I've only just realised we hit 100k a couple of chapters back. Wow. Someone set off a firework somewhere for me, would you? Thanks to all of you for reading so far! We've got a long journey ahead haha.
Hmm. Beware - angst ahead. And a ton of dialogue. Have fun, my dudes.
Scott was no stranger to decontamination showers – which, when he thought about it too much, was slightly concerning: no wonder Virgil was so worried about the amount of radiation that he had been exposed to over the years – but this didn't mean that he liked them any better each time he was subjected to one. At least this time the experience wasn't the result of having spent too long in a highly radioactive area and spending the next forty-eight hours nursing a toilet – because radiation-induced nausea was just so much fun. In a way though, this time was worse, what with knowing all that he did about why going through this process was necessary.
Everything that they'd been wearing, had touched, had even been within twenty metres of, had to be destroyed – with the exception of Thunderbird Four which was immediately given a thorough clean right down to the wires. Not a single spot was left to chance. If there had been even the tiniest speck of the parasite hitching a ride on board, it was scrubbed away and left to perish in the sea of bleach that Virgil had spent five hours using.
By the time Scott was finally cleared to leave the designated decontamination zone – set in the depths of Mateo Island - he was about ready to hit his bed for the next few hours. The adrenaline crash had hit him hard, and the chemical sting of the shower had him blinking back tears and trying not to breathe through his nose.
Everything stunk of that metallic tang indicative of a decontamination process. He was relieved to change into his own clothes, the harsh smell replaced by soap powder and a familiar trace of aviation fuel that seemed to be ever-present in all of his hoodies no matter how many times they'd gone through the washer. Gordon was cleared a couple of minutes later and joined him in the elevator, back in that godforsaken Hawaiian shirt which somehow looked even worse when paired with sweatpants and flipflops. There was no sign of Kayo or Parker, so they took the elevator up two levels where the passage back to Tracy Island awaited them.
Gordon was silent. This rang alarm bells – hell, not just bells, but sirens – because Gordon hated silence with a passion. The only times that Scott had ever known his brother to be willingly quiet was when there was something very fundamentally wrong, or when he was asleep – although even then silence wasn't a guarantee because Scott could recall multiple instances when Gordon had slept-talked.
"Gordon," he began, unsure of how to continue but certain that the words would reveal themselves based off his brother's reactions.
"Don't." Gordon tipped his head back to fix his sights on the stony ceiling. Far above, beyond concrete layers, the sea lapped hungrily at the rocks and the remains of what had once been a GDF ship of the future slowly sank into the sediment. Gordon closed his eyes. "Just…" He lifted a hand, fingers trembling ever-so-slightly. "Don't," he repeated, voice drenched in exhaustion that went beyond mere tiredness and reached that drained, soul-deep level where there was nothing left to give.
Scott wasn't about to let this go. If you gave Gordon the chance, he would seize any opportunity for distraction and leave a conversation unspoken until everyone else had forgotten that there had ever been a need to talk about an issue in the first place. But this wasn't the right time. They were both too on edge. EOS had taken that airstrike remotely and had confirmed the ship's destruction but until either of them had eyes on the sea, Scott doubted they'd be able to rest easy. So he simply bumped his shoulder against Gordon's and let the silence settle once more. When he glanced sideways, Gordon's eyes were bright with tears.
Thunderbird Four's tank stood empty and forlorn. Her usual occupant was hidden in a Pod and a series of long hoses snaked across the hangar floor, disappearing through the open hatch, a pool of water slowly draining away down the grate. The stench of bleach was enough to make Scott's eyes sting, but he was too grateful that Virgil was doing a thorough job of decontaminating Four to make any complaints. He hung back after exiting the tunnel from Mateo, expecting Gordon to make a beeline for his Thunderbird.
Gordon didn't spare the Pod a second glance, not even calling out to let Virgil know that they were back. Scott slid through the closing elevator doors after his brother. Not a word was said as the elevator picked up speed and deposited them back on ground level in the villa. It was a strange role reversal when Scott was the one itching to break the silence and Gordon was willing to let it lie. He trailed his younger brother through the corridors and out onto the patio.
Gordon stood at the very edge of the tiles, shoulders rigid, gaze fixed on the frothing waves. No debris remained, but the eyes could play tricks, and even Scott imagined that he could see scraps of metal and hints of green where all that existed were rocks draped in seaweed. The air stunk of smoke and fuel and a strange, scorched smell that was akin to burning rubber. Scott dreaded to think of the impact on the ocean ecosystems. It was even more concerning that Gordon hadn't mentioned this either.
"It's gone," Scott said quietly, leaning against the frame of the diving board, unwilling to enter Gordon's space without permission. "EOS was right."
Gordon shivered. It took a moment for him to find his voice. "What if it's still alive? On a molecular level? It could be in the air. We could be breathing it in right now. We could be infected and not even know it yet."
"We saw it die," Scott reminded him gently. "Remember? It turned to dust."
"But what if-"
"Gordon."
Scott was partly tempted to let him keep talking in the hopes that it would finally lead into the conversation that was long overdue, but the greater part of him physically hurt to hear that level of pain and panic in his little brother's voice and it was that part which won out. He closed the distance between them. The world remained grey and lifeless from the sky to the ocean. It seemed fitting in a way, matching that wavering numbness that seemed to infiltrate every other word that Gordon spoke. Panic threaded through his voice. He wrapped his arms across his chest, curling his fingers around his biceps painfully tight, knuckles paling with tension.
"Gordon," Scott spoke again, trying to keep his voice level when the truth was that he was teetering on the verge of panic himself. Everything was collapsing. It was too fucking much to exist right now and yet somehow they were the only ones who could begin to fix any of it.
Gordon screwed his eyes shut. "I'm fine," he muttered. "This is fine. Everything is fine. We're not dying. This isn't… it's fine, it's fine, it's fine…"
His nails were digging into his skin. Scott reached out and gently prised Gordon's hands away, not entirely surprised when Gordon held onto him like a lifeline.
"Fine, huh?"
"Screw you," Gordon hissed, shaking his head as a damp chuckle escaped, faintly hysterical in nature and promising nothing good. "How are you… You're not okay."
"I know," Scott admitted, because for the first time in a long while it seemed that being honest about falling apart was the best way to offer reassurance. "Neither are you."
"I'm fine."
"Gords. Come on."
"No, no, 'cos you don't get it, Scott, you really don't fucking get it, right?" Gordon yanked one hand back to swipe at traitorous tears that were escaping. "I'm fine because I don't have any other options. I can't not be fine. If I'm… I can't fall apart."
"It would be okay if you did." Scott stepped a little closer. "We'd catch you. If you fall, we'll catch you. We're a team, no matter what."
"Really? You can't make that promise."
There was an undertone there that was far darker than the words could even begin to translate, and Scott wasn't sure how to proceed. It was like walking through a minefield.
"I can't stop thinking," Gordon ground out, each word layered with a new realm of dread. "But if I think, if I let myself not be fine, then… you can't fix that. And I know because you've thought the same thing. We all have. Apart from maybe Al. Fuck me, I really hope Alan hasn't thought it. But… because it's… reality, right? Reality is what wins, every goddam time, no matter how determined we are to fix things. Because what that thing did to those people on that ship… what it's capable of… and we don't know how many of them there are, how quickly they reproduce. What if there's thousands of them? And if we can't… Scott, it killed an entire room of highly capable military personnel and transformed the rest of the crew into its own personal cattle farm. If I think about it too much, about how it makes me feel, about any of what's happened, then I'm done. Because I don't think we can win this, and I don't… You know what I'm saying here."
His smile was brittle and damp and Scott wanted to beg him to stop, stop pretending, but wasn't that the brutal truth? Gordon was always pretending. Half the time Scott wasn't sure how much of the joker act was real and how much was Gordon compensating for feelings he couldn't begin to dwell on for fear of the spiral that may follow – and that had been before the apocalypse.
"We can't win this. If I think about it, if I let myself not be fine, then I don't see the point in fighting anymore. Okay? That's it. Is that what you wanted to hear? Because it's sure as hell not what I'm going to tell Virgil or even John or anyone else. But you get to hear it, Scott, because it's you."
Gordon gave another laugh that rang hollow.
"And it's funny, right?" he continued in a voice that suggested it was not funny in the slightest. "Because when you're little and the world seems too big and you're scared, you go to your parents to hear the comfort, to hear the lies, and even when you grow up, your parents still make you feel safe to a certain extent. But it's selfish sometimes, because when you ask them to lie to you again, to promise that everything will be okay, you know that hearing you're falling apart like that, that knowing you're that level of scared, will hurt them. And that's what I'm doing here, isn't it? Kids go to their parents for reassurance even if it will hurt their parents to give that because it's a lie. I go to you."
Scott bit back something twisted and painful. "I'm sorry I'm not Dad," he whispered instead.
Gordon stared at him for an instant, not even bothering to hold back tears anymore. "I know," he exclaimed, stumbling over a stifled sob. "I fucking know. But I never once went to Dad after we lost Mom. I only ever came to you, Scott, but you can't fix this and I'm mature enough to know that anything you say to comfort me will be a lie. So if I let go, if I fall apart right now, I don't think you can fix me, and if I break, you break, because you can't lose any of us without losing yourself too and if we lose you… We can't. Okay? That's just… Fuck. Look, what Dad was to you, you are to us."
Memories whispered at the back of his mind, overlapping with the present so that he was hearing John's voice – and screams, because please, please don't, please – remembering all the thousands of agonising seconds that had been lost to him until that instant of recollection earlier upon seeing that green parasite for the first time. Gordon wasn't the first person to have touched upon this subject, not really, but this time Scott wasn't about to lose him, wasn't about to have him dragged away and torn apart and have to live through the nightmare over and over every time he saw the scars.
The irony was that no matter how desperately Gordon claimed to be fine, to be holding himself together still, fixing the cracks as best he could, he was crumbling right in front of Scott.
Maybe it was the adrenaline crash.
Or maybe it was just everything.
Scott was moving to catch his brother before Gordon himself even realised that he was falling. He wasn't entirely steady on his feet either, but Gordon was on the verge of collapsing to the floor completely and Scott would rather face down Hell itself than let go.
"Hey," he found himself murmuring, tracing circles across his brother's back like he used to years ago, back when Gordon had been little and would still come running from nightmares. "Hey, Gordy, take a breath for me kiddo."
It was very easy to remember that Alan was still so very young, but sometimes Scott suspected they all forgot that there weren't quite as many years between Gordon and Alan as there seemed to be, what with all the horrors Gordon had gone through already.
"There you go. Now take another."
Gordon was clinging onto him so fiercely that Scott had to repress a wince as earlier's bruises across his back made themselves known. Not that it mattered, not right now.
"Gordon?" Scott lifted a hand to run his fingers through Gordon's hair where his brother was burying his face in Scott's shoulder. "Hey." Something painful constricted in his chest at the muffled sound of a sob. "I can't hear what you're saying." He couldn't tell whether Gordon was shivering or trembling, but neither was good.
"I'm sorry," Gordon choked out in a strangled wheeze. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, s-sorry." He flinched and Scott held him closer, shushing him, trying to find the right words but failing. "This wasn't- I wasn't supposed to… and now you're going to worry and then you won't tell me if you're hurting because you'll think you can't put that on me on top of everything else but then you won't talk to anyone else because John's… and Virgil can't handle this, not really, and… I don't want to die, not really, I swear it Scotty, I'm just… it's that feeling of hopelessness, that's what I want to stop, but that thing's not… it's more than us."
"We'll find a way."
"But you don't get it, you're not hearing what I'm saying. Everything has a price, Scott, everything, and I don't know… what if we're not willing to pay that price? We don't get to save the world for free and I'm not willing to sacrifice everything."
"That's not…"
"I refuse to lose you, alright? I refuse. All of you are too important."
"Okay," Scott agreed without hesitating.
Gordon shook his head vehemently. "But I don't think it's that easy. I don't think you can just say okay. Because you saw that thing today, you saw what it can do, and we both know that this doesn't end with a happy-ever-after, not for all of us. The world's too cruel for that. And… dammit Scott, I don't trust you, not with yourself. I trust you with my own life without a doubt, but when it comes to your own, I know that no matter what you say, no matter what we tell you, you'll always make the sacrifice play."
Scott didn't answer. Gordon was too perceptive for him to lie and admitting the truth was not an option, because Gordon was right.
"Now tell me what I do with that," Gordon asked quietly, tiredly, defeated. "What do I do, Scott? Because it's the truth. Before today, I still thought we could beat this. International Rescue, defeating the odds every time, right? But even if we can... There's no scenario in which we all come out of this, and you won't let any of us d-… If there's no scenario in which we all come out of this, that means there's no scenario in which you come out of this and I am fucking terrified every time you're out of my sight that you're going to do something dumb and self-sacrificial, especially given what I know now about your history. But then I turn around and we lost John. We got him back, but we lost him first, and that was John. He's the smart one with an actual sense of self-preservation. Do you get what I'm saying here?"
Scott exhaled slowly. "Well," he said at last, with forced cheer, "it's a good job that I don't believe in the no-win scenario."
There was a brief pause and then Gordon gave a damp laugh.
"Oh my god, you nerd," he choked out, sniffing and smiling all at once, elbowing Scott lightly. "Alright, Jim Kirk, fine, I'll take that for now."
"Uh huh," Scott agreed, looping an arm around Gordon's shoulders and tugging him against his side. "But Gordon… you know we need to continue this conversation, right? I can't just let this go. Not with some of the stuff you raised."
"Right back at you," Gordon pointed out. "Seriously. And I want John there too, so he can call you out on all your BS."
"Thanks," Scott deadpanned, too relieved to see his brother smiling to be insulted.
Gordon tensed. His tiny murmur of 'oh, fuck,' was so quiet that Scott barely caught it. He followed Gordon's line of sight to the sliding doors where a shadow was slipping away.
"He heard everything," Gordon muttered, sounding almost sick with dread. "Oh my god, he heard all of that."
"Wait, what? Who did?"
Scott knew the answer even as he voiced the question.
"Alan."
Alan was a master of hide-and-seek. Unlike the rest of the family, who'd moved out and lived elsewhere – be that via college or the military or space – he had spent his entire life on Tracy Island and when you grew up in a place it was simply a fact of nature that you knew all of the best hiding spots. Add in the part where Alan was sneaky as hell and had picked up several tricks on becoming one with the shadows from Kayo over the years, and there was basically no hope of tracking him down unless he chose to reveal himself. The point was that it was impossible to find Alan unless he wanted to be found and, unfortunately for Scott's anxiety levels, it was growing increasingly obvious that his youngest brother decidedly did not want to be found.
You fix one thing and everything else falls apart, the little voice in his head chose to remind him as he traipsed through the hangars for the fifth time, now immune to the stench of bleach that crept into every nook and crevice now that Virgil was finally done cleaning Four. He clenched his hands into fists. Because yeah, of fucking course everything else had to fall apart. Hell, had he even fixed anything in the first place? No. No he had not. Gordon had finally begun to talk but that wasn't a solution, it was simply a revelation, and Scott hadn't even done a particularly good job of comforting him. And then there was the matter of possible biochemical weapons gone out of control and destroying the world and oh god. He threw out a hand and felt the cold metal of One's hull under his palm, tracing familiar rivets and bolts as he forced himself to take a deep breath.
There was no sign of Alan in any of his usual spots and, according to the update Gordon had texted him, no one else had had any better luck. It was as though he had vanished into thin air. Scott tried not to think about what might be going through the kid's head and what reactions those thoughts may result in. There was a pit in his stomach as he gave in and retreated back upstairs to the living quarters.
Gordon had dragged Virgil into the hunt. Kayo was still gone. Parker had retreated to his room and had asked for some space which was understandable given everything they'd gone through on the ship, so no one was about to ask him to lend a hand. Grandma was busy searching on the other side of the villa but kept in contact via her watch. No one had found even a hint of Alan's whereabouts. Scott sort of wanted to scream.
Virgil seemed to sense this. That supposed psychic link of theirs still worked even when they were both about to lose their minds from stress it seemed. He caught Scott's shoulder, preventing him from following Gordon up the stairs to the Roundhouse rooms.
"Go and sit with John for a while."
Scott didn't shove him away, but only because this was Virgil. Anyone else may not have been so lucky.
"Alan's missing. You don't know what he overheard. Trust me when I say that we need to find him."
Virgil crossed his arms. "I know you and Gordon. I have a pretty good idea of what that conversation may have entailed, even if I don't know all the details of what's going on with you. So yes, I know we need to find Alan, and we will, but you're not going to help the situation when we do find him if you're five seconds away from spiralling."
"I'm not spiralling."
"Well either you're spiralling or you're going through some sort of withdrawal because medically speaking, humans are not supposed to shake like that."
"I'm not-" He was, in fact, shaking. Quite a lot, actually, like an earthquake in human form, which was decidedly not ideal. He shoved his hands into his pockets to hide them from view and tried to avoid Virgil's knowing look. "I am fine."
"Go sit with John." Virgil's stare shifted from concerned to a warning that disobeying would not be a good idea. Scott was not exactly known for having good ideas though, and so continued to argue anyway. "That's an order."
"You can't order me to do anything! You're not my boss!"
"Uh huh," Virgil agreed, with that smug superiority of someone who knew they were holding all the best cards and therefore had multiple winning moves up their sleeve. "But I am your Medical Officer and I think you'll find that technically gives me the final say."
"This is a family matter, not IR."
"Scott, c'mon. We both know that's basically the same thing at this point. It has been for years. Anyway, stop arguing and listen to my advice for once."
"Advice or an order?"
"I will push you down the stairs in a minute, so help me."
On any other day, Scott would have laughed. Even now, there was a part of him that was tempted to smile. Virgil's threats were just never that scary – it was like a puppy attempting to growl. But then the reality of everything came crashing back down – properly, truly crashing, like plummeting from the sky with the ground too close for comfort so that the overwhelming sense of panic took control in place of carefully honed instincts. Or a similar feeling that he couldn't quite describe. Either way, it wasn't ideal, and his first thought was embarrassingly closer to let's break into Dad's liquor cabinet than it was there's gotta be some way I can fix this.
Virgil dropped the teasing tone because he knew. He always knew. Or rather, given he hadn't yet been updated on the day's events, he at least got it.
"Do you know what happened in New Zealand?" Scott asked quietly, so that Gordon, still scouting higher up the stairs as though Alan had somehow blended with the wallpaper, couldn't hear. "In the supermarket, when… do you know what happened?"
Virgil didn't immediately react. "No," he admitted, brave enough to voice the next question without looking away. "Do you?"
"I didn't."
"But you do now."
"Yes."
For the first time in years, Scott couldn't read his brother, and it was a strange feeling, especially when he was aware that Virgil wasn't having a similar problem. It was unsettling to be an open book when the pages of everyone around you were closed.
"Can you handle it? Knowing what you now know?"
Scott tried not to shiver as his mind offered a helpful picture. "I think so."
Virgil searched for the lie and finally sighed, apparently satisfied that Scott was telling the truth for once, or at least what he believed to be the truth, even if it turned out to later be a lie. Coping was a strange thing in that regard – what could easily be repressed could later rear its head with a vengeance.
"Alan's the priority right now," Scott began, and Virgil cut him off, strangely sharp.
"Don't."
Silence was a threatening thing. Scott took a step back, turning slightly towards the door, sensing that it wouldn't be a smart move to cross Virgil right now, not for fear of any potential words of anger but for fear of causing further pain. Virgil didn't move to stop him.
"I'm sorry," Scott said at last, not entirely sure why or what he was apologising for.
Virgil shook his head. "No, you're not, because you don't know what you're apologising for."
Fricking mind reader, Scott thought fondly. "We'll talk later," he said instead. It sounded distinctly like a promise.
"Yeah," Virgil agreed with a faint smile. "You're damn right we will."
John always addressed a problem via one of two methods: by cutting to the heart of the matter or providing distraction until he had collected enough information to get around to the former. Scott wasn't sure how much his brother knew about the day's events – not because anyone had had the opportunity to catch him up on the facts, but because John was sneaky and had EOS in his corner and therefore only had to ask once to receive all the necessary details – but he wasn't in the mood for an interrogation. In all honesty, he wanted to sit in silence for at least an hour and simply breathe. There were too many thoughts flying too fast for him to consciously process them and the result was an overwhelming sense of urgency with nothing to focus on.
Well. He had been focussing on finding Alan, until Virgil had put a stop to that. Gee, thanks bro.
John had been moved back to his own bedroom, opting to keep the infirmary clear because 'everyone here is an idiot with a concerning lack of self-preservation – doubtless we'll need the infirmary for someone else soon', which was rude and offensive and completely true. Still, Scott was relieved to slip into a room of comforts and familiar sights rather than the harsh whites of a clinical lab - which was sad really, because once upon a time he'd associated Brains' lab with exciting new designs and possibilities and the occasional scent of baked goods whenever their friendly neighbourhood scientist felt like putting MAX through his paces. Now all he thought of was bleach and death. There was a part of him that feared forming the same associations with the Thunderbirds too, but that was a concern for his future self to work through.
As usual, John didn't bother with a greeting. He was propped up against the headrest by a mountain of pillows that had clearly originated from Alan's room based off the designs and explosions of colour, a series of holograms floating around his wrists and a suspiciously green gleam to his eyes when he glanced up.
Scott halted at the end of the bed, Big Brother instincts slipping into place in an instant. He crossed his arms and injected some stern judgment into his voice.
"Are you wearing your contacts?"
"I need to see, Scott."
"You have glasses. Brains expressly said not to wear those contacts yet."
"But…" John blinked. "Work?" He widened his eyes. "Scotty. C'mon."
"You can't use Alan's tactics."
"Can't I?" John lifted a stray hologram projector and a stack of files off the end of the bed so that Scott could sit down, offering a sheepish smile at the same time. "So… it's not working then?" He frowned, diagnosing something from Scott's pause that clearly rang alarm bells. "What happened?"
"Didn't EOS already catch you up to speed?"
John hesitated. "Yes," he admitted after a beat, "but that's not what I'm asking. I know what happened on the ship. What I want to know is why you can't look me in the eyes."
It wasn't a question, but a statement. That gave the possibility of an out, which was a rare thing for John to offer, suggesting that he already had his suspicions about the answer. Scott wasn't sure if that made this easier or even more difficult. He let the silence settle while he gave his mind a chance to catch up with the rest of his subconscious, sinking onto the end of the bed more heavily than he'd intended, which only served to add fuel to the fire that was John's deductions.
"You remembered."
"You broke the pact."
John looked faintly amused at that. "In my defence, I'm fairly sure I was about five when we made that pact. No dying. What kind of dumb rule is that? Everyone dies. Every living thing has its time. Or maybe we just make too many promises."
Scott reached for the sleeping hologram projector and turned it over and over, spinning it into a spiral of confused lights and emotive beeps that sounded distressingly fearful. Join the club, he thought vehemently, giving the device an additional flip to satisfy the vindictive child deep inside his soul. The world sucks, buddy, get used to it.
"I'm not talking about that," he ground out. Words were sticky. Troubling. It was like chewing on a toffee for the sweetness only to lose a baby tooth and be greeted with the taste of copper instead – learning that even nice things could be hiding a threat, just as easy words could be hiding a difficult truth that couldn't be voiced in one go.
He curled his hands into fists around the projector. Cold metal met his palms. John's gaze was burning his back. "I didn't mean… You know, for someone who was always so concerned about Dad's opinion when he was still around…"
"I cared about his opinion, it just wasn't the most important one to me." John gave a tiny shrug. "I'm just saying. Yes, I cared about what he thought. Yes, that influenced a lot of my past decisions. But if Dad had come to me telling me not to do something, I probably would have done it just to spite him. If you'd come to me telling me not to do something, I'd sit down and ask you why before making my decision. That's the difference. Now Gordon on the other hand… he's the one who truly never gave a shit what Dad thought about him."
Malfunction detected, the hologram projector announced in Scott's hands. "Another thing broken," he mused.
John's neutral expression wavered. For a second, he looked as though he could cry. When he reached out and took the projector from Scott, his touch was impossible gentle. "Not broken," he corrected softly, soothing red error lights into green as he adjusted the sensors and internal stabilisers. "Just needs someone to care long enough to help it." He gave the projector a fond pat and set it on the bedside table for EOS to hover above. "See?"
Scott stared at it for a long moment. "Why is nothing else that easy to fix?"
"Because humans are complicated. Emotions are messy. There's no set rulebook for trauma. I wish there was, because if that had been around then perhaps none of this would have happened, because Dad would have stuck with us after we lost Mom and then maybe you wouldn't have decided that it's your job to fucking sacrifice yourself for us."
The mattress was too soft. Pacing wasn't an option because all movement seemed too sharp and sudden and not quite his own. There was a disconcerting sense of disconnect between his mind and his body as though he wasn't entirely in control.
"Except I didn't sacrifice myself," he said quietly, with words that didn't feel like his own. "You did."
"I did," John agreed, "because I couldn't let you." He took a moment, selecting his words carefully, deliberately, whereas Scott would charge in without thinking. "Do you know what all of our pacts, all of our promises, equate to? Every single one of them? Don't die. Call me if gets bad. Come back if I ask. If x happens, we'll deal with it together. Every promise we ever made to each other means the same damn thing."
"Don't leave me," Scott whispered.
"Exactly."
John tried to catch his gaze with the alien green of those contact lenses, and Scott longed for the natural blue not because he had anything against the tech but because the blue was the real John and there had been too many barriers built over the years as it was.
"You need us," John continued, faintly. "But you've never understood just how much we need you."
"You died for me."
"I know."
"I couldn't… knowing it and remembering it, how it all played out… that's two very different things. You want honesty? I don't think I can cope with it. But I have to, because there's no other choice, and we both know I won't tell anyone else-"
"I'm sorry."
"…what?"
"I'm sorry," John repeated. "I'm sorry for putting you through that. Because that's… All that mattered was saving you. I didn't think about the consequences because I didn't think I'd be around to have to deal with them. It's funny, really, in a dark way – how being selfless is the most selfish move there is. So, I'm sorry, Scott, truly. But from now on… we're a team, right? Since the beginning. So, however you choose to deal with this, with any of it, know that you won't be doing it alone. No more self-sacrifice. That's the point of a team – we're stronger together. No more lone wolf acts. You're not alone. I'm sorry that you ever felt like you were."
You've got me, and I've got you.
"Scott and John against the world, right?" Scott tried to sound joking, but John caught the barely concealed seriousness without a second thought.
"Always."
"If you wake either of them, I will murder you with nothing more than this hologram projector and a pillow."
"You've gotta get more creative with your threats, Johnny, that was just weak."
Scott was drifting too close to consciousness to tune out the voices completely but was also content to remain in the warm daze of sleep for a little while longer. Nothing hurt and that was a rare phenomenon. He felt safe, for the first time in as long as he could remember. Someone was tracing something across his back that felt oddly like quadratic formula – which also revealed their identity because there was only one person nerdy enough to do that.
"What happened to no physical contact, ew humans?"
"I don't sound like that," John muttered, and the mattress dipped slightly as he moved to swat someone, presumably Gordon. "Besides, Scott's the exception. You know that."
"Alan too."
"Yeah," John agreed quietly. "Alan too. Good job there, by the way. How'd you find him?"
"Eh. Y'all forget I'm a big brother too." Gordon sounded teasing. "I have my ways."
"Should I be scared or impressed?"
"Both. Always both." Gordon sniggered. "Oh, there is such a great joke I could make right now…"
"Don't."
"But it's so good…"
"I already know what it is."
Gordon gave a dramatic sniff. "You're no fun."
He lowered his voice, softer, more vulnerable that he would usually be in the presence of anyone other than John – wow, those two had a weird friendship… either at each other's throats or reading one another without words.
"When we have that family meeting… if the topic even comes up… I think I'm gonna vote for Mars. Not because I don't want to save the world, but because… I think as a family, we've earnt the chance to be selfish. But also… we've been through so much shit, John, like seriously, there's gotta be a limit on the amount of trauma points we can rack up. I dunno. I just… I'm tired of watching Scott tear himself apart, and I refuse to watch Alan go down the same path and based off that conversation I just had with the kid, that's exactly what's going to happen if we're not careful. So. Mars."
"Mars."
"Mars." Gordon chuckled nervously. "Hey, what's all this science-y stuff anyway? Genetics, right? Gee, Jay, you've got more holograms in here than Brains has in his lab. What's it all for?" The mattress dipped as he shifted closer to the projector.
"Research," John deadpanned.
"Yeah, no shit Sherlock. But what research? That one's familiar… isn't it the data Scott brought back from Jerusalem?"
"Yep."
"…And?"
"I have a theory." John faltered. "Just a theory, so don't get too excited…"
"Tell me or I will tell Grandma you're going against medical advice and wearing those dumb alien contacts again."
"Tech-infused…"
"I know, I know. Just… the research. What's your theory?"
"Oh, right. I uh… I think I'm immune."
Been a while since I left y'all hanging like that, hasn't it?
Review?
Kat x
