"Thankfully, yes," he said. "I told one of my teachers and that started off a whole investigation. But two years had passed by then. They never got the guy." Elijah's face hardened. "It burns me up inside sometimes, to think that he could have gone on and done that to another kid, or two more, or three more. Maybe… Maybe if I had pushed the issue more, been more assertive and forced people to believe me, that wouldn't have been possible."

This time it was John's turn to reach out to the other man. He placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

"You don't know if anyone else was abused," he said, "so don't beat yourself up about that. And, well, you were nine years old. What else could you do? You can't force an adult to listen to you. There's no need to blame yourself. It wasn't your fault."

John found himself pinned down by a green gaze again. His words repeated in his mind. There's no need to blame yourself. It wasn't your fault. He withdrew his hand and peered into the pushchair. Lyra was still snoozing in the shade.

"I guess that's something I need to think about, too," John said. "I keep beating myself up about what happened to me."

"But it wasn't your fault."

John nodded.

"It wasn't my fault," he repeated. Keep saying that. It wasn't my fault. It wasn't my fault.

"Knowing that isn't going to magically make everything better," Elijah continued, "but that, plus being grateful for the fact you're still alive, will help a lot."

"How long did it take you to recover?" John asked.

The other man looked up, his mouth twisting with thought.

"For me, since I was so young and didn't get any help for several years, it did take a long time. In fact, I'd say I only started to really feel better about five years ago. That's when I decided to go to the Central African Republic. I realised that I could either roll over and let what happened destroy me, or I could do something positive with my life. So I did."

John nodded.

"And… Are there some things that you still find hard?"

Elijah dropped his chin to his chest.

"Some things," he said. "I… I can't really have – how can I put this? – intimate relationships." He shook his head. "Those kids weren't wrong when they said 'faggot.'" He laughed again, that grating, self-depreciating chuckle, and stared up at the sky. "If I could like girls, I would. But I can't. But I also can't go through with anything with men because…" His voice dropped off. "Sorry. This conversation has probably strayed into 'too much information' territory."

"It's fine," John said. "I'm sorry."

"It might be something you have problems with," Elijah said.

John shook his head, one corner of his mouth rising in a smile.

"I've never had problems with women before," he said, "because I've never been near a woman in that way. Nor would I ever want to, regardless of what Grace did."

Elijah's eyes widened.

"Oh," he said. "Well, that's good, I guess…"

"I think it'll take me a long time to trust anyone like that again," he said. "Then again, I was hardly the world's number one stud in the first place. When your address for half the year is 'somewhere in the South Pacific' and for the other half it's 'second star to the right and straight on 'til morning,' it's not exactly easy to have a relationship."

Lyra started to whine a little. John rocked the pushchair back and forth without thinking. Elijah sat back and stared around the garden.

"This is a lovely place," he said. "It's nice and peaceful. I imagine it's a good place to go to escape from your brothers."

"Oh, yeah," John said. "It's a little chunk of paradise."

Elijah gestured from the foliage and flowers to the blue sky.

"This whole place is paradise," he said. "It's a long way away from the rocky shores of Donegal."

"But they're beautiful in their own way, I'm sure," John said.

"Beautiful, yes," Elijah said, a chuckle in his voice, "but that's when you're able to see them through the fog and the rain – or when it's not too miserable to go outside!"

"Is the Irish weather really as bad as they say?" John asked.

With another shrug, Elijah smiled.

"A lot of the time, yeah," he said, "especially on the west coast." His voice took on a wistful tone. "I haven't been back in nearly six years now. Maybe when Matthew and I take our leave, we'll go home for a few weeks. See if all the rocks and rainclouds are still there."

Chuckling, John peered into the pushchair as Lyra keened again. She settled quickly, bringing one little fist up to the side of her head.

Elijah stood and wandered over to a vibrant red plant.

"This is my favourite," he said. "I have no idea what it is, but I like it."

John rose and joined him.

"Crocosmia," he said, fingering one of the long fronds with a parade of red blossoms along it. "Otherwise known as coppertips or falling stars – and sometimes as Lucifer."

Elijah raised an eyebrow. John shrugged.

"Gordon is right," Elijah said. "You are a nerd."

"And proud of it," John said. He ran one of the long stems through his hand. The he turned to catch the other man's gaze. "Elijah, thanks for listening to me. And for telling me your story."

"It's okay," Elijah said. "It's my job to help you get better. Sometimes, what the patient needs isn't a pill or a bandage. What they really need is a bit of understanding."

At that moment, John's stomach growled. He placed a hand on his belly, feeling his cheeks go pink.

"But my diagnosis now is hunger," Elijah said. "The cure for that is simple: food."

"I didn't even realise I was hungry," John replied. "Let's get some dinner. I'm sure the others won't mind if we don't wait."

He returned to the pushchair and grasped the handle. The two men started to walk back to the villa.

There was a little more bounce in John's step.