The flight offered some respite from the chaos of the past couple of days. Scott had lost track of time and didn't particularly want to ask. He'd radioed home briefly and spoken to Virgil who looked as if he hadn't slept in as long as they'd been gone, but now kept his comm offline. EOS could override it to push forward any emergency transmissions, but he needed a break from overcrowded radio channels. As incredible as it was to learn that other countries had also survived the outbreak, he wasn't in the right headspace to handle those calls.

Besides, they all needed to rest. They were breaking an unholy amount of international flight regs as it was. Scott had slept for three hours on the GDF carrier and the others had caught some snatches, but they were all exhausted. This truly was their final flight. They wouldn't be able to go any further without collapsing.

Despite this, Kayo refused to take a break. She curled up in the seat behind Scott, scrolling through all the new data packets from countries which had previously been marked as hot zones. She'd rolled her suit down to her waist as One's heaters left the cockpit warm enough to lounge in the long-sleeved thermal she wore underneath but had refused to change out of her uniform entirely.

Scott didn't waste energy trying to convince her to sleep. Kayo was just as stubborn as any Tracy and she'd made up her mind that she wouldn't rest until the mission was over. Still, if he turned up the heaters in the hopes that she'd drift off anyway, then no one needed to know besides EOS.

The flight took longer as he didn't accelerate to hypersonic to save fuel and followed EOS's suggested diversions around pockets of turbulence to avoid waking John and Gordon. The pair had slept through take-off and Scott was determined to give them a full half-hour before landing.

John had stolen a hoodie from a locker, dropped into his seat, stuffed the hoodie behind his head and threatened them all with fratricide if they dared to wake him within twenty minutes; clearly the benefits of NASA powernaps were still engrained into his subconscious. Gordon had ignored his own seat and had instead opted for the floor. He'd utilised John's knees as a backrest and at some point Kayo had found a blanket which she'd draped over him.

The coordinates brought them to the middle of nowhere. The land rose and fell all the way to the base of distant mountains. It was a sea of thick, seemingly impenetrable rainforest. A deep chasm carved through the landscape with sheer-faced cliffs on either side and a frothy river of white water at its base. The river ran as far as the eye could see until it vanished back beneath the tree canopy.

"This can't be right," Scott muttered, casting another glance at the map. "There's nothing here."

"There's got to be something." Kayo winced as her shout bounced around the cockpit. Apparently finding the Hood's bunker meant more to her than she'd ever let on. "Try scanning the area."

"We're right on top of these coordinates," Scott pointed out gently. "If there's something here, it should've shown up by now."

EOS's avatar appeared above the controls.

"I can't find any buildings in the area, but I can detect unusually high radiation levels. Not dangerous but higher than they should be. Also, I've cross-referenced with satellite images from two years pre-Z-Day and there was a well-used track to your location at one point."

Kayo gave Scott a pointed look.

"It's definitely worth checking out," he conceded. "But finding somewhere to land is going to be a challenge."

Kayo took on a scheming smile. "Have you still got climbing equipment on board?"

"Yes…?"

"There's a small area where you could land by the river. We can leave One there and climb back up."

"By climb back up, you mean scale a cliff?"

"Sounds like fun, doesn't it?"

Scott repressed a long-suffering sigh. "Sure."

Surprisingly, the climb wasn't too bad. He momentarily contemplated the merits of using a jetpack but there was only one on board and he couldn't be bothered to deal with the inevitable squabble over who got to use it. Technically, he could have claimed his knee was bothering him only it really wasn't and that in itself seemed odd. In fact, it hadn't been painful in several weeks, maybe months.

He discarded the thought for now. There were more pressing concerns at hand such as the slippery rockface, made slick by spray from the river and tufts of moss. The hike once they reached the top was worse than the climb. It was a hot, humid atmosphere filled with insects and the sounds of various animal life. Leaves dripped and a breeze rustled through the treetops.

The roar of the river faded as they ventured deeper. Sweat glued his hair to his scalp and trickled down the back of his neck. He swatted a mosquito. Sunlight filtered through the canopy. Everything smelt rich and fresh. He could practically taste the soil in every breath. Occasionally, a rustle of foliage betrayed an animal as it fled. Alarmed birds exploded from a large fern. John startled.

"Aw," Gordon teased, making to elbow him. "Scared of a little birdie?"

"I will kill you in your sleep," John hissed and let a large leaf swing back to slap Gordon in the face.

Vegetation grew thicker away from the river. Scott had to hack several branches out of the way. Kayo slipped between them like a wild cat, carefully picking her way through protruding roots and low-hanging leaves as if she had grown up among them. Her knife flashed as she slashed a cluster of spikey pink-red fruits from a tree.

"Here." She tossed one at Gordon. "You need to eat."

"Don't throw things at my face, jeez." Gordon dug his nail into the fruit. "What is this? Are you sure it's not poisonous?"

"It's a lychee," John sighed, accepting a handful. "Idiot."

Gordon double-took. "No frickin' way. This is what they look like with their skins on? Weird." He grinned at John. "Oh, you're gonna hate this. Not the taste, but the texture. It's like an eyeball."

"That's a lie," Kayo interjected. "Don't listen to him."

"They're slimy, Kay. Slimy. Johnny doesn't even like toast and that's the basic bitch of foods."

Scott slowed as he glimpsed something between the trees. There was some sort of concrete outcrop up ahead, too small to be a building but definitely manmade. He nearly slipped as he moved closer, trying to get a better look. It had been swamped by vines but there was a metal door on one side.

"Hey, guys? Sorry to interrupt your lychee debate, but I think I've found something."

Kayo scrambled up the slope to join him. They crouched low in the treeline while John scanned the area for traps. There didn't appear to be any nasty tricks hidden amongst the leaves, so they approached the building. The door was covered in strips of peeling rust and didn't have any visible handle nor keyhole, but a fingerprint scanner jutted out from a knot of vines.

"D'you think it still works?" Gordon wondered aloud, munching on a lychee. He wiped his sticky fingers against his suit and reached for the panel.

Kayo caught his wrist. "It's registered to the Hood."

"Give me a couple of minutes and I can probably bypass it," John offered.

"No." Kayo ran a thumb around the gold ring, then tucked it back into her pocket. "The Hood sent me here for a reason."

"He didn't send you anywhere," Gordon began to protest.

Kayo's smile was bitter. "He told John to give me a ring engraved with these coordinates. Clearly he wanted me to come here. Which means…"

She pressed her index finger against the scanner. It blinked amber, then green. A curious whirring reverberated from deep within the structure, then the door creaked open to reveal a stone staircase that led into ground. Kayo shivered as she turned back to them.

"Which means the door opens for you," Scott concluded, fishing a flashlight out of his baldric. He shone the beam over the narrow space. Mildew coated the walls. A beetle scuttled out of sight. Thick cobwebs dangled from the ceiling. "Watch your step."

"Watch your back," Gordon corrected, good humour evaporating as he retrieved a blade. He exchanged a knowing look with John. "If the Hood wanted us here, it can't mean anything good."

"Probably not," Kayo admitted. There was a strange note of vulnerability in her voice as she forced herself to step over the threshold. "But we're going in anyway."

It was instantly colder in the stairwell. Gordon went last; the second he stepped inside, the door shuddered shut again. Flakes of rust floated in the air like ash. The chorus of the rainforest was left outside, replaced by steady drips and their own heavy breathing.

"Creepy," Gordon stage whispered after a few seconds.

Scott remained frozen. The darkness held a similar oppressive presence to the void he fell into in hivemind dreams. A cool breeze filtered up from below, proof that there was a large space waiting for them at the end. He whacked his flashlight against his thigh and the bulb brightened. A spider fled from the light into a crack in the ceiling.

"It's a good thing we didn't bring Virgil," Gordon commented, forcibly upbeat to disguise the thinly veiled nervousness in his voice. "Hey, d'you think we should be worried about any other creatures?"

"Like rotters?" Kayo questioned.

"No." Gordon's grin was audible. "Like moths. Which are a lot like butterflies."

"Do you want me to stab you? Is this your way of volunteering to be my target practice?"

To give him credit, Gordon had successfully lightened the mood. Kayo was still on edge but seemed less likely to impale her own shadow. Scott picked up the pace as his eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness. The steps grew less slippery the deeper they travelled and the sound of dripping water faded back into the muted murmurs of air. It still smelt damp, but another scent filtered into the passageway, something richer that he could taste at the back of his throat like incense.

The steps ended at a heavy-duty door. It hadn't properly sealed and the airflow originated from the gap between the latch and the frame. Scott nudged it open with one foot. The hinges squealed where dampness had gotten to them. John glared at him as if he was personally responsible for the horrible sound, then pushed past to enter the bunker first, already scanning with his contacts.

The bunker consisted of several rooms and a network of confusing corridors designed to muddle minds so that the occupant could escape while pursuers became lost. The largest room was at the bunker's heart: some kind of grand hall with pillars, an ornate rug and what looked concerningly like an altar at the far end of the space. A long-extinguished chandelier swung lazily, shedding cobwebs.

The other rooms were fairly mundane with the exception of two cells and what appeared to be a laboratory which was set at the bottom of another staircase, located in the deepest part of the bunker. One of the cells held the grisly remains of an infected that had succumbed to the parasite, proving the theory that the Hood had performed tests upon the creatures before his escape to the satellite, while the second cell bore shadows which triggered an alert from John's Geiger counter.

"What the hell?" Gordon whispered, ashen in the light of the glowstick he'd snapped into life.

The other cell had been horrific and Scott had barred everyone from going anywhere near the pool of tacky green for fear that it would search for a new host; it would dawn on him later that this was a pointless concern as they were all immune now. But this? This was something else entirely.

"Are those from…?"

Gordon couldn't finish his sentence. He gestured at the shadows.

John disabled the alert on his Geiger counter. "Yes."

Scott was incredibly glad that he'd worn his helmet for once. God knew he'd already suffered enough radiation exposure over the past two years even after taking decontamination sachets.

Kayo crouched at the entrance. "The room's shielded. He could have performed all kinds of radiation experiments on the infected in here and the rest of the bunker would've stayed safe."

Somewhere in the darkness behind them, glass crunched underfoot. Scott whirled around, heart hammering as he aimed his gun, reaching for the uncanny otherness at the back of his mind to locate any rotters within the bunker. But the hivemind remained quiet. They were alone.

"Must have been a rat," Gordon whispered. "Are there rats in rainforests?"

"Yes," John replied without skipping a beat.

"Why do you know that?"

"I didn't. EOS looked it up."

"That's cheating. I thought you were smart, but you've just been using your pet AI this whole time."

"Don't call her a pet. And do I need to remind you of my qualifications?"

"Please don't," Scott muttered. "You've got more letters after your name than the damn alphabet."

Kayo shouldered past him, heading for the steps that led down to the lab. She didn't say anything but the rest of them fell quiet and unanimously agreed to follow her.

Tension infected the stillness of the bunker. Scott had a new understanding for Gordon's hatred of silence but didn't dare disturb it. Kayo had a disconcertingly desperate air about her as she scoured through files upon files for anything useful. He didn't know how to suggest that the Hood had brought them here for no reason other than a final mind game; a last attempt to mess with her; to manipulate her. He doubted she'd accept it. Maybe from Penny but not from him.

He tried to be useful instead. There was a fuse box on the wall. He pried it open with his knife and gestured for Gordon to hold a flashlight while he examined the wires. He didn't have Virgil's engineering knowledge but fixing the lights was basic. It took a few minutes, and he scorched his thumb on a spark, but then the lights flickered into life, casting everything in a white-blue glow.

The room was cluttered with workstations and various scientific equipment. A large tank held some formless globule of greyish flesh, floating in a luminous fluid of unknown purpose. Holoprojectors were scattered about the place in droves. Large screens covered a wall. Tubes created a metal web across the ceiling. Some were so low that Scott had to stoop to step past them.

John swung a chair to face the wall of screens.

"Okay," he declared, cracking his knuckles as he activated the keypad. "Let's see what we're working with."

Kayo upended a new crate of files and sank to her knees on the floor to sort through them. Scott chose self-preservation and didn't disturb her. An arid, burned smell had caught his attention. He tracked it back to a plastic curtain which concealed a dark alcove. Movement stirred at his shoulder.

"Just me," Gordon whispered, gun levelled at the curtain. "You gonna see what's behind this or not?"

Scott yanked it aside. There was nothing but empty space. The wall cavity held a pair of old cuffs. A chain pooled on the floor. Ribbons of dried blood formed circles around a drain. Whoever had been there had met their fate a very long time ago. Staring at the marks of suffering, he was struck by the chilling realisation that it could have been him in those cuffs. He still hadn't fully comprehended just how close the Hood had come to killing him but reminders such as this brought him close.

Gordon put a cautious hand on his shoulder. "You okay?"

He forced a smile. Based off Gordon's wince, it looked more like a grimace.

"Just tired."

"Really?"

"Don't."

"Scott-"

"Don't push. Not here. Not now."

Gordon tucked his gun back into its holster with a weary smile. "Repression, repression, huh?"

"You know it."

"Aren't you supposed to be… you know, not doing that?"

Scott scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck.

"Yeah, well. A lot's happened over the past couple of days. It's probably gonna knock me on my ass when I get around to processing it, so I figured I'd save that fun spiral for when we get home."

John and Kayo were still engrossed in their tasks, so he kicked out a spare seat for Gordon and sank into a chair of his own. The strange blob in the tank bobbed at his left, a disconcerting alien in his peripheral vision. He tried to ignore it, leafing absently through a stack of papers.

"It was cool," Gordon piped up after a few seconds of silence.

Scott raised his brows. "Do you want to specify or…?"

"Earlier. When you told the World Council to kiss your ass. It was cool."

"I did not tell them to kiss my ass."

"You kind of did though."

"I didn't use those exact words."

"But the sentiment was there."

He pointedly lofted the papers higher to signal that the conversation was over.

Gordon let out a loud laugh. "You totally agree!"

Scott tried to hide his smile.

"I might have implied something along those lines."

"Next World President," Gordon teased, lifting his boots onto the edge of Scott's seat. "Penny could be your campaign manager."

"I think Finn's a better candidate."

"Yeah, right. Finn's awesome but you'd be better."

"I'm not running for World frickin' President."

"Sure."

"Gordon."

"What?"

Scott reclined in his chair with a loud groan. "You're insufferable, squid."

"Danke."

"Not a compliment."

"I'm taking it as one anyway."

"Of course you are."

Gordon scooted his chair closer to lean against Scott's side. They sat in silence for a few moments. The tank let out an unsettling gurgle. John's fingers drummed against the keypad. Paper rustled as Kayo dove deeper into the archives with increasingly agitated mutters to herself.

"Year Three of the apocalypse," Gordon mused. He twisted his hands, tapping his heels, unable to keep still. "Do you think this'll be over soon? Like, the parasite part? Obviously not the apocalypse as a whole because rebuilding society is gonna take forever but… what if we can find a cure?"

Scott drew a sharp breath. Last link to the hivemind, he thought to himself, concealing a flinch. John and Marisa were the only ones so far to know the full details of his condition and both had steadfastly refused the notion that he had to die to save the world, but he didn't share their faith. It was self-preservation; he couldn't let himself hope in a happy ending only to be proved wrong.

He reached over and knocked on the tank. "What do you think this thing is?"

"No clue." Gordon prodded the glass. "Alien? Kaiju embryo? Giant radioactive blobfish? The possibilities are endless."

"Whatever it is, it's very dead."

"Is it?"

"Isn't it?"

Gordon shrugged. "It's creepy as hell, I know that much."

Another hour trundled past. Gordon fell asleep again, head pillowed on Scott's shoulder, helmet discarded after a radiation check revealed safe levels. Scott read through some of the files but while there was plenty of disturbing material, none of it was relevant. He stared at the blob for a time. He'd decided that it reminded him of a jellyfish but significantly less cool. God, he was tired.

Inevitably, it was John who made the breakthrough. They clustered around his chair, Gordon yawning his way back into full consciousness and Scott wiping drool off his shoulder with a disgusted glare in his younger brother's direction. Kayo remained sat against a pillar on the opposite side of the room, a projector balanced on her knee and a file open in her lap but listening to John too.

"No wonder the rotters gathered en-mass at the Minnesota bunker," Scott commented, bracing himself against the back of John's chair as he leaned closer to examine the data. "The Hood knew more about the parasite than anyone. Now I get why it wanted him dead so badly."

"I can think of many reasons to want him dead," Gordon muttered.

"There's more information here than on the entirety of the GDF's servers," John continued, wisely choosing to ignore that last remark. "Theoretically, we could use this to destroy the parasite."

Gordon stared at him. "Define destroy it."

"We know the parasite produces spores which infect subsequent generations. According to this, the hivemind lets off a chemical signal which triggers spore release, which makes a lot of sense because spores are most commonly used by r-selected species that favour quantity over quality."

"John," Scott prompted gently. "What's your point?"

John spun around in his chair.

"You destroyed that signal in the hivemind. So, if we can… eliminate the remaining infected, the parasite has no way to reproduce."

There was a lengthy silence.

"By eliminate," Scott began, "Do you…? I mean, what are we saying?"

"I mean eliminate. Ideally by curing them. But if that proves impossible… We can't let them continue to pass on the parasite via bites. We have to stop this thing from reproducing."

Gordon raked a hand through his hair. "You're suggesting we kill them?"

"You've seen Brandon," Scott pointed out. "There's got to be another way. Maybe through the hivemind? And if we're talking about wiping out the parasite entirely… every link has to go."

John reached up, seized a fistful of Scott's suit, and yanked him down so that they were face-to-face.

"Listen to me very carefully: there is no version of this in which I let you die. We will find a way. I swear to you on Mom, I am going to find a solution. Do you understand? If we can't save our own, none of this means anything."

"And I get that but if it comes down to me versus the world… That's not a choice, Johnny."

"You're right. It's not a choice. Because I will pick you over the world every time without hesitation. Honestly, haven't we been over this already? Learn to listen."

Scott went to speak, found himself at a loss, and turned helplessly to Gordon.

Gordon held up his hands. "Don't look at me, Scotty. I'm with the space-case on this one."

"Excellent." John's triumphant look shifted back into icy focus. "But while we're on the topic of saving the world... There are notes on a cure."

"Let me guess," Scott said dryly. "There's a problem."

John ground his knuckles against his eyes with a tired chuckle.

"When isn't there?" He summoned a new layer of holos. "The Hood wanted a cure as backup in case… well, in case of a situation like this. Clearly he didn't succeed but his research could still be useful. It's a starting block which could accelerate our current timelines. However…"

"I hate it when you start sentences like that," Gordon joked bitterly.

"However," John continued with a baleful glance at his younger brother, "It's incomplete. Parts have been deliberately corrupted. It's as if he knew the GDF would access his research."

Silence descended.

Gordon turned away, took a deep breath, then slammed his fist against the tank with a shout that on bordered on a scream. John folded his arms on the desk and buried his head in them. Scott sank to sit on the edge, shaken by disbelief. They couldn't be so close to the finish line only to lose now. Not after everything. Not when they'd come so far, suffered so much, lost so much. Christ, he couldn't-

"I'm the cure."

Gordon let his hands fall from the tank. "What?"

"I'm the cure," Kayo repeated slowly. She glanced up. "Well, not me specifically, but I have the cure. I know why he wanted me to come here now. He wanted me to continue his legacy, I guess. Which is- Whatever. Not the point. Fuck him. But the coordinates on this ring? They're not just coordinates. They're a file name. I've only found a paper copy, but I think… I think it's the key."

John's chair skidded across the floor as he threw himself to his feet. "Let me see."

"We might not have the results of his human experiments, but we know how he synthesised it in the first place." Kayo handed the file to John. Her hands were trembling slightly. "It's not perfected but-"

"But it's more advanced than anything we've got so far," Scott concluded.

Kayo let out a breathless laugh. "It's a good thing I didn't just throw the ring away, huh?"

"Holy shit, Tan!" Gordon took an unsteady step towards her, then another and another until he broke into a run and collided with her in an elated hug. "You're a genius!"

Scott quietly moved to stand at John's side. "Does it work?"

"Theoretically, yes." John tucked the file under his arm. "But it's only theory."

"But it's a start?"

"It's a start."

Scott pushed the heels of his hands against his eyes and reminded himself how to breathe.

"Hey, guys?" he said, certain that he had never been so glad to say the words, "Let's go home."

Scott had a better understanding of how it was a privilege to be able to go home than his family did.

If he were entirely truthful, then returning to the island still didn't bring as much comfort as setting foot on American soil after weeks in hell had done so many years ago, but it came very close. Relief was visceral, washing over him in a wave of South Pacific warmth and sea air.

It was surreal being home. He couldn't think of any other suitable adjective. Tiredness blurred with shock and a desperate, stricken sense of gratitude. He couldn't comprehend just how lucky he was to be back here again. For several moments, he stood in the patio doorway and stared at the pool. He'd wandered up from One's hangar in a daze but now reality swept him into joyous realisation.

They were home.

Waves splashed at the cliffs. Golden sunlight reflected off the sea, dazzling gulls as they spun cartwheels in a clear sky as breathtakingly blue as the ocean below. A gentle breeze ruffled palm fronds and coaxed sweet scents from blossoms. Vegetation had overgrown and ventured onto the edges of the patio, home to a wide range of wildlife including colourful songbirds as vivid as jewels.

Home.

The peaceful reprieve was shattered by a thunder of feet and a shout of his own name, echoed across the poolside. He turned around just in time to be met with an armful of teenager as Alan collided with him at full speed. He stumbled back a few paces to catch his balance. Alan didn't let go. If anything, his limpet grip tightened even more. He buried his face in Scott's shoulder.

"Hey." Scott's voice sounded choked by emotion even to his own ears. He carded a hand through Alan's hair, noting with some amusement that the kid was wearing his Yale sweatshirt. "What's all this about?"

"You were out of radio contact for thirty-nine hours," Alan growled into his shoulder, reluctantly releasing his grip to search Scott's face for any signs of pain. "It was scary, Dad."

"Sorry," Scott replied although it was mostly a reflex rather than a conscious apology. He looped an arm around Alan, letting his tone blend into something lighter as he teased, "You counted?"

Alan scuffed a hand through his hair self-consciously.

"Yeah, well. So did Virgil. EOS couldn't give us any information after you went to the mountains, so it was left up to our imaginations and you know what my imagination is like."

Scott repressed a wince.

"Sorry, Allie," he repeated, genuinely this time. He prodded the letters emblazoned across the old college sweatshirt with a smile. "Did you raid my closet?"

"Maybe." Alan elbowed him. "Hey, I was the one who flew up to Five to get all our stuff back. And I cleaned the pool, so Gordon totally owes me too." He tugged at a drawstring. "This is mine now."

"Hmm. Not forever, but I'll consider it on loan for the foreseeable future."

Voices filtered through the patio doors as the others were reunited. Scott hung back, content to drink in the views from the poolside for a while longer. He had spent the past two years believing that he might never see this place again; being home seemed like a miracle, certainly the closest thing to magic that he'd dared to believe in since his childhood.

He kicked off his boots, shed his socks and wandered over to the poolside. The tiles looked glossy, the water clear and inviting; Alan had done a good job with cleaning it. He dunked one foot experimentally. The tang of chlorine mixed with the salt in the air and he inhaled deeply. Part of him was tempted to dive into the pool but he was still in his suit. Plus, you know, there was a deeply rooted fear leftover from his tangle with that rotter which had him recoiling from the water.

Paws clattered over the tiles as Finch launched herself at him. She jumped up, tail wagging faster than Thunderbird One at top speed, grinning and barking, utterly delighted to see him again. He crouched down to let her hook her paws over his shoulders.

"Hey, Finch. Did you miss me?" She licked his chin. "I get the feeling you missed me."

"We all did."

He glanced up at Marisa's familiar voice, surreptitiously trying to wipe dog slobber from his face as he stood back up. Alan whistled to Finch and made a hasty retreat indoors to leave them alone.

"Hey, Mari."

"Hi, Scott," Marisa whispered before closing the distance between them. She buried her face in his neck as he held her tightly, voice splintering on a relieved sob. "I thought we agreed on no more radio silence?"

Scott wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs, resting their foreheads together until he sensed her relax, finally able to believe that he was safe.

"In my defence," he began sheepishly, "I was busy-"

"-Telling the World Council to kiss your ass?"

He tossed up his hands. "No! Why does everyone keep claiming I said that?"

"Relax, honey. Watching you bring down the government was oddly attractive."

"Oh, really?"

"I particularly liked the part where you announced our relationship to the entire world."

"…I didn't realise I'd done that until afterwards. Sorry."

"If you're okay with everyone knowing, then so am I." Marisa dropped her light-hearted tone in favour of gentle concern. "So, the past week has been… a lot."

Scott stifled a yawn as he wrapped an arm around her waist. "Tell me about it."

"Are you okay? With… with everything? EOS gave us the basic rundown."

He pulled her close again and closed his eyes; honed his senses until nothing else existed outside of their moment; the sun's warmth on his back; a chorus of gulls; gentle rustles of palm trees; Mari's kiss; smooth tiles underfoot; gnawing exhaustion; cheerful piano melodies; Finch's delighted barks.

"I can't think about any of it yet," he confessed, suddenly so desperate for sleep that it felt as if gravity were trying to pull him to the ground right there and then.

Marisa reached for his hand. "Come on. Your fancy memory foam mattress awaits."

Waking to the familiarity of his own room was disorientating. It tickled at his mind like a scene plucked from childhood memories, unfitting in a modern context. For several minutes, he was able to convince himself that the entire apocalypse had been a dream. There was a peculiarity about being home which he finally identified as feeling truly and utterly safe. Sure, there'd been varying degrees of security at the Sanctuary and Penny's manor and the beach house but not like this.

He had one arm folded beneath his head and the other tucked around Mari, the night owl to his dawn lark and so still sleeping. The peacefulness on her face matched the easy tranquillity of the bedroom; the gentle rustle of curtains in the breeze through ajar balcony doors; tiger stripes of light across the carpet refracted through a suncatcher that a very young Alan had made him; various keepsakes curated throughout his life back in their rightful positions on shelves and his desk.

Whoever had put his room back together had done a fantastic job of replicating its pre-apocalypse design which led him to suspect Virgil or Grandma or possibly both of them. Probably Virgil: he paid the closest attention to the tinier details in life. There were some newer additions too; the odds and ends that Marisa had collected had infiltrated his space so that it had become theirs.

Disbelief haunted him for the next week and then some. Grandma informed him that he was to take some downtime and he wasn't given a choice about it, so he had plenty of opportunity to reacquaint himself with his home. Relief served as a constant balm; being under the South Pacific sun again seemed to soothe every ache and pain. Even the scar tissue from his rotter bites – which ran so deeply that it caused a baseline level of pain almost daily – was easier out here.

The only repercussions from the GDF ship they had exploded in the first few months of the apocalypse – time was elusive and Scott had lost his ability to keep track of it – were gouges in the seabed. The area had recovered and precious ecosystems had patched themselves back together. Gordon taught Jasmin how to identify various species and how to spot turtle tracks at night when the six species in the seas around Tracy Island dragged themselves into the moonlight to nest.

Scott spent a lot of time on the beach. This was partly out of choice but also due to Virgil's insistence; the villa was filled with opportunities to work and his brother knew him too well to believe he wouldn't get involved. He wasn't even allowed access to comms. It would have been relaxing except unanswered questions kept buzzing around his head and then there was the problem where he didn't know how to relax. He wasn't sure he'd ever learned.

Enter: surfing.

Plus Finch who spent most of her time lolling on her back in the sand or chasing small fish in the shallows around the rocks at the southern end of the beach. Larger swells scared her, so she remained close to the shore, but she'd taken to island life like a duck to water. Higher temperatures meant she slept a lot too but then she'd be off again, tearing into the sea as fast as a firecracker.

Anyway. Surfing was a thing. Scott hadn't realised how much he'd missed it until he got back among the waves. He was out of practice but a lot of it was muscle memory, so it didn't take long to pick it up again. The hardest part was prepping his 'board. They'd been stuck in storage for over two years and it took over an hour to find a pot of wax that was still useable.

He stood at the surf's edge, letting the water splash around his ankles as he examined the darker line of blue which marked the end of the reef. There were some decent swells today, but they were mellow enough that a beginner would be able to handle them, which was a good thing given he'd finally given into Theo's puppy eyes and agreed to teach the kid.

A dull thud followed by a spluttered curse drew his attention back to the beach. Theo pushed himself upright, coated in sand from his chin down to his knees. He cuffed the grains from his chest with an exasperated growl and glowered at the surfboard that Scott had gifted him. It was ridiculously large in comparison to his relatively short – average, Scotty! – height and kept trailing behind him, digging grooves in the sand which would doubtlessly confuse Jazz when Gordon took her and Penny searching for turtle tracks later.

Scott repressed a laugh but couldn't quite hold back his grin. "You okay there, bud?"

"This thing is like twice my height," Theo protested. "Why's it gotta be so freaking tall?"

"Physics," Scott replied, grabbing the 'board to let him up. "Larger boards are easier to balance on."

Theo wrinkled his nose. "Physics isn't really my thing."

"Then just trust me." Scott offered him a hand. "C'mon, I still haven't taught you how to prep it."

"It's a surfboard, not a roast chicken."

"Thank God for that – you've heard about my kitchen failures."

Theo let out an undignified snort which he hastily tried to cover up with a cough. He let Scott haul him upright, staggering a little as the sand shifted beneath his feet.

"So," Scott declared, wedging his own 'board behind a gnarled length of driftwood to prevent it from being washed out to sea.

Theo gave an emphatic nod. "So?"

"So," Scott repeated, gently tilting Theo's surfboard back into the kid's awaiting arms. "For the record, this is a terrible place to wax a board. You've got make sure there isn't any dust or dirt before you start and for obvious reasons, it's pretty difficult to get a clean board on a beach."

Theo tilted his head with a confused puppyish look. "Then why are we waxing it here?"

"Because Gordon's taken over the usual room, Virgil's banned me from the hangars in case I start working and there isn't anywhere else in the house. And don't suggest the patio; no one works by the pool unless they're prepared to be randomly dunked."

Scott hadn't swum in the pool since their return to the island and didn't intend on diving in any time soon. One day he'd face the swirling fear that lurked in his subconscious but not yet. Memories of that particular dance with death still confronted him in nightmares and he couldn't afford to spiral.

"Here." He yanked off his tank top and tossed it at Theo. "Wipe down your 'board. You don't need to scrape off the old wax, I already did that part for you."

"Wait, what?" Theo fumbled to steady his board as he momentarily lost concentration. "I thought this was a spontaneous thing? Did you… Did you plan this?"

"Shut up and clean your 'board, kid."

"Oh my god. You totally did!"

"Focus, Theo."

"Right, right, yes, yep, I'm focussing." Theo's grin spread wider. He bounced, sand skittering from his heels as he beamed at Scott. "But this is so cool and you definitely planned it, which is even cooler, so, you know, thank you, like thank you so much, I actually think this is the best moment of my life."

Scott winced. "If the bar is set that low, I'm concerned."

"Okay, well maybe I'm exaggerating a little."

Theo pinched his fingers to demonstrate just how little the degree of exaggeration had been and promptly lost his grip on the tank-top-turned-rag. He brought up his knee to catch it, dropped the surfboard in the process which knocked his feet out from under him, and landed on his ass with a startled yelp. He stared up at the sky, blinking dazedly for several seconds, then groaned.

"Can we pretend that never happened?"

Scott let out a loud laugh. "Hell no. I'm telling everyone at dinner."

"Even if I ask you really nicely not to?"

"No mercy."

"You're such a-"

"A…?"

Theo closed his mouth with an audible snap. "Nothing."

"No, no, continue." Scott snatched his top back and dangled it above Theo's face with an evil smile, stepping to block out the sun. "What's the matter? Scared?"

"Of you?" Theo sniggered. "Please."

"Hey, watch it! I can be scary."

"Uh, yeah, but not to us. Never to us. I don't think I've ever been scared of you?" He propped himself up on an elbow, wiping sand away from his face. "Scotty, you stayed up the whole night with me when I had nightmares last week. You made terrible dad jokes over breakfast this morning. Like yeah, okay, you can be super intimidating to strangers but you're too, uh… soft to make me scared."

Honestly? Scott was ridiculously happy to hear that. He had to have been doing a somewhat decent job if the kids were not only unafraid of him but seemed willing to confide in him and ask for comfort when they needed it, right? If after everything he could still be a safe person for them, then… well. It was a boost to his self-worth to say the least.

That being said, he couldn't let Theo's final comment slide.

"Soft?"

Theo realised his mistake. "Wait, no-"

"I'll show you soft."

"No, no, Scotty, no, I didn't mean it like-"

His protests were cut off in a series of good-natured shrieks and wild laughter as Scott swooped in and slung him over his shoulder. Theo put up a fair fight but Scott had four younger brothers and was more than used to throwing them into the sea.

He careered into the closest wave of suitable depth and finally let Theo wriggle free. An elbow slammed into his ribs as the kid wrestled his way back to the surface but it didn't hurt. The bruises from the past couple of weeks had faded to yellow splodges and lacked any pain. He remained in the depths for a moment, letting waves froth over his head and tangling a hand in silky seaweed ribbons.

He couldn't recall the last time he'd felt so light. He resurfaced with a growing desire to laugh for no specific reason. Maybe Virgil and Grandma had been right - taking a break had done him good.

Theo's curls were plastered to his forehead. He resembled a drowned cat, hissing insults without any real heat behind them. His words were offset by his dimpled grin as he sent a wave towards Scott.

"Really?" Scott deadpanned, raising a brow as he sent a lazy wave back. "You want to start this? You think it's a smart idea?"

"Uh…" Theo blinked water droplets from his lashes, cringing at the sting of saltwater in his eyes. He offered a sunny smile. "No?"

Scott chuckled. "Back to the beach. We've got 'boards to prep."

"And waves to conquer!"

Based off Theo's tragically terrible sense of balance, that wouldn't be happening for a very long time if ever. Still, Scott wasn't about to crush the kid's dreams, so he mustered some fake optimism.

"…Sure."

Hey, he never said it would be convincing fake optimism.

They hauled themselves from the waves and sprawled on the sand to dry off. Scott could practically hear Grandma's voice in his head, chiding him about applying liberal amounts of sunscreen because scar tissues were more sensitive and honestly, how long have you lived here? You should know this by now, Scooter. Meanwhile, Theo didn't have a care in the world, flaked out in the sun like a lizard.

"Can I, uh…" Theo began when they were sat in the shade thrown by palm trees. He had his 'board balanced across his knees and was vigorously rubbing wax onto it under Scott's instructions. The pressure was a little light, but it wasn't bad for a beginner. "Never mind."

"Change your angle," Scott said gently, reaching over to guide Theo's wrist. "There you go. You've gotta switch it up every so often. See the little bumps? The aim is to cover the board in those. Now, what were you going to ask me?"

Theo ducked his head. There was a streak of wax across his collarbone where he'd lifted a hand to scratch the back of his neck.

"It's… dumb. I was just…" He yanked the wax across his board viciously. "Okay, I've got a question but can you… not read into it? Like, it's just- just a question."

Scott tried not to sound too fond. "Ask away."

Theo exhaled, then asked in a rush, "Were Alan and Brandon ever a- a thing? As in romantically?"

Scott found himself struck speechless. He swallowed, then asked helplessly, "What?"

"It's just because Alan's super invested in saving him. Wait, that sounded bad. I mean, he's a person and he's clearly still partly human because he can speak and stuff so obviously we need to save him, but Alan's kind of obsessive about it. He spends all his time with him."

Now that Theo had started talking, the words kept spilling out.

"It's all Brandon this and Brandon that and yeah, okay, I know what this sounds like and I know that they used to be friends but it's not like they were best friends or anything or at least I don't think they were? I feel like that's something which would've come up if they had been. But obviously they have history and I'm just wondering what kind of history. Did Alan like him? Is that purely past tense? Or is it possibly kinda maybe present tense too? Oh my god, this is really weird, I'm so sorry."

Okay.

That, uh…

That was a lot to unpack.

Honestly, Scott hadn't considered the possibility that Theo would be… lonely. Actually, it sounded a helluva lot more like the kid was jealous, but he wasn't going to get involved in that, so lonely was a safer bet. It made sense; Jasmin spent all her time with Gordon or Kayo and Alan was apparently with Brandon almost twenty-four-seven and what little hours he wasn't were spent with family. Theo had been pushed aside by both of his closest friends. No wonder he'd been following Scott around like a little lost duckling for the past couple of weeks. The poor kid had no one else.

Aw man, why couldn't Virgil or Penelope have been the ones to take this conversation? They loved matchmaking; even months later, Penny still took the credit for planning Scott's first date with Mari.

Scott wordlessly exchanged Theo's base wax for a suitable top layer, softer but not too soft given the sea around the archipelago was relatively warm. They worked in silence for a few minutes. Finch grew bored of chasing fish, shook herself dry, and trotted over to flop down beside them.

"As far as I know," Scott said after a while, "They were just friends. But… Alan hasn't had the easiest time with friends. People weren't very kind to him at school and then after he started home education, he didn't exactly have much chance to socialise with kids his own age. So, Brandon is one of the first real friends he ever made. That's why he's so determined to save him."

"Oh." Theo picked at a little globule of wax self-consciously. "Well now I feel like a total asshat."

"Hey, you didn't know. But for what it's worth? I don't think Alan is intentionally pushing you away. He's more than a little oblivious. And that's coming from me, King of Obliviousness according to... pretty much everyone actually. My point is: try talking to him."

"Ew. Talking. I hate that idea."

"Shut up and get back to work or we'll miss this tide."

"Aye, aye, cap'n."

"Oh, for the love of- I thought that had died a death already?"

"Nope." Theo shot him a mischievous grin. "Never."

In many ways, Scot was glad that he had not been one of the first to return to the island. There was something deeply unsettling about the idea of seeing it empty and… well, not cold because hey, they lived in the tropics and one of the perks was the money saved on heating bills, but lifeless. It was not designed to be quiet. Silence only lurked in its walls when death came to visit. It would have lacked every element which made it homely, especially with all their belongings in storage on TB5. He briefly wondered what those who had been away for far longer – ahem, Kyrano – had made of it.

That being said, it didn't take long for the marks of family life to return; overflowing stacks of bowls, plates and cutlery in the sink; ants in the kitchen because someone had neglected to wipe a chopping board after using it and then left the window open; damp towels flung over backs of chairs after swimming sessions; sneaker scuffs on baseboards; scrawled notes on the whiteboard on the fridge; dogeared books in the lounge; Finch's fur on every couch; disordered blankets and gaming consoles in the Den; clothes littered anywhere that wasn't a closet; lives spilling into one another.

Did Scott chastise his family about keeping the place tidy? Yes. Did he also secretly love the chaos? Yes. Not the ants in the kitchen though because c'mon guys, this is a freaking hygiene issue, just grab a cloth, it's not that hard. So maybe not the chaos itself, but he certainly welcomed the soul which had returned to the island. There was a sense of love which inhabited every corridor, reminding them all that they were home.

Here, their group seemed to flourish, becoming a real family. The roots had begun to develop back in Oregon, living in each other's pockets for months on end, but here? Here, it was a choice to spend time together. There weren't any spare rooms anymore, but everyone had their own space, yet they still chose to gather in the kitchen for shared meals and congregated around the pool at sunset, even venturing into the Den for movies. The island had been lonely for too long but now it was a sanctuary once again, bringing lost souls together just as it always had done and always would.

There were still repairs to be made; petty irritations such as mopping up dust in places the cleaning bots were unable to reach but larger, glaring issues which required attention too. Virgil wiped several crude doodles – courtesy of Gordon – off the fridge whiteboard and wrote the tasks in order of decreasing urgency. But with each one that was scrubbed out, three more replaced it. The days rolled into one another with too few hours of sleep to separate them, but Scott threw himself into the work with the eagerness of a drowning man clutching at a life-raft, desperate for distraction.

He couldn't shake the sense that he was running out of time. His family could make as many promises as they liked when it came to saving him from the hivemind, but the truth was that it was mostly to comfort themselves. He'd flown to the Sanctuary and given a speech on the third anniversary of Z-Day with the entire world watching but the hypocrisy had grated at him all the while. Finn had kept glancing at him with carefully concealed concern in those green eyes, but Scott had dismissed his white-knuckled grip on the podium as nerves when his friend had questioned him.

Because really, what right did he have to talk about bravery and sacrifice when he was turning his back on both? The logical choice was to sever the final link between the hivemind and the infected before it could grow any stronger – or, God forbid, recover entirely – but he couldn't bring himself to consider that option. Not after everything. So, he buried himself in work and tried to ignore reality.

It wasn't even as if the hivemind was his only concern. Ever since the World Council had been dismantled – and the disgraced politicians shipped off to an anonymous bunker somewhere in northern Europe – global relations had been decided by a committee of elected spokespeople put forward by each safe zone.

As a temporary solution, it worked. But in the long term? There were too many safe zones to have individual representatives. There were so many voices on conference calls that they drowned each other out and no one made any progress at all. Rumours kept floating around of holding an election for a new World President, but Scott didn't see how that could work. The GDF wanted someone with military experience, but civilian zones demanded someone with humanitarian issues as their primary concern; hardly anyone met their joint criteria.

He explained the situation to John, late on a miscellaneous November night when neither of them could sleep. They sat in the kitchen with a bottle of rum between them and the heavy hum of mosquitoes carrying through the open window. John kept picking at the peeling label on the bottle, making the occasional hmm or yes/no while Scott talked. Or, you know, complained. In his defence, he'd spent the entire day transporting supplies between countries and while he loved flying One, he was tired. Just not tired enough to sleep apparently, because the universe liked to be a bitch to him.

"It wouldn't be a World President in the same sense as pre-Z-Day," he continued, running his thumb around the rim of his glass. He took a sip and relished the burn. "It would be more of a… a supervisor, I guess? No, that's not… What's the word? How'd you describe my job in the Coalition?"

John stared into the depths of the bottle. "Mediator?"

"Sure, let's go with that. So, the primary role would be to balance concerns from every safe zone. It's mostly a fifty-fifty split right now; half of them are talking about military responses while the rest want to focus on humanitarian options. So, it's like the Coalition but on a global scale."

"And you can't think of a suitable person?"

"No."

"Not even one?"

"Nope. Every candidate is either walking military propaganda or hates the GDF. I've got nothing."

"Wow."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

John stared at him for a long minute.

"Nothing," he sighed at last, clapping a hand to Scott's shoulder as he slid off his chair. "I'm headed to bed. See you in the morning."

Scott still had no idea what the hell his brother had meant by that sarcastic wow, but hey. He wasn't about to sacrifice what little pride he had left by asking John to explain. Besides, it was easily forgotten given all the other thoughts swamping his mind. They dragged him into their murky depths and threatened to drown him, spilling panic into his waking life as well as his nightmares.

The only mercy was that he hadn't experienced any of those out-of-body-type horror moments since he'd dreamt of the Romero, but hivemind memories constantly haunted him, ghosts which lurked in every lapse of attention. If he didn't keep himself focussed on the present, they crept close enough to drag him into the past. He hated those moments but experienced an irrational guilt for hating them too; these were people's treasured memories and he was their only link to humanity.

But it was difficult to be rational about a thing which filled him with terror. He grew to anticipate those moments – tight pressure at the back of his mind; a creeping, crawling sense of otherness – only that seemed to make the situation worse. Even a slight headache or a friendly clap to his upper back startled him into a tightening spiral of panic.

It wasn't sustainable and he knew it, but what alternative was there? John, Brains, Ellis, Grandma and Virgil were trying their best to find a fix – as well as a cure for the infected – and they could hardly appeal to the global scientific committee as the military would catch on and land upon the very solution that Scott was trying to avoid.

If it came down to it, then he'd accept it, but not until the bitter end. And it would be bitter now; cruel and unfair in the way that only an uncaring universe could be. He didn't want to leave, and it was made so much worse by his newly accepted knowledge that his loss would do far more than simply upset his family. Sure, a part of him still struggled to believe that his death – and the word choked him whenever he tried to vocalise it – would destroy them, but believing something and knowing it to be a fact were very different.

So, he saved his panic for quiet corners; moments tucked away in the depths of night when the moon was obscured by thick clouds and the sea sounded violent and the darkness seemed so thick that it could crawl down his throat and crush his lungs; moments when he had to relearn how to breathe; moments in which he genuinely believed that he was already dying.

Most of the time, he forced himself to sit very still and made himself very small and counted each breath until his heartrate slowed. But other times, the world grew too dark. Other times, he could carve his nails through his shirt down to the bone and still not find an anchor. Other times, the air refused to enter his chest and he could gulp down wheezes which rattled as if he were still drowning in that swimming pool, but the world would keep spinning and he'd be thrown through time to his own past, out-of-control, nose-diving towards hell, wondering if he'd been doomed from the start.

But in those times, when his entire being consisted of pure panic – a festering parasite in its own right – he was never alone.

Marisa was learning the best techniques for drawing him out of his spirals, probably helped by all the books she'd been reading on the subject which she'd tried to keep secret and thought Scott didn't know about, hastily tucking her tablet beneath the couch cushions whenever he walked in or even going so far as to throw it under their bed as if that wasn't suspicious. But she'd also developed a sixth sense for knowing when she wouldn't be enough. It sounded horrible stated outright, but she never took offence, just silently rang Virgil's comm.

Those were the worst nights, the ones drenched in despair which felt as if they would never end. They had a heaviness, a gravity greater than the sun, condensing everything towards a totality; the darkness he glimpsed through spotted vision, spinning out of control again and again. He had to survive one second at a time because even a minute seemed impossible.

Eventually, reality would return to him, but it was tentative, nervous, liable to flee again like a spooked stray. He'd recognise arms around him, pinning him against a chest to save him from accidentally hurting himself, whispering assurances against his temple. He found dark irony in the way Virgil was once again holding him as he had done back in the Minnesota bunker, only those days had been spent wanting to die whereas these days were spent wanting to live.

"Shit," he gasped out, sort of wet and spluttering and all-around disgusting, but Virgil's grip didn't loosen. The air was still rattling in his lungs with every other breath, but the panic had retreated sufficiently to let exhaustion sweep in, so Scott let himself fall, safe in the knowledge that Virgil would catch him. He could feel his brother's heartbeat against his back, clinging to him. "Sorry."

"Don't apologise for this," Virgil murmured, tightening his arms. His voice wavered slightly, dipping into something fierce and warm with affection. "Never for this."

Scott let out a brittle laugh. "I told you it was going to be a lot of work."

Unspoken, hovering in the air between them: I'm a lot of work.

"And I told you," Virgil reminded him softly, "It's not work to me. Not if it's you. Never if it's you."

"Right," Scott said in a pitiful whisper, eternally grateful to Virgil for not calling him out on the way his voice broke. "That's- Yeah. Okay."

Nothing more was said for several minutes. The sound of waves against the shore had quietened from something monstrous to a gentle harmony, mixing with the nightly chorus of insect life. Scott tugged at the neck of his tee, suddenly aware that it was uncomfortably sticky, clingy with sweat. He shuffled away from Virgil and stumbled to his feet on unsteady legs, yanking the shirt over his head and rifling through his drawers for a dry one. Aircon kicked into life with a cold whirr that left him shivering. Panic still wasn't far away and he was struck by the urge to put his back to a wall.

"Scott," Virgil ventured, "I know you told John that what happened on the Romero wasn't a trigger, but… were you being entirely truthful?"

Scott clenched his fists around the navy tee. Fabric crumpled under his hands. If he were brutally honest then no, he hadn't been truthful because he kept seeing that man fall from the conn tower; the way he had willing stepped out over the edge; how he had just dropped. His mind kept replaying the moment, imagining how it must have felt. Not in a one-to-ten way, but in a hypnotising what if.

"Sure," he replied at last, too tired to lie. It was difficult to deceive Virgil even on a good day.

"Because that's convincing."

"Jesus, Virgil, what do you want from me? I'm not suicidal. I'm on the opposite end of the spectrum now and the irony is brilliant, by the way, so no one needs to point that out to me. I spent years trying to get myself killed and somehow walked away every time but now I want to live and-"

He swallowed. The words dried up. A new wave of aircon coaxed goosebumps from his arms and he pulled the tee over his head, finding an inexplicable sense of safety in being clothed again.

"And now this happens," he continued quietly, unsure if he felt bitter or just unbearably sad. "I know you don't want to talk about it and I get that but how long are we gonna drag this out before we've got to face reality? If we can't drive the hivemind outta my head… Virg, c'mon. It's not just about me. It's about you and John and Gordon and Alan and everyone I love. It's about the whole world."

Virgil didn't say anything for a long minute. He ran his hands over the duvet, smoothing out the creases, unable to make eye contact.

"I can't accept that."

Scott leant heavily against the chest of drawers. "What?"

"I can't accept that," Virgil repeated. He sounded exhausted. "I don't think I can survive losing you."

"Virg…"

"You want to save the world. But John and me? We're trying to save our world. So, please – please – just… be patient. Give us a little more time. We can find a solution."

"Virgil."

"You believe in me, right?"

"That's not-"

"Right? You've always believed in me. Don't stop now. Trust me, Scott. Trust John. We can fix this."

Scott pushed himself away from the drawers and sank onto the bed beside Virgil.

"I can't keep going like this, Vee," he confessed, tipping sideways to rest his head on Virgil's shoulder. "I believe in you, of course I do, but this isn't about that. I can't keep living with an axe hanging over my head. I just- I need to know one way or another. If this isn't going to end well for me then at least I'll know, and I can make the most of however long I have left."

"I just need more time." Virgil drew a sharp breath as his words wobbled, twisted by fearful grief into something small and damp. "That's all I'm asking."

"And you've got it. But I can't give you forever." Scott's voice dipped into a whisper. "It would cost too much."

Everyone had their place on the island where they went to hide when they needed to be alone. These locations weren't secret, but they all knew what it meant if they found each other in their respective spaces and so respected that desire for privacy. Most of the time, anyway.

Scott's place had once been a rocky ledge halfway up one of the peaks, only accessible via jetpack, where the wind drowned his thoughts and the drop below his feet was all too tantalising. Alternatively, he'd used to beat his demons into submission in the gym until his knuckles split. Nowadays, he was trying to train himself into better coping methods, so when the panic nipped at his heels during daylight hours and he had to find a way to hide before his family caught on, he grabbed his nearest pair of running shoes and made a mad dash for the trails up to the lookout.

If the lookout had once been Dad's thinking place, then hey, that was totally a coincidence and definitely had nothing to do with Scott needing to feel close to him. It was overgrown these days, thick with moss and persistent grass. The encroaching forest had engulfed the wooden bench which had once watched over the ocean and vines had partly consumed the sign too. Scott had torn those down during his first twenty-four hours back on the island and had nursed several welts on his palms from their toxic sap as a result – which John informed him was his punishment for 'not wearing gloves like a sane person, you do know we have venomous species, right?' – but it was worth it to see Jeff's words again, LOOKOUT carved into the woodwork by a polished penknife.

On a casual morning run, he'd pace himself. Start out with an easy jog to warm up, then pick up the pace, push himself on the steeper tracks, pause at the lookout, and work his way back again at speed. Not on the runs like these though. On these runs, he sprinted as if his life depended on it; and given how desperately vulnerable the panic made him feel, it felt a little as if his life did.

He pushed past the fire in his muscles, hit a second wind, kept going, ignored every protest from his body until at last he reached the lookout where he collapsed on the sandy grass and let the adrenaline drain from his skin into the soil. It was an overcast sky, thick with clouds as heavy as his thoughts, and fine rain glued his shirt to his chest.

He could still taste the residual traces of mint from the stick of gum he'd chewed into nothingness to keep the panic at bay until his meeting with the safe zone representatives was over. His heart hammered so fiercely that he could feel it in his fingertips, pounding in his ears, behind his eyes. But at last, he could breathe.

He stayed on his back for an unknown length of time. The rain was blissfully cool against his face, trickling through his hair, dripping from his fingertips to splash onto the grass. He kept his eyes closed and focussed on the rain; how it felt; how it sounded; even how tasted, rich with salt and fresh vegetation. The panic slowly unclenched, retreating from his ribs, curling back into a tight coil at the centre of his chest where it had taken up permanent residence but didn't always suffocate him. He dug his fingers into the sand, exhaled until his lungs ached, then pushed himself to sit up.

His heel was slick with warmth. He probed the back of his shoe and discovered a tacky substance. When he examined his fingers, the rain washed away a thin trail of blood, so he prised off his shoe and discovered he'd ripped his heel apart. The skin was ragged, ribboned in red, sluggishly bleeding, ripe and ready to form a blister over the next hour. No wonder he'd limped the last few yards.

"Yeesh," Gordon's voice rang out. "That's grim, Scooter." He took a seat beside Scott, seemingly oblivious as to the way the wet ground soaked his shorts. "See, this is why we wear socks."

Scott made a half-hearted swipe at him. "Shut up, guppy."

Truth be told, he hadn't expected anyone to follow him. He'd thought he'd escaped unnoticed; everyone had been absorbed in their own tasks, scattered across the island from Alan's presentation in the Roundhouse - where he was explaining basic first aid to hundreds of wide-eyed children in the 100+ survival zones that had tuned in - all the way down to Brains' lab in the depths of the hangars where multiple holoprojectors linked the island's scientists into the global research community. Scott had slipped away after his meeting without a word, but apparently the apocalypse had only nurtured his little brother's observant streak for Gordon had spotted him.

Gordon's continued silence was a warning sign; he was still in observant-mode, drawing conclusions from body language and every word that Scott had left unsaid over the past weeks. New clouds blew in from the ocean, fogging the edge of the cliff so that the cove below vanished.

Scott was tempted to shuffle a little closer, to dangle his feet over the abyss – why hadn't new safety railings been put higher up the repairs list? – and let the clouds close in around him so that only himself, the water-logged leaves and the saturated sand under his hands existed. But he suspected Gordon would draw all the wrong conclusions from that, so stayed where he was.

Besides, it hadn't escaped his notice that his brother got sort of twitchy whenever anyone got too close to a ledge. Gordon had only just been getting over the horror of seeing Scott on the hospital roof when Alan had nearly taken a nosedive from the top of Finn's house, bringing old memories rushing to the surface as well as installing fresh trauma.

They hadn't really spoken since their return to the island. Or they had, but not in depth, both skirting around the obvious elephant in the room. The hivemind languished between them, a fat, blistering secret that had been ripped open on the Romero and refused to heal. Gordon was still angry that Scott had kept him in the dark – kept everyone in the dark – but he was mostly plain scared and that made the conversation so much trickier. It didn't help that even thinking about the hivemind was enough to knock Scott into a spiral of existential dread and terror, so they'd just… not talked at all.

Gordon kept sneaking glances at him. Scott pretended not to notice. He kicked off his other shoe and silently cursed himself for not waiting to put on socks. His left heel wasn't bleeding like his right, but it was still painful. He leant against his hands and inhaled deeply until the salt in the air stung the back of his throat. Distantly, gulls were calling, their cries muted by the low cloud.

"Scott?"

"Yeah?"

Gordon hesitated. He'd plucked a leaf off a nearby plant and was steadily ripping it into tiny shreds, letting them filter through his fingers like confetti, floating in the cloud to never be seen again. He shuffled closer, then slowly put his head on Scott's shoulder without another word.

Scott looped an arm around him instinctively. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Everything. I don't know." Gordon drew a knee up to his chest and wrapped his arms around it with a sigh. "Can we just… sit here for a bit?"

"Yeah, bud. We can do that."

They sat in silence for several minutes; long, drawn-out stretches of time which seemed inconsequential as if Scott wasn't running out of moments like these. But surrounded by cloud, unable to see beyond a couple of metres, it felt as if the threat had been erased. He couldn't feel the hivemind's presence, just a light breeze through his hair and cool rainwater dripping down his neck.

So much progress had been made that it was easy to forget many people were still suffering. Not every survivor knew about safe zones; there were plenty of groups with no idea that they weren't alone in the universe. Rotter attacks continued and scavengers and bandits were still constant threats in some parts of the world. Radiation cloaked half the States as well as other countries which had also opted for tactical strikes on their largest cities. There was so much pain; it was a privilege to be able to forget it existed. But when Scott did notice it, he had to fight to keep it from crushing him.

He tightened his hold, resting his cheek against Gordon's damp hair. Somehow, against impossible odds, they had made it this far. No matter what happened next, his family were safe, and the world was beginning to rebuild. In that respect, he'd succeeded. He'd kept his promise to his parents as well as his own oaths to himself. So, if the worst happened, he'd still done some good in the world.

"Scotty?" Gordon murmured, staring at the shadows of gulls amid the cloud. "I think… I think you guys are wrong about the hivemind." He wrapped a hand around Scott's wrist to keep him from moving. "No, don't- Just… wait. Let me explain, okay?"

Scott settled back down again, despite every instinct urging him to bolt from the conversation. What the hell could Gordon possibly know about the hivemind, anyway? He'd never experienced it like John and he wasn't an expert like Ellis. He hadn't buried himself in research like Brains and Virgil either and he lacked Grandma's medical degree.

But then again, Scott thought with a self-reproaching mental slap around the head, maybe that was exactly what made him the right person to figure out the hivemind's secret. God knew the thing didn't play by nature's rulebook. Gordon hadn't been blinkered by the science and he was observant enough to notice important details. Maybe he was the only one who could find a solution.

"Okay." Scott cleared his throat and repeated louder, "Okay. Hit me."

"So, I've been thinking-"

"Dangerous."

Gordon socked his bicep. "Shut up and listen."

Despite himself, Scott laughed. "FAB, squid. Shutting up and listening in three, two, one…"

"So…"

Gordon locked his fingers together and cracked his knuckles, speaking in a rush as if he feared being laughed at or brushed aside; something which had happened too often during his school years when teachers had assumed he was a class clown with no future rather than realising that he was actually smart as hell and just learned in different ways to his peers. He'd mostly gone to college out of spite.

"I think we've been focussing too much on the science. I mean, the cure is rooted in science because it's a case of reversing physical effects, but the hivemind isn't just neurological but a whole other branch of science which we don't understand yet. John could share your emotions; you found him in the hivemind through your smotherhen instincts – that's not something which can be explained through biology or at least not through our current grasp of it. So, the answer's gotta be elsewhere."

Scott pushed his wet hair out of his face – the rain was becoming more of an irritation than a refreshing mist – and tried not to sound as confused as he felt as he asked, "What?"

"The parasite hasn't been controlling the infected ever since you broke that link, right?"

Gordon pushed himself upright, bracelets clacking around his wrists as he gestured.

"So, the only thing that's controlled them has been you. The GDF lady on the Romero said as much – Trixie? Tasha? Anyway, the parasite isn't tied to the hivemind anymore, so the hivemind isn't a threat. And before you say you don't know how to control it so how can any of this be accurate, I've figured that out too. The hivemind is controlled by your emotions and intent."

"Except it was influencing my emotions for a time," Scott pointed out, trying to ignore the way his heartrate had picked up. If the hivemind wasn't a threat – if he could potentially keep the infected from advancing on safe zones – then not only was he saved, but he could buy them more time to synthesise a cure. "Sounds more like the infected were controlling me than the other way around."

Gordon faltered, momentarily thrown by the memory of their last few weeks in Oregon. He'd been the one to pull Scott out of that strange, foggy headspace when every feeling had seemed… layered, for lack of a better word. It was difficult to describe slowly losing control over one's own emotions.

"But it got better when we went to the Romero," Gordon continued, voice low with urgency as he dug his nails into the damp sand, waiting for Scott to stumble upon the same realisation. "And the dreams stopped- Okay, well not stopped but they got better and you're not… zombie walking?"

Scott elected to ignore the phrase zombie walking. If Gordon somehow convinced his new best friend EOS to add it to an official dictionary, that would be the day he resigned as Commander.

"Meaning…?"

"Meaning," Gordon stressed the word, "You did what the infected wanted. So, it kinda seems like giving up control is the way to go."

Scott stared at him for a long minute. "To gain control, you want me to give up control?"

"Exactly!"

"No."

"Okay, I get that you have issues with giving up control-"

"That's not the problem here. And hey, wait, what are you-? I do not have control issues."

Gordon patted him on the shoulder. "Sure you don't, Scotty."

"I'm going to throw you off this cliff."

"Do it, I dare you."

Scott flopped onto his back with an exasperated sigh. The rain had already drenched his clothes, so he paid little mind to the saturated soil seeping through his shirt. Gulls loomed closer, disorientated by the low cloud. He laced his hands beneath his head and stared up at the ceiling of indiscernible greys. There was no difference between the sea and the sky. The horizon was entirely obscured and with this natural barrier against the rest of the world came a notion of no consequences.

He wanted Gordon's theory to be correct. He wanted it to be correct so badly that he could feel the longing as a physical weight on his chest, but he didn't dare believe in it. Too much hope can kill you, he recalled dryly, blinking away raindrops to watch the palm fronds dance above him. If he turned his head slightly, he could glimpse Jeff's carved letters on the lookout sign, eroded but surviving.

He'd spent his entire life trying to save everyone else. Discovering how much he wanted to save himself too was a new development. But now Gordon was offering him a lifeline, a chance at a solution, another way out – a way for them to win – and he wasn't sure how to accept it.

Because honestly? His brother had a point. Giving up control scared the hell outta him. Every mask he'd ever worn had been a carefully curated persona adjusted to fit the needs of those around him. But it seemed that in order to save himself, he'd have to give it all up; go into the hivemind as an open book; vulnerable; laid bare for judgement despite his secret terror that he'd be found lacking.

"What if I don't know how to give up control?" he asked quietly, as much of a genuine question as it was an admission. He scrubbed his knuckles across his eyes. His heel had stopped throbbing, but he could still feel the heat of his own blood trickling over his skin. "It's not as easy as just… giving in."

"I think maybe it's exactly that easy," Gordon replied. He lowered himself to lie next to Scott, chin propped in his palms. The rain was flattening his hair so that he looked very young again, but there was a wisdom in his eyes that seemed beyond his years. "I think… I think you've got to accept it?"

"Accept it?"

"Yeah. Maybe, um, stop fighting it? Let it in. You've been pushing it away but all those people in the hivemind… they don't mean you any harm. They're just lost. And scared. And… human."

"And if it goes wrong? If it starts influencing me again?"

Gordon looked away, voice thick as he muttered, "I'd take care of it."

"No matter what?"

"No matter what."

"I can't ask that of you."

"You're not asking. I'm offering."

"Gordon-"

"It's a shot in the dark but it seems like the only chance we've got. Improbable odds are still better than impossible odds, right? You should know that, nerd."

"Don't call me a nerd."

"Math degree, Scooter. Math. That's only one step down from physics."

Scott hooked an arm around Gordon's neck and pulled him down to sprawl in the mud, ignoring all squawks and protesting elbows as he scrubbed soil into his brother's wet hair. Gordon let out another yowl and scrabbled free, glaring and grinning all at once at the sound of Scott's laughter.

"Rude."

"You'll live," Scott shot back.

Gordon wiped the mud from his face and pretended to examine Dad's old sign as he said softly, "You know, maybe it was meant to happen like this. Kyrano says that life always balances itself out and hivemind control's been given to one of the only people who won't abuse it…"

Scott wasn't sure what to say to that.

Gordon offered him a hand. "C'mon, let's go. Johnny's on lunch duty so I don't want to miss out."

"Thanks," Scott blurted out before he could talk himself out of it.

This time it was Gordon who seemed lost for words. After a second, he bonked his forehead against Scott's shoulder like an affectionate housecat and bounded on ahead, yelling something about rain and weather gods and dances. Scott scooped up his shoes and followed with a fond smile.

Brandon had been gifted a room in the Roundhouse. 'Gifted' was inaccurate phrasing but sounded far kinder than 'locked up in the only spare room left after everyone else had moved in'.

There had been lengthy discussions about allocating him his own room; a strong case had been made for keeping him in the old experiment room tacked onto Brains' lab where they had quarantined John after the October Incident. But that seemed dreadfully dehumanising. It was bad enough that the kid was trapped inside the body of the rotter; locking him away in a tiny boxroom below ground without any friendly furnishings or familiar faces crossed a line into cruelty.

So, Scott argued for putting him in the Roundhouse, in a small, rounded room at the end of a long hallway that looked as if it had been added as an afterthought during construction. It was far enough away from other rooms to ease any safety concerns – not to mention all the monitoring equipment and EOS's eager eye – but was homely enough to make Scott feel slightly better about keeping the teenager like some sort of exotic pet. Despite this, he still hadn't been able to bring himself to visit since returning to Tracy Island and now, stepping into the room, he couldn't shake his apprehension.

The room was one of the spaces which they'd never known what to do with. It didn't have a bathroom and was too far away from the main villa to be used a guest suite but boasted grand views over the ocean through a set of floor-to-ceiling windows at the foot of a queen-sized bed.

It had gone through multiple purposes over time; once serving as a creative space for Virgil before he'd gotten his art and music studios set up; then being used by John when the chaos of family life in the villa was too loud until he'd gotten soundproofing in his bedroom; more recently becoming Alan's favourite hidey hole when trying to escape his chores until it finally laid empty for months pre-Z-Day. Now, it was once again a bedroom – not that Brandon needed a bed given the infected didn't sleep, but the sentiment still seemed important.

The room was excessively hot. Sunlight filtered through windows and became trapped, not helped by the lack of aircon although that was a deliberate attempt to slow down the parasite's progression. Scott resisted the urge to open a window as he closed the door behind him. It was akin to stepping into a sauna. His t-shirt was made of thin material made looser by concurrent washes, but it felt for all the world like a woollen sweater. He could only imagine how hot it got around noon.

Brandon had always been such a loud, large presence not only on camera but also on his visits to the island throughout his friendship with Alan. It was as disconcerting as it was heartbreaking to see him reduced to a shell, loitering in a far corner of the room like a scorned dog threatened with violence.

Shortly before they'd left the Oregon beach house, Scott had held the kid still whilst Grandma had bandaged his savaged hand and with the injury concealed it was difficult to tell he was infected. But he was slowly getting worse. Despite their best efforts, the parasite was spreading. His movements were stiffer than they had been a few weeks ago and his eyes had more difficulty focussing.

It hurt to look at him – especially when Scott could feel the kid's anguish and desperation – to witness his pain. He crowded deeper into the corner, squashed between a bookshelf and the window so that golden sunlight haloed his hair. A new emotion pressed at the back of Scott's mind; fear, he identified, although he couldn't work out why Brandon would be scared of him. The answer dawned on him a second later: the kid hated being seen in such a state. He feared being viewed as a monster; as something revolting; a rabid animal to be put out of its misery. He knew he was getting worse just as much as the rest of them did and it had only made him more terrified as days passed.

The rush of emotion at the realisation – from Brandon as well as his own feelings – was strong enough to leave Scott's head spinning. He took a seat on the edge of the bed which had previously gone untouched. Not a single crease marred the dark blue bedsheets, speckled with silver thread to mimic a night sky. Alan claimed that Brandon sometimes sat in the middle of the floor, basking in the warmth where sunlight pooled on the honey-oak 'boards, but no one else reported seeing him move from the corner. Even now, he remained frozen in place.

Scott ran a hand across the bedsheets, smoothing invisible creases. He tried not to look directly at Brandon out of concern that he might spook him. Instead, he glanced around the room and picked out tiny details; worn paperbacks stacked on the windowsill where Alan read them aloud to Brandon; a vase of fresh flowers from Kyrano's revived garden; a map of the stars on the wall; a scented candle purporting to smell like fresh cotton and sea breeze burned halfway to the wick. Human luxuries, all of them; worthless to a rotter but not to the human consciousness within.

Curious eyes studied him from across the room. A brief rustle of fabric betrayed Brandon's movements as he clumsily uncurled from his hunched ball. He didn't venture out of his corner entirely but shuffled into the edge of a sunray falling across the floor, watching Scott intently.

"Hey," Scott said gently, raising his hands to show he wasn't a threat. "It's good to see you, kiddo."

Once upon a time, he reflected, Brandon would have bristled at being called kid. He'd have probably made some smartass remark that would have had Scott rolling his eyes hard enough to go into orbit. Now, he seemed to cling to the words, desperate for any tiny scrap of affection offered to him.

Scott shuffled further onto the bed to lean his back against the wall. Brandon's gaze tracked him, eyes partly lidded like a sleepy lizard as he struggled to maintain focus.

"I don't know how this is going to work," Scott admitted, forcibly upbeat to hide his nerves. Perhaps if he could convince Brandon that he wasn't scared, he could convince himself too. "Or even if it's going to work. But I'm gonna give it a shot anyway."

He tipped his head back against the wall, took a deep breath, closed his eyes and-

Give up control.

Stop fighting.

Let it in.

They're lost and scared and human.

(Save them)

-let go.

The last time he had given into the hivemind had felt like slipping underwater, unfathomably deep waters with no hope of recovery. It had been bitterly cold and hostile as the darkness had closed in on all sides, thick and oppressive, heavy in every sense of the word, dragging him down, tricking him-

This time, it didn't feel like sinking. The most accurate description was floating, suspended as if he'd taken a space walk out of Three or Five. There was no up or down. It was a void, but not in the traditional sense. For a start, it was filled with light; the warm, pure kind of light only found above the clouds, safe in the sky, cleaner than anything on the planet's surface.

As soon as he recognised it, the place began to reveal itself, welcoming him with new details, unravelling around him like a blank canvas. There was no trace of dark parasitic influence; just a vividly blue sky - as bright and as beautiful as his first flight had been - and cropped grass underfoot as smooth as a golf course. He had the uncanny certainty that if he dug his fingers into it, he'd find soil the same shade as his mother's flowerbeds had been back in Kansas when he'd used to scoop earth into tiny blue pots and help her plant herb seedlings into the rich mixture, lined up along their kitchen windowsill where he could see them grow taller and stronger everyday like his brothers.

Scott.

He dragged himself out of the memory with a jolt. Lucille's voice faded, nothing more than a ghost; from reality or from that hivemind world which had never been anything more than a trick? He didn't want to know the answer. He'd turned his back on that dream and there was no way to return to it. Not now the parasite had been banished from the hivemind. Besides, that reality had never existed. Right? Right. No, he wasn't going to think about it. He'd made his choice.

He couldn't just feel the infected but hear them too. Their voices formed a low, constant hum. Vibrations ran through the grass. He closed his eyes and focussed, picking out a thread of emotion which was too unfamiliar to be his own but was still recognisable amid the mess of strangers. Then, giving into the same strange instinct which had allowed him to blindly target rotters in the London tunnels, he began his search for Brandon, letting the hivemind guide him.

The hivemind was utterly disorientating; that quality hadn't been lost alongside the parasite's control. Scott hoped that he'd learn how to navigate it as his control improved, but that was probably a long way off. Still, he pushed on. He'd forgotten how elusive time could be in this place; he seemed to walk for hours before he stumbled upon another person. But when he did? Bingo.

He stood frozen for several seconds. But his eyes didn't seem to be playing tricks on him, so he took an unsteady step closer. Precious hope spread outwards from his chest, a wave of warmth that brought renewed energy. He stared at the back of the figure's head; studied the slant of their hunched shoulders; noted the childlike way they had curled in on themselves, scared and vulnerable.

"Brandon?" he called softly, barely daring to believe it.

The kid raised his head, eyes owlishly wide, jaw hanging open in shock. Then he scrambled to his feet, heels slipping on the grass in his haste, bolting across the space between them. He didn't slow down, crashing into Scott's arms as they collided in a fierce hug.

Brandon jarred his chin against Scott's shoulder but didn't seem to care, clinging on for dear life, fists anchoring in the back of Scott's t-shirt, trying to pull him even closer.

"Scotty?" Brandon's voice splintered into a harsh sob, shattering, burying his face in the crook of Scott's neck as he tried to gasp out words past wet, wheezing breaths. "You- You're h-here. You're-"

"I'm here," Scott promised, wrapping his arms tightly around the kid, tucking him under his chin to reaffirm that sense of safety. His Big Brother instincts were in freaking overdrive. "I'm here, bud."

Brandon's nails were digging through his t-shirt. Any signs of his so-called 'cool YouTuber' persona had vanished and in their place was just a scared kid who had been alone for too long.

Not just alone, Scott realised, but in complete darkness too, because the hivemind had been an empty void before he'd… well, he wasn't sure what he'd done. Brought the light? Created the light? That wasn't the point. God, the poor kid had been in what was essentially a sensory deprivation tank for months on end. Scott felt sick just thinking about it.

"It's okay," he whispered fiercely into Brandon's mop of hair. "I've got you."

Brandon's ragged gasps gave way to another series of sobs, each one more broken than the first. He made a frantic, keening sound as his legs gave out. Scott caught him before he could fall, sinking to sit down. In another life, Brandon would have rather stepped on Lego every day for a decade rather than be cradled practically in Scott's lap, but in this reality? He just curled closer. It was a goddamn miracle that he hadn't lost his mind in the dark.

"I've got you," Scott repeated, carding a hand through Brandon's hair as he cupped the back of the kid's neck. He swore his own heart shattered when Brandon shivered, flinching at each touch before melting against him. "You're not alone, bear."

"You've got to-" Brandon sucked in a damp breath. "You have to get me out- out of here- p-please, Scotty, get me out, please."

"We're working on it," Scott assured him, cupping Brandon's face to force the kid to look at him, to read the honesty in his eyes. "We're not far off a cure and then you'll be out of here for good."

"How far?" Brandon smeared the back of his hand across his eyes. "How far off?"

In all honesty? Scott didn't know. The true answer was they were nowhere near close enough but he sure as hell wasn't going to admit that to Brandon.

"Close," he said instead, wiping the tear tracks from Brandon's face. "You're going to be okay."

"O-okay. Okay." Brandon sniffed. "I- I didn't think- It… it got me, Scotty and it- It hurt so badly, so, so, bad and I thought I was dying, and no one was there, they l-left me and I couldn't- I was too scared to- And then- And then there was- Alan and… You saved me, you- T-thank you, thank you, sorry."

Scott had a high pain tolerance. That was indisputable fact. Yet when he'd been bitten, the pain had been so great that he'd mentally blocked it out. His subconscious had deleted the memory. He couldn't remember any part of it. But he could recall Virgil's admittance afterwards; whispered confessions that they'd used all the meds on him because he'd sounded like he was being tortured. And that was him, so he dreaded to think how Brandon must have coped. The kid had gone through the turn all alone, scared and in agony, dying, and-

Scott pulled him into another hug.

They stayed like that for a long time.

"Don't go." Brandon's voice was still raw from tears. "Please?"

"I'll be back," Scott promised, already running through ideas in his head. What if he could enter the hivemind in his sleep? Holy shit, could he be productive whilst asleep? That would finally give him a reason to fix his terrible sleeping schedule. Imagine if he could work in the hivemind…

"Don't leave me here," Brandon whispered. "I mean, I know you've gotta go now, but… Don't let me stay here forever?"

"Remember what my job is?"

"To rescue people?"

"Exactly. I'm going to get you out of here, I promise. It might take a little while, but it'll happen. And in the meantime, I can visit you. You're not going to be alone."

Brandon ducked his head. "Hey, uh, can you, like, tell Alan hi from me? And also tell him, you know… thanks. Oh, and tell him that the accents he puts on when he reads different characters kind of suck and I'd laugh at him if I could. But I do like the reading, so… yeah."

"I'll tell him." Scott softened his tone. "You gonna be okay?"

"Uh huh."

"You know… you could say the catchphrase."

"Wait, for real?"

"Only if you want to."

"Hell yeah, dude! Okay, okay, ask me again."

"Are you going to be alright?"

Brandon beamed at him. "FA-freaking-B."

Scott hauled himself out of the hivemind to discover that more time had passed than he'd realised. A lot more time. The sun had sunk so far below the horizon that only a thin line of amber remained and the cliffs were dressed in gold where lights from the villa spilled over them. His back ached from sitting in one position for so long and he'd lost all feeling in one of his feet which came back to life with a horrible rush of pins-and-needles.

The hivemind pressure at the back of his head was gone.

He palmed his neck curiously; reached for the knot of foreign feeling but found nothing. A smile slowly spread across his face, followed by a bubble of laughter. Relief made him giddy. God, Gordon was going to insufferable when he discovered his theory had been correct. Scott was just glad that he'd be around for the long run to see how that played out. The parasite no longer had control of the hivemind, he did and so it wasn't a concern. It was just a place for human connection now.

He was alive and he was going to live and-

Holy shit.

He was going to live.

But before he rushed for the villa, he had something else to do.

He turned to face Brandon, then, before he could second-guess himself, drew the kid into a hug. Unlike in the hivemind, he was icy to touch. He didn't lean into the contact. But when Scott finally withdrew, those cloudy eyes were tearful. He pressed a chaste kiss to the crown of Brandon's head.

"FAB," he said gently. "Hang on, kid. Just give us a little more time. We'll find a cure."