Fun fact - this was one of my favourite chapters to write so far. Also, just a note: my notifications weren't working last week. I don't know if that was the same for anyone else, but in case you missed it Chapter 14 is up, so go read that before this one :)


Scott wasn't sure how long Gordon had been keeping vigil outside Alan's door, but it had to have been a long time in order for him to have fallen asleep. There was a dark blanket lined with gold thread tucked around his shoulders which was courtesy of Kayo and an empty mug of coffee that clearly hadn't done its job.

Scott hovered for a moment, considering his options. Part of him wanted to drag Gordon to the kitchen and demand that he eat something because if he really had been sitting here ever since John had woken then it would be getting on for over twenty-four hours and that wasn't healthy in any realm of the imagination. He knelt down and shook his brother's shoulders, trying to be gentle without being so soft as to not wake him at all.

"Hey," he whispered. "Gordon, c'mon."

Gordon batted his hand away like it was a particularly aggravating fly. "Wha'?"

"Rise and shine, little brother."

Gordon glowered at him, rubbing at his eyes. "What time is it? Man, I was having such a good dream as well." Recollection trickled back to him and he jolted upright. Scott nearly overbalanced as he scooted back to avoid being headbutted. "How's John?"

"Fever's broken," Scott reported, bringing up the stats on his watch for Gordon to examine. "The meds have kicked in and he's on the mend. The tricky part is gonna be keeping him in bed."

"Hypocrite," Gordon sing-songed, taking Scott's outstretched hand and hauling himself to his feet. "Huh." He examined Alan's door, face falling before he could plaster the mask back on. His shoulder slumped under Scott's hand. "Still no luck then. Damn." He stifled a yawn behind a corner of the blanket. "Um, do you want me to like… stay, or maybe you'll have more joy alone, or…?"

Scott gave him a light push along the corridor. "Get something to eat. Kayo's out on the patio if you want some company. I'll let you know if anything changes here."

Gordon nodded, struggling to repress another yawn. "Why's Kayo on the patio?"

Scott scooped up the mug before Gordon could trip over it and pressed it into his brother's hands.

"We have a situation," he said quietly, so that any listening ears on the other side of the door would be unlucky. "But it's not a problem."

"Yet," Gordon concluded. He pushed tangled hair out of his face with a weary sigh. "Alright, I'll ask Kayo for the details. Is Penny still with John?"

"I'm pretty sure she's sleeping, so don't disturb her."

Gordon rolled his eyes. "Dude, I'm not a complete dick." He tied the blanket around his neck like a cape and clasped the mug to his chest. "Right-o, I'm off then." He lowered his voice. "Seriously though, if you can get through to Al…"

"I'll text you."

Gordon nodded. "Thanks, Scott."

Scott waited until he heard the creak of the door at the far end of the corridor – how had they still not gotten around to fixing that yet? – before he stepped up to Alan's door. For a moment, he simply listened. There didn't appear to be any movement inside the room, so he knocked twice and waited. There was no reply, no sound of any stirrings at all. He knocked again and was met by a muffled thud.

"Gordon, I said go away."

"It's not Gordon."

There was a notable pause. Scott listened. There was a distinct lack of any sound. Either Alan was deliberately staying completely still, or he was on the other side of the door considering whether or not to open it. Scott wasn't sure which was the better option.

"Alan?" He let his forehead fall against the door with a dull smack, suddenly overwhelmingly exhausted by everything. "C'mon Al, just let me in. We need to talk."

Alan sounded defensive. "You can't get mad at me for wanting space."

"Who said anyone was mad at you?"

Another pause.

"My brain's dumb," Alan muttered at last. "You know this."

"I've seen your grade sheets, kiddo, so I know that's a lie."

"Fine, then my anxiety is dumb."

Scott resisted the urge to sigh. Alan had hearing like a bat.

"Look, can you please just let me in? We don't even have to talk if you really don't want to, but I'd like to see for myself that you're alright."

Alan hesitated. "Okay," he said eventually. "You can come in, but only you, so if Gordy's still lurking out there you can tell him I really don't feel like having company at the moment."

"Just me," Scott assured him. "I promise."

The lock clicked.

Footsteps faded on the other side, followed by the squeak of a mattress as it took the full force of an emotional teenager bellyflopping onto it. A muffled voice called something that was lost in the space between the bed and the door, but Scott translated it as something akin to come in. He pressed a hand to the door and gingerly pushed it open.

Yep. His suspicions had been correct – utter carnage. It was like a tornado had stopped by for a visit and no one had even attempted to fix anything afterwards. Ironically enough, this was one of the rare times when he'd seen Alan actually sleep in his bed like a normal human. It had only taken the end of the world and a near family tragedy.

Scott eased the door shut with his heel. "Alan?" he prompted.

The lump under the duvet made a suspicious growling noise. A hand appeared for a brief moment to drag a pillow into the cave. Scott waited until it became clear that he wasn't about to receive a reply any time soon. He tried to avoid stepping on anything as he picked a path through the debris to the bed, but glass crunched under his heels despite his best efforts. He made a mental note not to mention the broken mirror shards to their resident superstitious aquanaut – they had enough bad luck to contend with as it was without adding another supposed seven years to it.

"Al? Can I sit?"

Alan didn't answer but the bundle of duvet and pillows shifted a little higher up the mattress to provide sufficient room for Scott to sit down. There was a short rustle and then a foot stuck out from the blanket heap and bumped his knee, as if seeking reassurance that this wasn't merely a dream. Scott patted Alan's ankle, slightly amused when the other foot appeared and both legs were planted firmly in his lap. One fluffy sock was hanging off by its eyebrows. Scott plucked it free and tried not to laugh at the protesting whine that followed.

"Are you gonna come out?" he asked gently, tugging at a corner of the duvet just enough to spy a tuft of blond hair.

Alan yanked the duvet back and rolled over to pin the corner under his middle where it couldn't be reached, once again safely hidden within the darkness of his blanket burrito.

"I'll take that as a no," Scott mused. He leant back on his hands and examined the glow stars peeling from the ceiling as slowly as shifting tectonic plates – little by little with every year that passed. He could still recall the day that John and Alan had arranged them up there. Sometimes the past didn't seem so very long ago. "Is talking on the cards?"

Alan cleared his throat. "Sorta." It came out as more of a croak, his voice layered with the gravel of tears that had been shed over a long period – that rough, raw voice. "Dunno. I… uh… depends."

"Okay."

Scott tapped a steady rhythm against Alan's ankles. If that particular rhythm happened to be the same beats that Virgil used for breathing patterns then hey, that was totally unintentional and not at all to do with the fact that Alan's anxiety seemed to be through the goddam roof right now.

"Do you want me to ask questions and you'll answer, or you can ask and I'll answer? Alternatively, we can wait a little longer until you feel more comfortable talking. We can sit here as long as you need."

The duvet creased where Alan tightened his fists in it.

"Uh… question for a question? Maybe. I'm just… we may uh…"

"If you need to stop, just tap. Or… well, no, don't kick me. But you know what I mean."

Alan narrowly avoided kicking him in the stomach in a terrible attempt at demonstration. Scott batted the stray foot away.

"What did I just say about kicking me?"

There was a muffled snort from under the duvet, but it was the last glimpse of humour that Alan would offer and it was quickly replaced by a silence so sudden and all-consuming that the temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees.

Once upon a time, Alan was predictable. Scott could have anticipated his reactions and formed appropriate questions and responses in order to create comfort and understanding, and maybe even take the first steps towards solving the issue. Nowadays, Alan was not so predictable. The irony was that John, who had once been the most unpredictable of all Scott's brothers, was now the opposite. There was a role reversal there that was surprisingly unsettling. The world was upside down – they could do without the family dynamics being thrown on their heads too.

But part of life was accepting and overcoming changes, so Scott had to accept that he had absolutely zero control or knowledge of how this discussion was going to play out. On the plus side, he did still know Alan better than the back of his hand, and his brother had some serious tells. Even if the kid hadn't been tenser than a taut string, the way he was flipping between tapping and twisting the rope bracelet around his wrist or not moving at all was proof that he was struggling to pick any single thought to focus on and so was deliberating whether or not to simply bolt – by far the easiest option. Which – no, not allowed. Scott had experience with tracking down siblings after they'd run from unwanted conversations, but these were different times. Thankfully, Alan seemed to have reached the same conclusion: running was not the solution here.

The duvet slowly slithered into a neat coil. Alan emerged cautiously, keeping a tight grip on the corner of the spare fluffy blanket that remained curled around his shoulders, as if mimicking the safety offered by a superhero's cape. The only light came from the thin beam leaking under the door from the corridor, and from the only surviving lamp that was perched out of reach on one of the mounted bookshelves on the wall, but he still blinked slowly to adjust his vision, which suggested he'd been hiding under his fort of various fabrics for quite some time. The sweat patches on that stained t-shirt also confirmed this theory. A shower was definitely in order, only… not just yet. It paid to be patient, and this was another example. Push too far too soon and Scott would find himself at just as much of a loss as Gordon. This was a delicate process and he had to bide his time about it.

Alan gingerly shuffled closer until their shoulders touched. He drew his legs into a criss-cross and hunched over them to rest his elbows on his knees, gaze fixed on the glittering glass shards that littered the carpet like cruel confetti. Tiny rainbows sprung across the ceiling. It was strange how such beauty could be found amid destruction.

Scott held himself perfectly still. For the past couple of days, Alan had held no semblance of control. This spiral was proof of how well that had gone. It was time for Alan to call the shots – not in general, just in this conversation mind you.

Seriously though. That shower was urgent. Yeesh.

Alan either rambled his way around a subject without ever speaking the heart of a matter or cut straight to the point and there was never any in between. Scott couldn't predict which way the kid would slide this time. For now, he busied himself with folding one of the discarded blankets at the foot of the bed while Alan picked at the hem of his t-shirt and tried to keep his emotions off his face, as if his bloodshot eyes weren't already a betraying element.

The door wasn't fully shut, which prevented the sound-proofing seal from locking into place. Consequently sounds of life could be heard, echoed about the villa through long corridors and ventilation systems. It was the first time in a while that the place had felt like their home again.

Alan tilted his head ever-so-slightly, listening. Scott draped the folded blanket over the end of the bed and started on the next one, uncovering a collection of abandoned wrappers as he did so. He was too relieved to discover that Alan had actually been eating to care about the hygiene issues.

Music was playing. Soft, nostalgic, a piano melody coaxed from ivory keys that had the faint tinny undertone of a pre-recorded show, clearly Penelope's song choice, carried along from her balcony as she tried to relax in the remnants of the dusk sun. The breeze caught a distant laugh from the patio. Waves splashed against the beach far below as the sea approached high tide. The scent of something rich in flavour cooking in the oven – so that was where MAX had ended up – tied it all together. Scott watched a little of the tension melt away from Alan's shoulders and silently thanked the universe for making this just a tad easier.

"I thought you were dead."

Okay. Scratch that – decidedly not easy. Scott let the final blanket fall back to the floor without a sound and sat on his hands to keep himself from reaching out, because yes Alan sometimes cut to the chase but this was different, because this just point blank didn't sound like him at all. Robotic. Detached. Similar to John's tone when a rescue went south too quickly for them to recover from it. Just wrong, made all the worse by the fact that Scott didn't know how to fix it.

"I thought you were dead," Alan repeated, quieter this time, but still too emotionless for it to be normal or even healthy. He dug his nail underneath the seam of the duvet and tore a thread loose. Another thing broken. They were all splintering. You fixed one thing, and another fell to pieces. It was becoming quite the theme.

Scott deliberated whether or not to reply to that comment. It seemed better to let Alan continue talking uninterrupted – get everything out in the open and go from there. It was easier to rebuild from ashes than to continue adding onto shaken foundations.

"It's kinda like Schrodinger's cat," Alan continued, a little dazedly, but his eyes were laser-focussed on those glass shards and his hands had stilled on his knees.

Scott's immediate thought was oh fuck. Because really, this was difficult enough without fricking dead/alive cats in boxes and weird metaphorical analogies that were decidedly more Virgil's forte than his own.

"Because both statements are simultaneously true, right? The cat is both alive and dead. And if you open the box and find it's alive, that doesn't take away from before when the statement that it was dead was also correct."

Alan, what the ever-loving fuck are you on about? Scott thought. "Right," he said instead.

"So… even though I later learnt that you guys are alive, there was that period of time when I thought you were both… gone. And while now I know that wasn't true, it doesn't change the fact that there was a time when it was true, for me. Does that make sense?"

"Sure," Scott replied, trying not to sound so obviously like he was lying. Look, he understood the basic gist of what the kid was on about. It had been a long day. He was trying here, alright?

Alan yanked angrily at the thread. "Okay. Here's it simply: for a couple of hours, in my world, I lost you and John. And then I got you back. But having you back doesn't mean I didn't lose you both for those couple of hours, and it's those couple of hours that I can't get over. I don't think I can explain that any fucking clearer, so that's the best you're gonna get."

AKA: deal with it, Scott, goddam.

Alan wasn't quite done yet. Scott almost wished he would be because that edge in his brother's voice didn't belong there. Alan being upset was one thing – a thing that sucked hella badly and made Scott want to either protect him or destroy whatever had caused that upset in the first place or both (probably both) – but this was something else because this wasn't just grief or fear but that sharp, grating line between the two that cut deep and left scars on the soul that could only be seen in your reflection in a glass of something alcoholic and dangerous.

Trauma. It was trauma. That was the brutal truth of it.

They all had trauma. Ironically enough, Scott and Gordon had more trauma from before International Rescue was founded than afterwards (although Gordon was toeing the line nowadays thanks to the Hood), but the point was that no one had escaped every rescue unscathed and without nightmares. Disasters brought out the best and the worst in people and International Rescue saw all of it. But the difference was that they'd all signed up for that… to a certain extent. Alan had never really had that choice because he hadn't known any different. So there was trauma from that but there was also trauma from this and this was so much worse because this was…

This was losing parental figures. Again.

'Do you know what losing you would do to Alan?' John had said weeks ago now, and Scott hadn't paid the question much mind because deep down he'd already known the answer.

"Losing one of you on a rescue," Alan said quietly, not upset but not entirely emotionless now either, "has always been a possibility. Except that it hasn't been, not for me, because you always come back. Every time. We always find a way. So after a while it didn't seem like a real fear anymore, so yeah, I worried about you getting hurt, but I didn't believe I'd lose you completely.

And I think maybe I felt the same way about this. But I was wrong. Because this isn't a rescue. It's not a videogame where I can afford to lose lives and just hit restart. It's our lives and it's the fucking apocalypse and I lost you. And that's never happened to me before. Not like that. You know why? Because if I'm completely honest, I don't remember Dad anymore, not like the rest of you do. So I remember being upset and confused but it was nothing like this."

"Alan," Scott began, except he had no idea what to say. This wasn't something he could talk through and rationalise. You couldn't rationalise death or loss or grief. It just was.

Alan finally shoved the duvet away completely. The blanket around his shoulders fluttered down to join it and the rainbows across the ceiling were extinguished. The beauty was gone and all that remained was the wreckage.

"I think we should go to Mars."

Scott took a moment to recover his voice and keep his words level. "Is that what you want?"

Alan faltered. "M-maybe? I don't…" His shoulders hunched. "I don't know. I know what I said before. But that was… I hadn't… I just can't. Before I could believe in the lie but now I know it's a lie and I don't want to do any of this anymore. I don't know what I want. That's the truth. I don't know and I don't want to know because I know what's right and what an International Rescue operative should want, but I can't be that anymore."

He curled onto his side, the movement so sudden yet so small that it was barely perceptible amid the stillness of the room. He wrapped his arms around his middle and clung on as though holding together something broken and hurt and it was painful just to watch.

"I know what the right thing to do is," he whispered, voice cracking. "But I don't want to choose the world. I want to choose you. I care more about keeping our family safe than saving the world and I'm scared that that makes me a bad person. I'm even more scared that I don't really care if it does."

"Alan, I can safely say with absolute confidence that you have never been and never will be anything less than a hero. You're not a bad person. Wanting to keep the people you love safe isn't selfish."

Alan let out a damp chuckle, a sharp, brittle thing. "Isn't it?"

"It's not selfish," Scott repeated, leaning across to gently prise Alan's nails away from his palms before he could do any damage. "It's not selfish, it's human, and no one can fault you for that."

Alan hid his face behind shaky hands. "We're the only people who might be able to save the world. You can't tell me that giving up that chance isn't the most selfish thing ever. And it's not even down to me. It would have to be a unanimous decision. Besides, I don't even know if that's what I want." He bit his lip where it was sore from previous anxious picking. "I don't know very much at all right now. I don't know what I want, what I feel, any of it."

"You don't have to know."

"Except I do."

"At some point maybe," Scott acknowledged. "But not yet, and certainly not right now."

Alan lowered his hands. For a moment he just stared, unblinking, eyes wide and wet and bloodshot. His lip was bleeding again. He was hurt in one of the only ways Scott couldn't fix because there was no cure for emotions. Scott laid a hand on his shoulder and felt Alan shiver slightly under the touch.

"I'm just really tired," Alan signed eventually. He sniffed. "And I don't know where to begin with any of it. Fixing everything seems impossible."

"You don't need to fix everything," Scott told him gently. "That's not your job. I know you don't like hearing it and in many ways you've had to grow up too quickly, but you're still a kid. Leave the world to us. You don't have to do anything other than look after yourself."

"I'm not sure I even know how to do that properly."

"Then could I help?"

Alan shuffled upright and gave a tiny nod.

There was a lot more to talk about, but it was too much for a single conversation. Alan put his head on Scott's shoulder. Scott wrapped an arm around him and tried his best to untangle some of the knots in Alan's hair.

"Are you up to moving?" he asked quietly.

Alan offered a thumbs-up.

"Okay. I want you to take a shower and then we'll have something to eat."

"Scotty, wait," Alan seized Scott's wrist before he could stand up. "Um, can we uh… Can we go see John first?"

Scott resisted the urge to wrap his brother up in a bear hug. Or a normal hug – bear hugs were Virgil's thing.

"Yeah, Allie," he agreed with a soft smile. "We can go see John."


Alan seemed torn between wanting to run and dragging his heels. The result was a strange faltering speed-walk accompanied by nervous bouncing and surreptitious glances over shoulders – Scott wasn't entirely sure of the reasons why, but it was obvious that Alan was reluctant to run into anyone else. That was another discussion in the making. For now Scott just kept pace with his brother and tried to let the silence exist peacefully without fretting aloud.

They took the route to the lab via the hangars. The lift was faster than an ordinary elevator but far slower than their usual launches and the glass panel at the very front gave them a clear view of the Thunderbirds, waiting faithfully on their pads. Alan dropped onto the floor and pressed his hands to the glass, watching, unblinking. His sight wasn't set on Three for once, but rather on Two, flickering to One for a brief moment before returning to that familiar green bulk.

"They still represent hope," he said eventually, tapping against the glass absently as the elevator dipped below the height of Three's cockpit and left them parallel with Two's windows instead. "I know you feel differently about them now, but I don't think I do. They still got us home safe. They saved us from the disaster zone. They're still the dream."

Technically, Scott thought privately, Thunderbird Two had had nothing to do with their return home in (sort of) one piece. That had been entirely EOS's remote piloting and Virgil's initial reactions out in New Zealand, alongside Kayo's air support. But, examining the lights gleaming across Two's hull and the friendly green of her paintwork, he couldn't deny the wave of fondness that welled up. Alan was right in that regard – International Rescue had been the dream and remained so.

The elevator docked without a jolt. Doors hissed apart. Alan was on his feet – no shoes, just a worn pair of Batman socks – and down the corridor in an instant, nearly skidding as he slowed to a halt by the entrance to the lab. Scott caught him before he could go head over heels. Alan didn't seem to notice. He appeared to be waiting for something… not quite permission as such, just something.

"He should be upstairs, in the infirmary. He's not at risk of turning anymore, so why is he still banished to the lab?"

"We had all the equipment down here, it was best not to move him until we knew we were all in the clear." Scott squeezed Alan's shoulder before his brother could protest. "I know, I know, that's all over now. You're right – we should move him. Why don't you ask him about it? If he'd rather use his own room I can ask Virgil about getting the medical tech moved up there by tomorrow."

Alan looked at the green light on the door lock without really seeing it. "Yeah," he agreed absently, psyching himself up to enter, "sounds good."

Scott reached past him and gently pushed the door open. "Do you want me to come with you, or would you like me to stay out here?"

"Gimme ten minutes then come in?"

"Sure." Scott made a show of tapping his watch. "Your time starts… now."

Alan rolled his eyes with a faint smile. The door slid shut behind him.

Scott started out leaning on the wall and gave up almost immediately, ending up sat on the floor instead, scuffing his shoes against the skirting board opposite. A lone camera blinked at him. He raised a hand.

"Hi EOS."

The camera blinked at him once again in acknowledgment. Evidently EOS had been asked to give the pair some privacy too. Scott wasn't about to complain – he could do with the company. Even silent companionship was better than the cold depths of an empty corridor that still stunk of bleach.

He updated Gordon like he'd promised and switched over to Virgil's contact, because his brother may have changed in many ways since this disaster had started but his night-owl tendencies would survive the end of the world and would probably outlast the universe itself. The point was that someone needed to get Alan's room in order and Scott was reluctant to leave after agreeing to stay and it wasn't a job that could be completed in a mere ten minutes. Virgil was the best option, because the only other possibility was Kayo – who remained on security detail – or Grandma, who was supposed to be asleep.

Unsurprisingly, Virgil didn't bother with texting, but rang him instead, his hologram appearing above Scott's watch within seconds. Scott balanced his hands on his knees and tipped his head back against the wall. He was still feeling the effects of sleeping bent over a bed or awkwardly crumpled in a chair and his spine wasn't about to let him forget it any time soon.

"He trashed his room completely?"

"Hi Virg," Scott deadpanned. "How are you this evening? Did you sleep well? Eat something?"

"There is glass everywhere," Virgil continued as if Scott hadn't spoken. "Are you sure he hasn't stepped on any? You know what, screw it, I'm just gonna clear everything out. I don't think there's anything really salvageable in here other than the mattress and the lamp and that photo. Oh, and the guitar. Man, I could do with a hand. Are you sure you can't come up here?"

"Sorry."

Virgil shrugged, aiming for nonchalance and falling very far short. There was no hiding the concern on his face. Then again, he always had been an open book. There was a reason he never played poker.

"It's fine. I'll find Gordon. He was in the kitchen only about five minutes ago anyway, so he can't have gone far."

"Is Gordon the right choice?" Scott asked before he could stop himself.

Virgil knew him too well to mistake the words for a lack of faith in their brother's abilities. He halted in gathering the biggest glass shards into a pile and just waited, a little apprehensive. "…Why?"

"Just… he's dealing with a lot."

"We're all dealing with a lot."

"Well, has he spoken to you about any of it?"

Virgil hesitated. "No," he admitted at last. "You?"

"Not really. That's what concerns me – he's managed to get most of us to open up to him, but he's not returned the favour at all."

"I'll check with Kayo, but as far as I'm aware he hasn't spoken to her either."

"Penelope maybe?"

"Maybe not. You know what he's like, trying to impress."

"That was before the world ended, Virg, I don't think romance is at the top of anyone's priorities anymore."

Virgil glared at him. "I know that. I'm just… you know. Ironically enough, the person he used to confide in the most was John, but Johnny's not exactly an option at the moment, so you're probably right about him bottling everything up."

Scott watched EOS's lights dim on the camera as she pretended not to be listening.

"Do you think we should speak to him about it?" he asked.

Virgil shook his head. "Not a smart plan. You know he'll find a way to turn the questions back on you. He's a sneaky bastard when he wants to be. No, I say we let him come to us or to John."

"Or Grandma."

"Another possibility, yeah." Virgil examined something off-camera and winced. "Actually, speaking of Grandma, d'you reckon she'd be a good choice for helping with this?"

Scott watched the time ticking down to the final couple of minutes. "Sure," he agreed, somewhat distractedly. "She'll probably be more offended if you don't ask her for a hand, but if not I'll come up and help you in about an hour."

"Okay. Thanks."

Scott hauled himself to his feet, secretly longing for another nap. Dear god, he missed sleeping on a proper mattress. "Have you eaten yet?"

"Nope. MAX was cooking something up in the kitchen though."

"Alan and I will meet you up there then. I don't think he's eaten anything other than granola bars since we got back."

Virgil grimaced. "Yeah, we're definitely meeting in the kitchen then. Thank god we got some supplies, even if it won't tide us over as long as we planned." There was a rustle as he untangled a bedsheet destined for the wash. "Talk to you later."


Whatever had been said within those ten minutes had left Alan overly emotional on top of sheer exhaustion and hunger and it wasn't a good combination. He'd squeezed himself onto the edge of the mattress at John's side and sat there steadily deconstructing a tissue into tiny scraps. John looked suspiciously as though he'd been crying too but was certainly more put together. He prodded Alan's shoulder teasingly as Scott entered.

"Go on, I'll still be here later. You really need a shower, kiddo."

"Don't call me kiddo," Alan muttered without any heat to his voice. "Johnny."

John made a jab for the ticklish spot on Alan's ribs and laughed aloud when Alan practically launched himself across the room to get away. Scott held the door open and turned back to John after Alan had fled through it.

"You alright?"

"Better than before." John smoothed out the blanket where Alan had been sitting. "He's struggling, Scott."

Scott glanced over his shoulder. Alan was out of earshot, in the main lab, examining one of the abandoned holograms for a new Pod layout in the corner, spinning lazily above a projector that had seen better days.

"I know. We need to figure out some sort of routine. That'll help. But it's not something we can fix in a single conversation and nothing's about to get better any time soon, so…" Scott let the door swing further shut and lowered his voice. "How did it go?"

John visibly winced. "Not great."

"Did he go on about Schrodinger's cat again?"

"Schrodinger's… what are you on about?"

Scott tried not to laugh at John's baffled expression. "That's a no then."

"I'm not going to go into details. Just take it from me, he's not doing well, and you need to keep a close eye on him. We need to sit down with Grandma and Virgil too, so we're all in the picture. I'm concerned about Gordon too, actually, but I haven't had the chance to really talk with him like I have with Alan, so I'm not as clued in on his current mental state."

"No one is," Scott admitted, somewhat reluctantly, feeling distinctly as though he'd failed at holding things together. "Gordon's doing a great job of turning all conversations around so that he ends up asking us how we're coping instead of us asking him. It's a problem."

"I might have better luck."

"You usually do." Scott reached for the door again. "Alright, I'm gonna take Alan upstairs. Are you going to be alright alone for a bit?"

John gestured to the hologram projector by his bed. "I have EOS for company. Although if you fancy bringing down a book or two on your next visit, it would be very much appreciated."

"You got it."

"Scott?"

"Yes?"

"I'm serious about Alan. Keep an eye on him."


MAX's cooking was a credit to both Brains' programming and the wonderful variety of recipes available on the internet. Even with the lack of ingredients at his disposal and still confined by rations – albeit slightly improved rations – MAX had managed to create an appetising meal. He'd even kept the kitchen in working order with relatively no clean-up required, although Virgil had taken it upon himself to attack the countertops with spray and a vividly yellow cloth. Scott wasn't surprised – Virgil had a thing about cleaning. A mission gone wrong? Thunderbird Two suddenly became housework central. Just a bad day in general? Hello to a mop and bucket. The cleaning bots around the villa were a waste of money when you had Virgil and Grandma on hand.

Scott knocked on the marble top of the kitchen island to announce their presence. Virgil tossed the cloth back into the sink and dried his hands in the hem of his sweater before making a beeline for Alan.

"Hey, Al."

Alan ducked his head, examining the floor in far greater detail than it warranted. His voice was very small when he spoke.

"Hey."

Virgil tugged him into a bear hug. Scott slid onto one of the bar stools and met his brother's concerned gaze over the top of Alan's head. Virgil seemed to consider asking something but clearly thought better of it, instead tousling Alan's hair and giving him a gentle shove towards the sofa.

"No table tonight?" Scott queried, moving to join Virgil where his brother had taken over from MAX in dishing food onto plates.

Virgil shot him a deadpan stare. "No."

Scott side-stepped to let MAX access the cutlery drawer.

"At least he's out of his room now," he whispered, trying not to make it too obvious that they were discussing Alan in front of him. Not that Alan seemed to notice – he was curled into a corner of the sofa fiddling with a spare stress ball that he'd found.

"It's an improvement," Virgil admitted, equally as hushed. He patted MAX's head and retrieved another fork from the robot's claw. "But it's not… It's the bare minimum."

"Sometimes the bare minimum is all we can ask for," Scott reminded him. "I get it, Virg. I'm worried too. So's John. But Alan's had a rough few days and frankly having him talking and agreeing to eat and take a shower… I'll take that. For now, it's enough. We'll reassess tomorrow when we've all slept."

Virgil slid him a plate. "I'm not quite done with Alan's room yet. Grandma and I got most of it cleared up, but it was too much for a single session, so he can use John's room tonight or stay with one of us, whichever he prefers."

Scott let MAX carry the third plate across the sofa. "We'll give him the option after he's eaten."

"After a shower too," Virgil added, looking a mixture of concerned and disgusted. "He's as bad as Gordon after that Mariana mission."

Scott pretended to elbow him. "Don't remind me."

Alan had taken his plate from MAX and was already tearing through the food. MAX remained by his side, looking as satisfied as it was possible for a robot to be. Alan propped his feet up on MAX's back and earnt a pleased trill as a result. He patted MAX's head with a spare hand, trying not to get grease over the camera lenses. MAX warbled.

Scott didn't try to fight his undeniably fond smile, sinking onto the sofa opposite. Alan didn't take his gaze off MAX but relaxed slightly as Virgil took up the spare space next to him.

"Thanks MAX," Virgil acknowledged with a twirl of his fork. "This is great."

Scott stabbed his own food with a stifled laugh. Alan looked equally as amused, which made a fantastic change from the wet puppy expression he'd been sporting. There was a slight squeak as the sliding doors parted and Gordon stumbled in, nearly tripping over his own feet.

"Go to bed, Gords," Virgil called over.

Gordon blinked blearily. The words took a minute to process and by the time they did he couldn't be bothered to think of a response. He flopped over the back of the sofa and landed heavily face-down on the cushions, depositing his feet in Scott's lap without asking permission.

Scott prodded his brother's ankles. "You'd better not fall asleep there."

"But you're comfy," Gordon whined.

Alan sniggered.

Scott couldn't muster the energy to be truly annoyed. "If you're going to stay here, at least lie flat. Your back won't thank you in the morning at this rate."

Gordon shuffled further down the sofa until he was comfortable. He didn't lift his feet from Scott's lap, just shot him a challenging stare. Scott simply returned to his food. Hey, if Gordon was actually getting some rest, that was a win in Scott's book.

Alan let MAX take his empty plate and tipped to the side to rest his head on Virgil's shoulder, yawning widely. "Thanks, MAX," he mumbled sleepily.

Virgil put an arm around Alan's shoulders. "What happened to taking a shower before bed?"

"Too much effort," Alan complained.

Gordon opened one eye. "Dude. I can smell you from here. Take a shower."

Alan raised his middle finger. Virgil smacked it back down.

"None of that thank you very much."

Gordon cackled. Alan hissed at him. Virgil rolled his eyes. Scott heaved himself off the sofa with some reluctance to restore order. Gordon made grabby hands with a protesting whine.

"But you made such a good footrest."

"Go to bed, Gordon," Scott sighed. He offered Alan a hand. "C'mon you, there's a shower with your name on it."

"But I'm comfortable."

Virgil gently shoved Alan away. "If you go now, I'll make hot chocolate."

Gordon perked up. "Can I have some too?"

"Only if you promise to sleep in a proper bed tonight."

Gordon attempted to give a Scout's salute and failed miserably. "FAB."


Ah, the angst...

Review?

Kat x