Green-grey swirling mists, no idea which way was up, and a ghastly bitter taste in his mouth...

"Mark?"

He was vaguely aware that he'd groaned, but the world refused to stabilise.

"Easy there. You're still full of anaesthetic. You can go back to sleep."

No, I can't. Last time I did that and I woke up paralysed. He fought for consciousness, to remember where his eye muscles were, and the world blurred into some sort of existence.

"Let him wake up."

That was Jason's voice. He wasn't sure why Jason would be there, but thinking wasn't really happening right now. Nor was focusing.

There was rattling to his right. "This will help," said the first voice, and there was movement, and hands on his right arm. He thought there was probably a needle in there already. He remembered it being inserted now, while they were prepping him for surgery.

Discomfort in his arm while something was injected, and the fog in his brain began to clear.

"Okay?" Chris asked.

He couldn't answer. He didn't know. He didn't even dare try to move in case he couldn't. And then something prodded him hard on the sole of his right foot and he jerked reflexively away from it.

"He's okay," Jason said.

Relief hit so hard he gasped, choked, and then simply dissolved into shaking hysterical sobs which he had no chance of controlling. He didn't even try. He had no idea how long it was until he opened his eyes and saw Jason sitting there. He rapidly shut them again, feeling himself flush scarlet.

"Sorry," Jason said unrepentantly.

"No, you're not." It came out considerably steadier than he'd expected. "Thanks. I -"

"Forget it. I plan to. Now will you go back to sleep?"

.

Rather to Jason's surprise, that was exactly what Mark did. He was still full of drugs, of course, and shock and reaction had to be a big factor. Even so, Jason hadn't expected for the other to close his eyes and relax as if all was well with the world, his breathing settling and slowing into almost immediate sleep.

He could have left. If even Mark was relaxed and confident that all was well, then there was no reason for him to stay here. He still couldn't bring himself to leave Mark to wake up alone. No matter how crazy it was, that nagging voice in his head wouldn't go away. You weren't there for him last time, it said, and it all went wrong. Make it different.

He couldn't guarantee it would be right. But when Mark woke up in the morning, he wouldn't be alone. And when Chris tested every muscle and nerve, as he'd have to do despite Jason's rough and ready test that things were working, Mark wouldn't be alone for that either.

Leaving people to do things on their own had never worked well for Jason. He wasn't crazy enough to think that Mark would have been fine before if only he'd stayed with him last time. He also wasn't about to jinx things this time. He'd slept sitting in a chair before. He could do it again, for as long as it took.

.

Four pairs of eyes swivelled to meet Jason's as he walked through the ready room door the following morning. Even Rick's.

"He's fine," he said without preamble.

Only Keyop's expression relaxed, so he expanded. "Everything works physically. He'll be on his feet – well, working towards being on his feet – just as soon as Chris lets him out of bed."

"How about the implant functions?" Tiny asked.

"No way to tell that until he tries for real. Not going to happen twelve hours after surgery." Mark's relaxed, confident manner made him believe that it would be fine, though. He'd already know if his enhanced hearing or vision wasn't working right. And, if his implant was finally working like everyone else's, he should be aware of it in a way he had never been before. Mark hadn't said anything. He'd just sat up in bed, doing everything Chris asked of him, looking completely at ease. Jason's best guess was that he was feeling the new buzz of power and a set of controls which would let him decide exactly when to use it, and was very, very happy about it.

And now, he'd sit around in bed for a day or so while the incision healed, and while Jason climbed the walls with the need to know if it had worked, and to what extent. He knew himself well enough to be sure that wasn't a good thing.

"I'm going over to ISO Racing," he said. "Call me if you hear anything more."

.

Ed was in bay three, head down in the engine of his car two, Dave and Sam on either side. He glanced up as Jason walked in, did a cartoon doubletake, and promptly cracked his head on the underside of the hood.

By the time the swearing had stopped, Sam had her arms round Jason and was in floods of tears, and Dave stood there, arms folded, shaking his head.

"All the pretty girls fall for you, hey, Jason?"

Yeah, and then they turn out to be Spectran operatives. Sam wasn't, though. He was quite sure of that.

"Is everything all right now?" she asked, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.

He nodded. "Everything's sorted out. I just need to wait for the rumours to die down a bit before I race again." A few weeks, Anderson had said. Two counted as a few, didn't it? And he'd already missed one weekend of races.

"Then you can start by playing engineer for a while." Ed rubbed the top of his bald head ruefully. He'd cracked it hard enough to draw blood. "Something's up with the fuel injection. I'd prefer a solution which doesn't involve dismantling the whole engine. Sam'll tell you how far we've got. Dave'll whine about how it cost him the race on Sunday."

Jason raised his eyebrows. "You were second? Not bad."

"Third. No acceleration off the last corner -"

"And both of you two make sure he eats something for lunch!" Ed raised his voice from the doorway. "Jason, you trying out for a supermodel or something? It's a car, not a horse. It doesn't care how much you weigh!"

Jason rolled his eyes as the door shut with a bang. "Busybody." Ed was right, though. He wasn't sure when he'd last eaten a meal. Even less sure when the one before that had been. Now that it was mentioned to him, he was more than a little hungry. Best do some work first, though.

"Not the pedal sticking, is it?"

"Checked that," said Sam. "Could be a linkage further along. Dave's convinced the whole system needs replacing."

"And Ed?"

"Says it's probably a valve."

"I'm with Ed."

Sam groaned. "I'd almost rather take the whole engine out. They're in such a stupid place."

Jason smiled to himself. How long had it been since he'd worried about something other than commanding G-Force? Now, for the first time in forever, it wasn't sitting like a lead weight at the back of his mind. Mark was going to be okay. He'd be back on his feet in a relatively short time. He'd be in birdstyle within days. The Eagle could worry about tactics and strategy and ISO's long term goals. Not to mention the mission reports and requisition paperwork, and buttering up idiot local commanders and civilian bigwigs. Jason had no time for people who had no idea what was involved in saving the planet and seemed to think it could be done without negative side-effects, spending money, or actually using bird missiles.

The Condor would get this car running properly again. At least, in an hour or so. His stomach grumbled audibly, and he pointed to the door. "After lunch. You heard Ed - I'm starving. Dave, you can tell me about this race you almost won. Maybe we can figure out how you can actually win next time."

Dave headed for the door, apparently walking on air. And Sam grabbed her jacket and, rather tentatively, came to walk alongside him. "I'm glad everything's okay," she said, apparently uncertain of how it would be taken.

Of course - I'm the Condor now. To both of them. And soon I'll be G-2 again. Jason grinned, and put an arm round her shoulders. "Me too," he said, and meant it.