Fun fact: I don't remember writing this chapter. I got around to proof-reading it and was like? huh? I think I wrote it around the time I was recovering from tonsillitis after Christmas when I was on about five different meds and probably shouldn't have been writing at all in hindsight but hey, I think this turned out okay-ish? Anyway. Lots of angst. Much dialogue. Yay.
It was smooth flying northwards for a further six minutes. Skies were rocky at first with violent crosswinds and the fraying edges of a radiation storm which drove the nav system wild. Scott and John returned to the cockpit just as Virgil had set course for the fleeing survival group.
Alan relinquished the co-pilot's seat after one stern look from Scott. John ignored his own chair in favour of examining the plotted flightpath.
Virgil sensed his disapproval. "What?"
"I don't think it's a sensible idea to land so close to the survivors."
There was a slight pause. Scott couldn't muster the energy to start analysing whatever-the-hell John was planning now. He sank into his seat and spared a second to check whether Alan was okay – it had been a pretty rough take-off.
"Why?" Virgil asked eventually, as if he already knew that he wouldn't like the answer.
John pointed to the set landing zone, directly beside the current campsite. "What's our game-plan here? Are we searching for answers, asking about Gordon, or are we rescuing people?" He cut Virgil off before he could interject. "No, don't even start. We've got nowhere to take them. Bunkers would turn them away and we can hardly take them to the satellite."
Alan tucked his chin over the back of Scott's chair. "Why not? They have the farm. Water is recycled. There's plenty of room."
John looked vaguely uncomfortable. Virgil busied himself with the controls, which was entirely unnecessary as they were at cruising altitude on a set speed for the next two minutes without change. Scott didn't need to be a psychologist to read something into their reactions – Virgil had kept the details surrounding Penelope and Parker's return from the satellite deliberately vague, but now Scott was starting to suspect that there was more to the story.
"It's not feasible," John concluded, as if Alan hadn't spoken. "And if we land that close, they'll storm us. We can hardly drop in and jet off again."
"You don't know they'll storm Two," Virgil protested, probably one of the few remaining people on the planet – or off it, for that matter – to still have faith in humanity. "What if there are kids? We can't just walk away."
John tossed up his hands. "And this – this right here. This is exactly why we need to discuss our next move. We can't just rush in without a plan and we all need to agree."
"We're never going to be in agreement," Virgil snapped. "Because all your plans ignore the wellbeing of people in need."
"My plans prioritise my family," John corrected. "If helping strangers is going to put you at risk, then yes, I will walk away."
"You didn't before," Alan piped up, very quietly, words hesitant as if he feared exploding tensions into a full-blown argument. He shrank back as John turned to look at him. "I'm just saying. Putting ourselves at risk for strangers… isn't that what we were doing every day as International Rescue?"
John slumped a little against the side of Virgil's seat. "That was different."
"Really?" Alan tilted his head, doubtful. "I mean, minus the zombies, obviously, but… isn't the principle the same?"
John didn't have an answer. It was disconcerting to see him at a loss, especially when it was becoming more common. Was it another side effect of the meds? Or something else – this was a new world in which the rules of reality didn't always seem to fit.
"Scott," he said, suddenly looking exhausted. "Call it."
Scott watched the flight path slowly disappear as Two covered the distance. There was another weather front up ahead – thick clouds, brimming with rain. The fuel gauge – still projected above the controls – showed a friendly green. They'd had one win today – even if it had ended with a disconcerting realisation – and running headfirst into a situation with more unknowns than an alien world was not the smartest idea in the book.
"Land out of range." He caught Virgil's faintly irritated look. "I'm not saying we definitely won't take Two closer, but we're not ready for this mission yet. Let's get some rest. Talk it through. Come up with a workable plan."
Virgil didn't argue. "There's an open field about fifteen kilometres away."
"Sounds good. Go for it."
Virgil banished the original flight path from view. "Starting descent now. Better strap in."
Scott reached for the harness. Alan rose to his feet, kicking away pins-and-needles sensations from crouching for so long. John didn't move from his position half-draped over the back of Virgil's chair. Virgil reached around to swat him.
"John. Sit down. Do I have to quote safety regs at you?"
Mental alarm bells began ringing. Scott glanced up just in time to witness John take a step away from the chair and immediately stumble. Alan moved instinctively, reflexes quick enough to catch him before he could hit the floor.
"Gee, Johnny," he teased. "I thought you were over this whole battle with gravity thing."
John recovered his footing and fixed a mask over the top before Alan could read between the lines and recognise that there was something very, very wrong. "Apparently not." He forced a light laugh that somehow Alan believed even though Scott could hear how hollow it rang. "Good catch, though. Thanks."
Virgil eyed him in the reflection across the windshield but didn't say a word. Evening was drawing close, sweeping great shadows in an arc where the red sunset couldn't quite reach. The day appeared to have been lost in a matter of minutes. It was only late afternoon, but it would be dark within the hour.
The field was quite literally in the middle of nowhere. It was flat and open without a tree or car or even a road in sight – the perfect landing spot. VTOLs scattered the decaying leaves and gouged furrows in the dirt. Virgil set them down without so much as a slight bump and powered down.
Without the steady thrum of engines, it suddenly seemed very quiet. Still. Not unnervingly so, more peaceful than anything, but it gave room for unwanted thoughts to rear their heads. Now that there was no immediate threat to deal with, none of them seemed sure how to break the silence. The sudden snap of the safety harnesses retracting sounded unnaturally loud.
Alan hooked his legs over the arm of his chair. "Can I take this off now?" He tugged at the collar of his suit. "This armour is great for not dying but it's not exactly comfy."
Tension leaked away as if he'd unplugged a sink. The cockpit seemed warmer. Scott hid a smile. Virgil hauled himself out of his seat and grabbed a change of clothes from a locker on his way down to the module. Alan followed his lead, already yanking the top half of his suit down only to get tangled in the hoodie he'd been wearing on top. He tripped over his own feet and collided with Virgil's back. A series of amused taunts danced through the door as the hatch closed behind them.
The silence returned with a vengeance.
John tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling. "Don't say it."
"I'm not saying anything."
"You were thinking it."
Okay. Well. Scott couldn't exactly deny that. He twisted in his seat and hooked his chin over the top to examine his brother. John settled him with an unimpressed stare.
"Don't," he repeated, followed by a long-suffering sigh as Scott immediately chose to ignore this command in favour of voicing his thoughts. He held up a hand. "No. Just stop. We're not discussing this. I'm fine. Relatively, anyway. I trip over a lot because gravity's a bitch, are you going to call me out on it every single time?"
"So, it had nothing to do with…?"
"If I feel like I'm immediately about to drop dead, I'll let you know, alright?" John knew he'd gone too far. Scott raised a brow. "Okay. That was uncalled for. I'm sorry." The apology sounded as though it physically pained him. "But I have a handle on this."
"Really?"
"Sort of."
"That's encouraging."
"Shut up."
"What happened to the satellite?"
John tensed. "Five? Nothing. Still in orbit. Still functioning. Still under EOS's command."
"Cut the crap. You know exactly which satellite I'm talking about."
With anyone else, you could pester or work a little magic, but with John, if he didn't want to talk, you would have better luck getting answers from a rock. True to form, John remained obstinately silent, sight fixed on the thin line of horizon visible from his seat towards the back of the cockpit.
Scott moved to Virgil's usual spot. The hologram display was severely limited – there were still no links to Five. The connection showed no signs of returning any time soon. This was problematic for an array of reasons, including the part where he couldn't bribe EOS into offering any information on the satellite's fate. It was bothering him. Not so much the idea of the elitists losing their grip on their supposed societal crowns, but the impact on the ordinary folk who'd been forced to sell their souls more-or-less, working themselves to the bone just to be given the chance to survive. And based off Virgil's reaction, whatever vengeance had been enacted upon the satellite, it didn't align with his usual strict morals. Scott hadn't been able to read him recently, not like he had back in normal times, and part of that seemed to be down to the shroud of guilt he'd been suffering under ever since they'd been reunited.
"They condemned you. Alan too." John leant forwards to rest his elbows on the back of Scott's chair, expression unreadable, ever the great poker face. "They hurt Penelope and Parker. And you expected… what, exactly? For me to just let it go?"
It wasn't a confession, but it was the closest to one that he was going to get.
Scott stared at the horizon. It suddenly seemed very cold. Perhaps it was the dread finding root in his spine. "What did you do?" he whispered.
"Nothing undeserved."
He twisted in the chair so sharply that John jolted back. For the first time, he looked a little unnerved, on a genuine level which he never normally reached. He was always so unbothered, whenever anyone shouted at him. And yet now, when they needed to trust one another, to stick together more than ever, he flinched.
Scott regretted it, but at the same time he couldn't back down, couldn't let the answers creep under the carpet. He wasn't entirely sure what John was capable of, but it was enough to land Virgil with an immeasurable mass of guilt, it may have contributed to Gordon's wild goose-chase, and, before any of that, before the world had collapsed into ruin, it was sufficient reason for him to be on a GDF watchlist. Many people were – it didn't mean anything, especially when they were working with the GDF most of the time – but now it was relevant.
"Did you kill them?"
John paused. "No."
Scott stared at him. He couldn't get a read. It was frustrating but also terrifying. "You hesitated."
"I didn't kill anyone."
"What did you do?"
John tipped back in his chair. "EOS is my code," he explained slowly. He scrubbed a hand down his face, fighting a sigh. "She's evolved, but her basic traits are… it's me. You know that. It's complicated. Just consider what she was prepared to do when she was hurt, when she was scared. Do you still blame her for it?"
He didn't provide time for Scott to consider.
"EOS lost contact with you the second that escape pod activated. I had to get Penelope and Parker back before the situation could escalate even further. So. I let EOS loose on the satellite. Locked down Three to prevent anyone else taking control. With EOS on their side, Penelope and Parker made it back. Activated Three. EOS remote piloted. Simple enough. But then…" He cracked a dark smile. "Then I couldn't find you, could I? And yes, I was angry, but I was also scared. And by that point EOS had reported to me what you'd heard, what you learnt from Maya, and Brains ran tests… it's irrelevant. The point is that I wanted them to feel what I was feeling."
"What," Scott repeated, very slowly, "did you do?"
"Knocked 'em outta orbit."
"I thought you said you didn't kill anybody!"
John shot him an offended look. "I didn't. Obviously I recovered them again. Just before that critical moment. Before they could hit the point of no return. Once they realised that I had the power to-" He gestured vaguely. "-control them, they were all too willing to comply. I have their lives in the palm of my hand. I own them. Or, rather, EOS does."
There were a lot of thoughts. None of them were pleasant. Scott forced himself to take a breath.
"You made them into prisoners."
John shrugged. "If you want to get technical about it, yes, but they were already trapped. They couldn't leave the satellite – there was nowhere else for them to go. I made them aware. And that's the torturous part – being truly self-aware, realising how fragile your existence and way of living is. They didn't know that before. They understand now." He studied the metal knuckles of his glove detachedly. "I didn't do any permanent damage. I don't need a lecture. I've already heard enough of that from Virgil."
Well, that certainly explained the unmentioned tension between the two that Scott had picked up on. He'd attributed it to Gordon's disappearance but now it all made more sense. The pieces were beginning to fall into place. He could spy the first glimpses of the bigger picture. He wasn't sure if he liked what he saw. But equally, he couldn't bare the way John was avoiding his gaze, making himself smaller, albeit subconsciously, shrinking into that chair as if Scott were about to cast him out. It was an understandable concern, but an unfounded one. Yes, Scott hated that same capability for darkness when he saw it within himself, but there was not a single universe in which he would even consider hating John. Because, at the end of all things, the strongest force in the universe – no matter how cliché the saying may be – was love. It was always love. It was why any of them were still fighting.
"I neutralised a threat," John said, very quietly, still refusing to meet Scott's searching gaze. "I protected the family I had left. I let emotion get the better of me, which is the one thing I've always been taught not to do. Everything can kill you in Space. Logic must come before emotion, every time. You want to hear that I regret it. You want me to say that I feel guilty. But I don't. I can't. Those people… they condemned everyone on Earth. They left them to die. And then they did the same to you. And if the escape pod hadn't launched… the things they were willing to do? The lengths they were prepared to go to in order to unlock the secrets of immunity? I was merciful, in comparison."
He leant forwards and braced himself against his knees.
"They didn't have a scrap of true medical knowledge amongst them. They had no clue what they were doing. But they were desperate and none of them were willing to admit it. It was all a lie – pretending that their way of living wasn't long gone – and it was beginning to collapse around them. So, immunity? You offered them hope. Do you know what happens when you give hope to desperate people? They all wanted a piece of it. Try reliving your worst nightmares and then imagine Alan having to watch. Because that is what they had planned for you both. Maya threw the Hood from the ship because she refused to work with a terrorist. I can tell you in full confidence that the majority of people on that satellite were already his associates. So, no, I do not feel guilty. The only thing I regret is not keeping my actions a secret, because now Virgil can't look at me the same way and neither can you but the pair of you will pretend out of pity because no one blames a dying man."
Scott examined his hands in his lap. The gloves were still sticky with aviation fuel. Not so long ago, they'd been tacky with blood.
"I don't pity you," he whispered. The words seemed tacky, hard to get out. He swallowed. His eyes were stinging. "I would never… I understand. I get it. I know why you did what you did, and I don't blame you. I'd say I forgive you, but I don't think there's anything to forgive, and if there is, then it's not my place."
John tilted his head. Something akin to a tired smile played behind his eyes. "Why is it," he asked, deeply sad, "that you can forgive me without a second thought, but you insist on hating yourself for far lesser crimes?" He faltered. "Not crimes. That's not the right phrasing. But I'm trying to understand."
"We're family."
"Family doesn't mean guaranteed forgiveness. Shared blood doesn't always equal support and acceptance."
"Ours does. You know why? Because even if we weren't related, I would still choose you. I'm lucky because the people I would choose to be my family already are. Do you get what I'm saying? Three weeks regardless, what you've done or haven't done, it doesn't change the fact that you're my brother. I love you. That's not conditional. There's no set guidelines you have to keep to. And here's the other thing – if you think you're not feeling guilty, then you're lying to yourself, because you're looking for my anger right now when all I'm showing, all I've ever tried to show you, is love and support. Which means one of two things – either I've seriously fucked up at some point, or you think you deserve some form of penance."
The words took a moment to sink in.
John pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. "That sounded suspiciously coherent for you. Did you steal that from somewhere?"
Scott openly laughed. "No." He glanced at the sunset. "Actually… the final part was something Dad said to me, years ago, after… well, you know when."
John lowered his hands. "I don't regret it," he confessed, seeking some unknown emotion from the depths of repression. "But I feel guilty that I don't regret it. Virgil's argument was that they're still people with the capability for change. He sees humanity where I see evil." He exhaled sharply. "But the thing is… vengeance is a human trait. And no matter what we've done, what we're trying to do – at the end of the day, we're only human. No one can blame us for that. So, if we try to be good, even if we slip up sometimes – which, admittedly, in my case happens to be a pretty massive slip up with a shit ton of ethical implications – surely we can still be forgiven for that?"
Scott wasn't entirely sure what John was getting at, but there was definitely something, hidden between the lines, behind clever words and elaborate explanations, concealed within a mask meant to deter anyone from looking too closely – anyone other than the people he trusted to know him well enough to start searching for the truth. But it didn't take too long to figure it out. John never said anything for the sake of simply saying it, so Scott thought back over their conversations in the past couple of days and stumbled across a vital clue.
"When you asked me if I believe in an afterlife…?" He couldn't finish the question.
John ducked his head. "I don't know what I believe," he murmured, in a very tiny voice that shook ever-so-slightly. "But if there is something… I don't want to go to Hell."
"Are you serious?"
"Pretty fucking serious, Scott."
"Ask EOS how many people we've saved over the years. She must have those stats somewhere. All of those lives – and we couldn't have done any of it without you."
"Hmm."
"John." There was no reply. Scott let desperation bleed into his voice. "Johnny. Please."
John pushed himself to his feet and took the few shaky steps to reach the front of the cockpit, pressing a hand to solid glass. Golden light dripped from his fingertips.
"I am so tired," he whispered. "Constantly. Of this situation, of myself, of everything. But it never stops. There's just one thing after another. And do you know what I want? The one thing I would choose before my three weeks are up? I know we're trying to save the world here. I know there's so much at stake. I know this isn't the time to be selfish. But the one thing I want to do is take all of you, the five of us, to the middle of nowhere and just watch the stars for a final time."
"We can do that."
"If we can find Gordon," John noted. He tipped forwards and let the glass catch him. "How do you do it? Not give up? Because if I'm tired, you're exhausted."
In the brief silence, Alan's laughter could be heard. Virgil's answering chuckles were softer but just as real. Scott didn't need to say anything – John caught his eye, understanding dawning alongside a soft smile.
"There's gotta be a way to fix this. All of it." Scott watched John's smile flicker out. "Especially if there's still humanity in the infected."
John glanced down. "About that…" He let it out in a rush. "I lied to you. Well, not lie, but I didn't correct you. It was a lie of omission."
And – Scott hadn't been expecting that. Or perhaps some part of him had. Or maybe he was like John, simply so tired that the constant curveballs didn't have such an impact anymore. He propped his feet on the dash while Virgil wasn't around to scold him and waited.
"There's no humanity in them. No trace of cognitive thought. It's impossible when they're that far gone and you said that it was in the final stage of decomposition, right?" John turned to face him, leaning against the controls so that holograms bathed his wrists as though he were right back where he belonged: surrounded by all the knowledge necessary to save the world. "By the final stage, the parasite reaches the brain. That's the last part it consumes. And at that point… there's nothing human left in there."
"I know what I saw," Scott said quietly.
John held up a hand to let sunlight pool in his palm. "No, Scott," he replied, infinitely sad. "We see what we want to see."
Virgil tracked Scott down on the roof. Two was massive enough to comfortably lie flat without fear of rolling to the side and suddenly finding yourself falling. Radiation levels purported to be low, safely within the upper levels of green, so Scott had changed back into civvies and had taken a mask rather than a helmet.
Sunset had faded quickly into dusk. It was so quiet out here that he was uncomfortably aware of his own breathing. Even the crickets were silent. He caught a glimpse of red flannel as Virgil appeared out of the hatch before his brother flopped down beside him.
Scott didn't acknowledge him, just kept staring at the traitorous clouds keeping the stars from view. Perhaps, he thought faintly, that was a blessing. Seeing the stars now would hurt too badly, as if it would steal precious time away from a moment that was supposed to belong to them all. He recalled talking with Penelope, explaining how John sharing the stars with people was another version of love, a nonverbal expression of I love you. He curled his arms tighter around his chest and gripped his biceps until old bruises stung.
"You've been up here a while," Virgil noted.
There was no wind to snatch his words, so they just hung in the air until they faded like the dying light. Distantly, an infected howled – an empty, desolate sound. Scott wondered how he had ever fooled himself into believing there could possibly be a single scrap of humanity left in those creatures.
"About an hour," Virgil continued.
Scott fixed his sights on a single point in the sky until the edges of his vision faded to black. He blinked back stinging tears. "Can we not talk about time?"
Virgil shifted a fraction closer so that their shoulders touched. "Right." Understanding rang clearly in his voice. He folded his arms beneath his head and closed his eyes. "How many conversations should we have had which we avoided over the years simply because they were difficult?" He softened. "I don't want to think about it either, let alone discuss it, but three weeks isn't long and we're running out of time."
"We can still fix it."
Virgil didn't reply.
The clouds smothered any traces of the stars. Not even the moon could be glimpsed through the thinner snatches. It was as though the planet were suffocating. Or perhaps it was simply giving up. Giving in. Not everything had to hurt. Dying wasn't a unique story. It was the people left behind who told the tale of the ensuing pain.
"I feel guilty," Virgil began cautiously, stealing a glance at Scott, "because there's a part of me that's already grieving. And if you grieve before you've even lost a person, does that mean you've given up on saving them?" He traced whorls in the dust coating Two's hull – a thick layer which had settled in the short time they'd been stationary. "Sorry. I know you don't want to talk about this."
"Virg."
"This world – this new world – it doesn't have room for kindness. Compassion, empathy, basic human decency: all it does is make you vulnerable because people view it as a weakness to be exploited nowadays." He tugged his cuffs over his hands, coiling loose threads across calloused palms. "I don't want to give that all up. I don't want to get through this only to realise I don't recognise who I am anymore."
Words were a lost concept. Scott strung his thoughts together, but the answer remained concealed in shadows. He let the silence drift on. Guilt ached alongside grief. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore how badly everything hurt, pretended that there was nothing wrong for just a second.
"I should have said something. Tried harder. Kept him from leaving. What if we can't find him? The world's a big place."
Scott ran a thumb across the marks from the ropes, now healing to raw scars. "Virg." He inhaled deeply, ignoring the chemical tang of the mask and the pain in his chest – presumably a leftover from the fact he'd been dry-retching in a toilet hidden away from everyone around ninety minutes earlier, pretending to be taking a shower to maintain a mask that had probably crumbled a long time ago. "That's not-" The words caught in his throat. "You shouldn't put that on yourself."
Virgil didn't say anything for a long moment. He pushed himself upright to put his back to Scott, shivering slightly in the January chill. "I can't lose them both."
"We won't."
"Won't we?" Virgil rose to his feet, jeans damp from the fine rain settling across the landscape. Lights from Two's cockpit cast a feeble glow into the cloud. Animals remained hidden – the world was still, save for a faint boom in the distance. Scott tried not to think about its origins. Virgil shivered again. "Come inside soon."
"Uh huh."
It was only after Virgil had already vanished inside that Scott realised those shivers had not been down to the cold but silent tears. He curled on his side, metal icy to the touch, and longed to be free to just fall with consequence.
Sleep didn't come easily. This was a surprise to no one. By two-AM, Alan gave up altogether and proceeded to rifle through Gordon's locker to retrieve three celery crunch bars and a pack of battered cards. Virgil rolled out of his bunk and promptly faceplanted onto the floor, which sent Alan into a fit of laughter. John stifled an amused chuckle in his sleeve and joined them. He was running a low fever again, eyes unnaturally bright and flushed but shivering violently enough to snatch the spare flannel Virgil offered him without hesitation.
"We are not playing Go Fish," John informed them once Scott had joined the circle.
Alan sulked. "Dude. We have to. It's Gordon's deck."
"In that case we should be playing Blackjack in his honour," Scott pointed out.
Virgil sat back against the wall, fondly amused, raising the lights to a gentle glow rather than the borderline squint-worthy darkness they'd been suffering through before. "I don't know how to play."
"Neither do I," Alan protested, flicking the Joker card at Scott's knees. "Go Fish is fun. It's simple. We're meant to be feeling sleepy not waking ourselves up even more. Anyway, Johnny's way too competitive at Blackjack."
"Yeah," Virgil chimed in, unable to resist the taunt that had just been left open for him, "because he's used to losing to Gordon."
"I do not lose to Gordon," John muttered, tugging the flannel closer around his shoulders with another violent shiver which left his teeth chattering. He shifted a little closer to Scott's side to leech body warmth like some sort of reptile. "I've simply been unfortunate on a few occasions."
"Didn't he beat you at chess too?" Alan queried, tilting his head so that the low light cast strange shadows across his face.
John tossed up his hands. "He's unnaturally good!"
Virgil grabbed a pillow from the bunk and flopped down on his stomach, clearly highly entertained by the proceedings. "He would kill to be a fly on the wall for this conversation, y'know?"
Alan beamed. "I'm gonna tell him when we find him. Yo, Gordy, John admitted that he sucks at Blackjack and chess."
"I do not suck," John hissed.
Alan sniggered. "Hey, hey, hey, that's what she-"
"No." Virgil whacked him with the pillow. "Don't even think about making that joke."
Alan rolled onto his back with an obnoxious cackle. "I'm keeping this." He clutched the pillow to his chest and offered Virgil a sunny smile. "Thank you very much for your generous donation."
"Brat," Virgil teased, flicking him on the forehead and grinning as Alan went cross-eyed trying to track his hand. "Anyway, we still haven't decided on a game."
"Go Fish," Alan repeated, dragging the final word out. He rolled back over and propped his chin in his hands, shooting a pleading look around the circle. "C'mon. It'll be fun." He offered a cheeky smile in John's direction. "And Johnny might actually have a shot at winning for once."
John pillowed his head on Scott's shoulder with a heavy sigh. "I'm feeling very targeted right now."
"Is that a yes?" Alan shuffled the deck, preparing to split it four ways. "I think that was a yes. Go Fish?" He prodded Virgil's knee. "You've gotta say it. Just once. Come on, Vee, please?"
Virgil didn't do a very good job of hiding his smile. "Go Fish," he muttered grudgingly, with no small trace of fondness.
Three games later, sleep finally began to appear on the horizon. The lights dimmed a little further so that the cockpit was bathed in a gentle glow akin to candlelight and just as warm. Virgil had found the spare blankets and Alan draped them over the floor as if they were having an indoor picnic, flopping down heavily across pillows with his legs kicked in the air. He was in the process of losing his socks again, a pair of bright yellow things patterned with smileys, and each flailed foot as he made wild accusations that someone was stealing cards sent the socks closer to the edge.
"No one's cheating," Virgil told him, mid-laugh. "You're just bad."
Alan flung a pillow at him.
It was unclear whether John was asleep or not. He'd been using Scott as a headrest ever since the games had begun and had shown no signs of moving or – post the third game – opening his eyes but occasionally he'd make some quip or sarcastic remark, so it was difficult to draw a set conclusion. As the cards were unceremoniously stuffed back into their packet and the lights faded into a comfortable darkness, Scott was willing to give sleep another shot. He stole a blanket and bundled it under his chin as a makeshift pillow. John made a questioning noise at the slight jostling.
Virgil and Alan – eternal night owls but now also battling insomnia on top of that – were talking in low whispers, a sort of hushed secrecy which belonged only to the depths of night. The dynamics were still wrong. Gordon should be there. There were never meant to be only four.
"I have a question," Alan whispered, a trace louder as if he wanted Scott and John to hear him too. There was a faint rustle as he rearranged his blanket nest. "Time isn't linear."
Silence settled. Scott squinted, trying to pick out the vague shape of his youngest brother amid the gloom.
Virgil sounded as confused as Scott felt. "Is that supposed to be the question?"
Alan made a noncommittal sound. "Sorta? It's not… Okay. So. If time isn't linear – wait, did anyone ever prove that? – no, no, back to my point. If time's not linear, then there's a theory that everything is happening all at once, right? So it comes down to perception."
"Allie," Scott sighed. "It's literally three in the morning. I love you but pick a better moment for this sort of thing."
Alan shuffled upright, framed by the very faint glow from the clouds. "I'm trying to say that if everything happens at once, then in a way, Gordon's actually with us right now. So are Penelope and Kayo. Everyone we love. Right? Like, you can think of it like that, and it makes you feel slightly less alone."
Scott didn't have a response to that. From his answering silence, neither did Virgil.
Alan tugged at a smiley sock absently. "I've just been thinking about it, that's all. It makes it easier, you know – thinking that we're sort of together even when it seems like we can't get any further apart." He stilled his hands with a heavy sigh. "I dunno. Time is weird. I should stop overthinking things."
"Except then you wouldn't be you," John pointed out, startling everyone as they'd all assumed he'd been asleep for the past half-hour. "You're right," he continued softly. "It does make it slightly easier. I like that way of thinking." He quietened to a sad murmur. "It means you never truly lose anyone."
