Here you may view exhibit A: a sleep-deprived author with a late chapter because her job is unpredictable so she didn't get home until 3 in the morning and didn't have chance to post. I am alive. Sorta. Anyway, it's here, even if it isn't on time! And... it's the first chapter in a while that I'm scared to post. I'm not happy with it. It delves into some serious subject matters and I've rewritten it five times (I'm not even exaggerating) so if anyone is upset or feels I've mishandled anything, please accept my sincere apologies.

Trigger warning time: dissociation, implied/referenced suicide, disordered eating. Please take care of yourselves and my messages are always open.


Silence had gone from a welcome tranquillity that morning to an oppressive, suffocating thing. Deadly. The type of silence that one could drown in. It took every last detail and snuffed it out, the last remaining embers extinguished in an instant. The tension wormed its way into everything, slinking ahead of them to infiltrate Two's cockpit before the platform from the module had even finished rising.

"Virgil," Scott tried, only his voice didn't seem his own. That vague sense of disconnect had returned. The world held itself at a distance. He gripped his wrist only he was wearing the suit so he couldn't feel his pulse, so the usual am I even alive question remained unanswered. "Virg, come on. Can you at least talk to me?"

Virgil shouldered past him. "I'm going to find John. Alan's probably on the roof again. Call him down before that dust cloud hits."

"Shouldn't we discuss this?"

Virgil paused in the doorway. "I have a lot of feelings right now," he ground out, without looking back. "If I talk to you, I'm likely to say something I'll regret. I need some space. Okay?"

"O-okay." Scot coughed. "That's… uh…" The door slammed shut. He let his shoulders slump. "That's okay."

He stowed the rucksack away in a free locker. Something caught his eye – a new addition to the cockpit – a flash of dusty fur. The rabbit plushie sat on the dash, one ear falling lopsided so that it was crushed against the windshield. Scott folded it back into place and ran a thumb across the soft fabric. Lily's face swam in front of his eyes. He massaged his temples and forced a neutral expression until he could fool even his own reflection. Alright. Time to find the others.


Alan was, as predicted, on the roof. He was back in his suit – just in case – and at first glance appeared to be asleep. He lifted his head from his folded arms when Scott's shadow fell across him, realisation dawning as slowly as the sinking sun, then bolted upright.

"You're back!" He scrambled to his feet, narrowly avoiding slipping across green paintwork, catching himself on Scott's shoulder. "So?" His voice grew high and breathless. "Did you find him? Is he here?"

Scott inwardly cursed. Something small and vulnerable curled up in his chest.

"No," he admitted. "We didn't find him."

"Oh." Alan shook his head, hopping from foot-to-foot, alive with anxious energy. "Okay, well did you find any clues? Do we have a lead? Scott, come on, don't leave me hanging here." He stalked around Scott in a wide circle, itching to ask further questions. "Dude! Start talking!"

"There's a GDF facility north-east from here," Scott told him before the kid could launch himself into orbit fuelled by anticipation alone. "Gordon did spend some time with the survivors, but he moved on. They think that's where he may have gone."

Alan clapped his hands, smile practically giddy and bright enough to rival a star. "Why are we hanging around here then? Let's go."

He dropped onto his stomach and slithered through the hatch like some sort of abnormal snake, somehow managing to land perfectly. Scott hung back a moment longer. The dust cloud was moving slowly, lacking the gravity-defying winds of previous storms, but it was colossal, seeming to swamp the entire world from left-to-right up to the furthest reaches of the sky. A strange, untrustworthy voice in his head longed to stand still until it engulfed him too. Just to see. What would it be like to let go?

"Scott," Alan called from somewhere below the hatch. His sudden shout was jarring.

Scott jolted out of the daze, heart pounding for no apparent reason.

"Are you coming?" Alan poked his head over the edge, brow raised in question. "Virgil's talking to John, and I want to hear what they're saying."

"Yeah," Scott replied, praying that his voice would hold steady. "I'm coming."

He turned his back on the dust cloud without another glance. Alan hovered by his side as he attempted to fasten the hatch – because finding traces of grit in the wiring was really something they could do without – inspecting him with a faint frown.

"You seem off," he diagnosed.

"Thanks," Scott deadpanned. He gave Alan a light shove. "I thought you wanted to hear what they were saying? Go on."

"Well, yeah." Alan dug his heels in so that Scott was forced to stop. "But now you seem weird, so I want to figure out what's wrong." He rose onto his toes so that they were – more-or-less – eye-to-eye. "Did you run into more infected or something? Wait, were the survivors hostile?" He rocked back on his heels. "I can't figure it out. But there's definitely something off. You seem sorta…" He waved a hand vaguely as if he could summon the word from thin air. "Zoned out. Drifty." His eyes widened as he seized the phrase. "Wait, shit, that's not- there's a proper term. Gimme a mo. Um…"

Scott silently wished for the universe to send a black hole so that he could throw himself in and avoid this conversation for the rest of infinity. The universe didn't send a black hole. Instead, it sent him John, who was decidedly more useful – although not necessarily any less deadly.

"Virgil's setting course for the GDF facility." He nodded to Alan. "Fancy co-piloting?"

"But Virgil doesn't need a co-pilot?" Alan caught John's pointed look. "Oh. Oh. Okay. Be secretive or whatever. I'm totally not offended."

John patted his shoulder on his way past. "You'll get over it."

"Nope. I'm taking this to my grave." Alan vanished along the passageway. "Or, you know, until I can't be bothered to hold a grudge, so probably for an hour."

As ever, resolving one problem only led to another. Alan may have been taken out of the equation, but John was preparing for an interrogation. Scott promptly turned to flee in the other direction, but then thought better of it. He slunk back to where John was waiting for him.

"Not now."

John appeared to be considering the pros versus cons of fratricide. "Yes, now. Start talking. I've already had half the story from Virgil. Fill in the rest of the blanks for me, would you?"

Around them, the walls rumbled as Two lifted off, struggling for those first two seconds when the engines wrestled with gravity. There was an immediate relief that came with being in the air again, even though it came at the cost of another wave of guilt at the thought of those left behind.

"You made the right call," John told him, too soft to be completely blunt but not pulling any punches either. "Even Virgil admits that, deep down, but he needs some time to come to terms with it. He doesn't blame you. No one does because there isn't any blame to be passed around, so don't beat yourself up. Sometimes there are no good choices and we-"

"-have to pick the best out of a bad bunch, I know." Scott propped himself against the wall, feeling the tiny tremors running through the metal as if Two were a living creature. "It was the right call," he agreed faintly, suddenly light-headed. "So why do I feel as if I've let everyone down?"

John didn't give the automatic reply of you haven't because there was no point. They both knew it wouldn't help. Nothing ever did. Sometimes all you could do was keep going and wait for the pain to become easier to manage.

"Your mind likes to lie to you," he said instead. "But you've got to remember that's all it is – a lie." He took a step closer, openly worried, shifting from that understanding tone to a sharp pitch of concern. "Are you alright?"

"Uh huh. Y-yep. M'fine."

Scott was mostly distracted by the way the world appeared to be dimming at the corners, which was never a promising sign. He reached for a hand hold, but his gloves couldn't grip the smooth wall panels. His vision blurred. Everything was spinning. John was saying something, but the words were distant, indistinguishable from the thunder in his ears. Two trembled as if breaking a hundred sound barriers all at once, only no, that was just him.

John planted hands on his shoulders. Everything tilted sideways.

"I'm fine," he attempted to say, only words twisted into a vague mumble. He aimed for a reassuring smile just in time for his lugs to buckle beneath him. John lurched forwards to catch him, forgetting his own lack of stability in the entire standing area. Gravity dragged them under.

And-

"Dammit, wake up."

Somehow they'd ended up on the floor. Apparently he'd skipped out on that part. This was by no means the first time he'd passed out in his life but somehow he always forgot just how disorientating it was. Details swam in and out of focus. They were both on the floor. His head was pillowed in John's lap.

"Are you back with me?"

Scott attempted to sit upright, which, no, bad idea, very bad idea. John put a hand on his chest in warning. He lifted his hands in surrender – no arguments here – and huh, he should probably be concerned about just badly he was shaking, right? That was… that was a thing. Only John looked worried enough for both of them. Not panicked, but helpless, which was almost worse.

Shit.

"How long?" he ground out. The end of the question evaded him, but John still understood.

"About four seconds."

"Oh." He was shivering, which seemed odd given his palms were sweating beneath his gloves. He blinked away spots. "Okay. That's not bad."

John stared at him, struggling to choose between incredulity and sheer exasperation. "You cannot be serious. Not bad. For fuck's sake." He reached for his comm. Scott smacked his hand down. "I'm calling Virgil."

"No. Absolutely n-not." Scott scrambled upright, clawing at the wall in an extremely undignified manner only to be immediately swamped by dizziness. He screwed his eyes shut, pressing his forehead to his knees as nausea skulked ever closer. "Oh shit."

"Hey. Hey." John caught his wrists and squeezed. "Take a breath."

A door creaked, muted by much louder footsteps. Scott raised his head to level John with a furious glower.

"I told you not to call him."

John shrugged. "Sorry, not sorry."

"What the hell happened?" Virgil skidded to a halt, dropping to the floor beside them.

"Nothing," Scott snapped just as John announced, "He passed out."

Scott glared. "Traitor," he hissed.

Virgil shut down the argument before it escalate. "When did you last eat something?"

"Lunch. At the camp."

"That's a lie." Virgil didn't hesitate to call him out on it. "I was watching you. You didn't take anything."

"Y'know, that sounds kinda stalkerish, Virg."

John sighed heavily. "Can I hit him?"

Virgil looked to be considering this himself. "Breakfast?"

"I wasn't hungry."

John tossed up his hands. "You're impossible."

Virgil ran the med-scanner over him with a frown. Scott backed away. John caught his shoulder before he could smash into the wall. The med-scanner hummed, illuminating a concerned red. It reflected off the panels and flooring, seeping over uniform and gloves. Metal knuckles glistened crimson. Scott flinched before he could stop himself. Light melted into liquid blood.

John knocked the scanner from Virgil's hands, ignoring his brother's confused protests. The light cut out instantly. Scott inhaled sharply. John caught his eye.

"Okay?"

His heart was racing. "O-okay."

Virgil set the scanner out of sight, tucked behind his back. "I'm going to ask you again," he said, more gently this time, leaning forwards so that Scott couldn't avoid his gaze. "When did you last eat?"

"It's never a good sign when you have to think about it," John pointed out, faintly chastising but voice warm. He still had a hand on Scott's shoulder. "One of us skipped rations last night, because the numbers didn't match up this morning. I know it wasn't Virgil or me, and somehow I suspect it wasn't Alan."

"I had half a celery crunch bar earlier," Scott attempted. It sounded pitiful to his own ears. He caught Virgil's wince. "It's not that bad. I'm not intentionally skipping meals. I just wasn't hungry."

"When?" Virgil refused to let him deflect again. "When, Scott?"

"Breakfast yesterday. Not that long ago."

"That's over twenty-four hours," Virgil exclaimed. He took a steadying breath. "Okay. That's… You can't skip meals, not when you're using this many calories per day."

There was an odd tone underlying his words, sort of desperately sad and something akin to horror but leaning more towards dread. He busied himself with checking over the med-scanner for cracks after John had tossed it at the tiles. Scott hadn't been able to read him for a while now, but for the first time he realised that this wasn't a reflection on his own state of mind, but rather because Virgil had deliberately closed himself off. It hurt to be shut out. It was all the more painful when Scott didn't understand why.

"Are you angry with me?" he asked before he could stop himself.

John shifted ever-so-slightly, almost imperceptible, but just enough so as to pose something between a shield and a threat. He kept his expression neutral, but Virgil must have read between the lines as he lowered the med-scanner back to the floor with a sigh, shoulders hunching, suddenly managing to look very small as he worried his hands in his lap.

"Not about this," he answered at last. "Never about this. I'm worried."

He reached for the ration bar that he'd brought with him, and tore open the wrapper so that a certain pair of shaking hands didn't have to struggle with it.

"Eat that," he ordered, settling to put his back against the far wall and stretching his legs across the space.

Scott knew – mostly – when to pick his battles and this was not one he'd win. He nibbled on the ration bar, willing the dizziness to fade with every bite. John observed him as if he were liable to toss the entire thing away at any moment. Scott raised a brow. John stared at him unblinkingly.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Quit that."

"I'm not doing anything."

Scott stuffed the entire ration bar into his mouth. "Yeah, you are," he mumbled past chewing, delighting in the way John brushed crumbs off his shirt with an irritated huff. "You're staring."

"I'm babysitting," John corrected him, ducking before Scott could swat him.

Virgil watched them both silently. The med-scanner lay abandoned. He ducked his head before Scott could glimpse his expression. There were hundreds of conversations unsaid between them and those unvoiced words weighed heavily, an immense pressure that would eventually break them. Maybe it already had. Perhaps that was the reason why it was all crumbling – why they no longer seemed like a team.

"We're supposed to be on the same side," Scott remarked, hushed, although it still seemed as loud as a thunderclap.

Virgil glanced up. "I know."

Not a denial, not a claim that they were still a team, just I know. Acceptance. Exhausted, as if fighting to fix whatever was broken between them were too great an effort. And that stung, that ached worse than the hunger pangs and the bruises from ill-fitting armour on a suit which still dripped crimson behind closed eyes, because Scott would freely admit that he needed Virgil, but apparently Virgil didn't need him. It didn't make sense.

John tried to stifle a cough in his elbow. He didn't succeed. The sound was painful, hoarse, scraping internally as if his lungs were betraying him. He knocked his head against the wall with a hiss, eyes bright with induced tears.

"That sucked," he gasped out. "How long 'til the next dose? Four hours?" He chuckled darkly. "I've gotta admit, I never thought this is what my life would come to. Do you have any idea how many health checks I went through for NASA? And now I'm here." He knocked his foot against Virgil's, navy blue socks versus heavy-soled boots. "We're not leaving this corridor until the pair of you talk this through."

"Don't I get a choice?" Virgil burst out, uncharacteristically bitter. He yanked his legs back, sitting upright, hands curled into claws around his knees to keep himself grounded. "I know we need to talk. But I'm not ready. Scott might be, but I'm not. Why doesn't that count for anything? Why does no one ever listen to me unless they need something?"

John went to reply, hesitated, and then thought better of it.

"All we ever do is lose people. And I am so tired of everything. There are fucking zombies and now someone's dropping nukes all over the place and John, you're… we're running out of time. And no one wants to admit it. We can't fix this. We can't even fix our family. But no one wants to hear that, right?"

No one wants to hear me, right?

"Virg," Scott whispered.

"I know I've changed. I get it. I don't like it, but I get it. We've all changed. But why… We've all lost people, we're all different now, but I seem to be the only one everyone is intent on leaving behind."

"No one's leaving you behind," John tried to speak up.

"Really?" Virgil blinked back angry tears. "You're putting more energy into preparing for a worst-case scenario than actually looking for a cure. Scott, you seem hell-bent on getting yourself killed, or at least throwing yourself in harm's way every time I'm looking the other direction. Penelope and Kayo decided to head down to Earth, and do you know who they discussed it with? Parker and John. I didn't get an opinion. And then the one person who promised me he wouldn't leave without saying goodbye walked out on me. Gordon's… he's my co-pilot and he left me behind with zero hesitation. And then today, I left people behind too, because those kids believed in us, because Gordon told them they should, that we were heroes, but we just walked away as if none of it meant anything."

John reached for the right words.

Virgil didn't give him the chance.

"I told you that I can't do this. And you didn't listen to me. You never listen to me. You just expect me to go along with whatever stupid idea you've come up with."

His voice rose to a desperate shout. Scott shot a concerned look towards the closed cockpit door and prayed that it was thick enough to keep Alan from overhearing.

"And now… What, am I expected to do all of this by myself?"

"Do what?" John asked quietly.

Virgil tossed up his hands. "Everything! You've given up on yourself already. Scott, if you keep going like this then you won't see next year. We have no idea where Gordon is. And yet Alan and I are supposed to be fine with all of it. It's such bullshit. No, don't start apologising. Actually, you know what? Fuck your apologies. I don't want to hear it. Apologies have no meaning unless you actually change your actions. So, by all means, stay here and have your secret conversations – although I'm not sure how I'm expected to keep everyone together when I only know half the story – but don't you dare ask me to just sweep it all under the rug. I am not okay with any of it."

"They're not secret conversations," John protested, unnerved by the sudden display of anger from the one person who'd always been the family peacekeeper. "Virgil, come on. Don't overreact."

"Oh, fuck you." Virgil surged to his feet, kicking the med-scanner aside. "And Scott? Maybe we'd still be on the same team if you trusted me enough to tell me whatever the hell is going on with you."

"The apocalypse happened," John pointed out, sharp-edged and on the defensive in an attempt to shift the focus away from Scott. "You can't expect him to be on his A-Game when the world's ending."

"That's not what I'm saying! But do you have any idea what it's like to trust someone completely and know that they only trust you half as much in return?"

John scrambled to his feet and grabbed Virgil's arm before he could walk away. Virgil's gaze tracked down to the point of contact and darkened.

"Let go of me."

John faltered.

"I said," Virgil repeated, lowering his voice to a dangerous growl. "Let go."

"Are you going to walk away?"

"See, this is what I'm talking about. I said I didn't want to have this conversation but you're still pushing."

"That's enough." Scott didn't realise he'd spoken until his shout echoed around the suddenly silent corridor. He took a steadying breath. "Both of you, enough. John, I appreciate it, but you don't need to do this."

Virgil shot a suspicious look between them. "Do what?" He let out an icy laugh. "Oh, keeping your secrets again?"

John glared daggers. "You don't have a clue what you're talking about."

"How could I? I'm not a fucking mind-reader."

Raised voices bounced off the walls, ringing louder and louder so that they pounded behind his eyes. Scott pushed his face into his hands and tried to count his breaths. John was standing in front of him, a human shield, which was ridiculous because this was Virgil, and Virgil wasn't a threat. He just didn't understand. But now they were falling apart – and it kept happening, over and over and over – and Scott wanted them to stop, to just please don't do this.

"One to ten is a scale for suicidal ideation." He spoke quickly, muffled somewhat by his own hands as he reminded himself to keep breathing. "You've heard John and I use it before. That's the… one of the secrets. It's… It wasn't a problem for a long time. But there's um… there's a lot. In my head. And it was okay. I was okay. But sometimes it got a lot. It got loud. And it feels like it gets worse each time. Probably because I need a therapist again, but that's not happening any time soon. But don't yell at John because he's been trying to convince me to tell you for years now."

Silence grew deafening. Scott stole a glance up.

Virgil stood frozen. "What?" he asked in a very small voice. "Wait, wait, no, but that's… no. No. But that can't… you can't… Fuck. I mean. Sorry. Scrap all of that. Let me try again." He ran a hand down his face, trembling slightly. "I need to process that. And we need to have a proper conversation. But thank you for telling me."

"Vee," Scott murmured, tipping back against the wall so that he could look up at his brother properly. "Come on. Don't… I know you're trying to… Be honest. Don't treat me differently. That's why I never told anyone other than Dad and John. What are you thinking?"

Virgil was silent for a moment. "Was it ever a ten?"

John looked away.

"Yes," Scott confessed.

"And now?"

"Right this second?"

Virgil nodded.

"Probably a two."

"Five at the minimum," John translated. He retreated to lean against the wall. "Sorry. Ignore me."

Virgil looked at him sharply. "But… two…?"

John shrugged. "Yeah, Scott likes to lie about his scale a lot. You get used to figuring out what he really means. It's a bit like when we all lie about pain. It helps that I'm good at reading people. But mostly… I know his behaviour. I know most of his triggers. I know what to look out for."

"I'm right here," Scott muttered.

John shot him a fond smile. "Check in, Scotty."

Scott lifted a shaking hand. "Not great. Better than before. Got any more ration bars on hand?" He relented with a sigh. "Talking about it, telling people – that's a big deal. It scares the hell outta me. But also – I don't know where we stand now. Everything is a lot."

He resisted the urge to escape and find a dark corner with no expectations or terrifying conversations.

"Listen, Virg, I'm not telling you this now to try to invalidate anything you said. You have a right to be mad at us. But I need you to know that I never kept this a secret because I didn't trust you. Because I do trust you, completely, more than I trust myself. I didn't tell you because I knew it would upset you."

Virgil held out a hand. John hid another smile. Scott took his brother's hand and let Virgil haul him to his feet. The dizziness swirled and he didn't argue when Virgil wrapped a supporting arm around his shoulders.

"I love you. And we need to talk about this, but only when you're ready. This is your conversation. We'll have it on your terms. Okay?"

"Okay," Scott managed to reply before Virgil pulled him into a fierce hug.

"God, I love you so much."

John sounded vaguely amused. "In case anyone was wondering, I love you both too. I mean, being the forgotten brother when I'm in orbit is one thing, but I'm right here- hey! Virg! Get off! I did not consent to being a part of this bear hug."

Scott lifted an arm to drag John properly into the hug. "Oh, quit your bitching, space-case, we all know you secretly love this."

Virgil openly laughed. "Do you have any idea how much you sounded like Gordon just then?"

"Did I?"

"Word for word," John confirmed.

Scott tried not to laugh and failed. Relief made him giddy – because the hardest part was over now: the words were out there and they'd deal with them in time – so maybe, just maybe, they'd all be okay. He was still shaky and his head was pounding like sledgehammer but even with anxiety running rampart through his veins, he didn't feel completely lost anymore.

John pulled him aside as Virgil headed back to the cockpit to check on Alan.

Scott waited until the door had closed again. "What's up?"

John remained quiet for a moment. "Come here," he murmured at last, tugging Scott into another hug. "I am so, so, ridiculously proud of you right now, you know that?"

Scott hid his smile in John's shoulder. "Shut up, Johnny."


Alan had brought Two to a stop, hovering above the empty parking lot outside the GDF facility. An expanse of grey – tarmac, buildings, abandoned vehicles and ash – flooded as far as the eye could see. Sunset had shifted into dusk, and, in the sweeping shadows, jerked movements betrayed the arrival of a cluster of infected, drawn by the loud rumble of VTOLs.

Virgil had taken up his usual seat but hadn't yet asked for the controls. He propped his elbows on the dash and assessed the situation. Focussing on the task at hand was evidently proving a struggle. He stole a glance over his shoulder.

Scott flipped a salute, collapsing into a chair. John tossed another ration bar at his head, and he caught it without too much fumbling – which was fair play to his natural reflexes given that dizzy spell was still hanging around. Bio-readouts from his suit displayed from the console at his side. Yeesh. Not exactly encouraging. He tore the packet open with his teeth and made short work of the calories held within.

Alan was clearly itching to ask about what their conversation in the corridor had entailed but he managed to clear his mind sufficiently to remain on target. He summoned the scans he'd taken of the building – nowhere as detailed as if they'd been taken from Five but still helpful.

"It's not a big facility," he announced, illuminating a map of the layout. "I think it was mostly a training base, maybe?" He paused, considering, before visibly shaking himself. "Anyway, that's not important. So. Big storage unit over here." He highlighted a room. "And giant communications centre there." He tapped the thin network of corridors which ran between the two. "This hallway leads to a side door which doesn't appear to have any infected, unlike the main entrance which is just-" He twisted in his seat to face them and gestured an explosion. "-infested with 'em. Bam. Fatality."

"Al," John said quietly, more amused than anything else but noting Virgil's wince and deciding to step in before their youngest brother could ramble himself into deeper trouble. "Maybe stick to the facts?"

"Huh? Oh, shoot, yeah. Okay. Um…" Alan swapped the map for the predicted locations of the infected. "Couldn't get a clear scan because, y'know, GDF facility, so obviously they have stuff in place to prevent us doing that, and it just made the entire system screech at me when I tried – relax Virg, don't look at me like that, it's not like I broke anything – but thermal scanning picked up on those stupidly low signatures the infected give off. So either there's a bunch of humans with hypothermia or these points here are clusters. Hordes. Crowds. You get my point. No go areas, anyway…" He tipped himself over the back of his chair to catch Scott's eye with an impish grin. "Did I do good?" He pointed a finger at John "And don't you dare start lecturing me on grammar."

John ignored this jibe. "Any human signatures?"

Alan's face fell. "No, but… I couldn't scan inside, so… Look, there's a chance. He might be here. We should at least check. And hey, we could do with stocking up on supplies, so we've really got nothing to lose."

"There's always more to lose," Virgil said under his breath, just loud enough to be heard.

Alan flung an arm out dramatically. "Jeez, way to kill the vibe. I'm just lovin' your optimism."

Virgil side-eyed him. "Did you find sugar somewhere or is this just you?"

"All my natural charm. And anxiety too. I'm just awesome like that." Alan passed the controls back over to Virgil and scrambled out of his chair, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste. "So? Are we going?"

Virgil inhaled sharply but didn't say anything.

John tried not to look at Scott. "Right now?"

Alan rocked back and forth on his heels. "Uh huh. Why not?" He settled for bouncing instead, shifting to tapping and then back again. He probably could have run a marathon in less than an hour without difficulty. "I mean yeah, it's dark, but all we're doing is burning fuel right now. We may as well set down and get this over with. If we can't find Gordon, at least we'll know, so we can plan our next move. It's not as if any of us would be able to sleep tonight if we put this off until the morning."

Scott discarded the ration bar wrapper under his chair and prayed Virgil wouldn't notice. "He raises a good point," he conceded.

"There are other factors to consider," John stated simply, eternally leaning towards the subtle side of things, but Scott didn't need to be psychic to know his brother's meaning. He reached for another ration bar, but John still didn't look convinced. "Virgil? Medical opinion please."

Alan finally stilled for a merciful second in order to look between the three of them, confusion overriding his adrenaline rush. "Wait, can we rewind? What happened? Why do we need a medical opinion?"

"Scott is-" Virgil began.

"-fine," Scott cut him off with a meaningful look. "Scott is fine."

"Talking about yourself in the third person isn't exactly reassuring, I'm just saying." Alan snatched a ration bar from mid-air as John made to throw it to Scott. "Dude, how many of these have you had?"

"Too many. They're beginning to taste like sawdust."

Alan wrinkled his nose. "Scotty, they always tasted like sawdust. That's not a new discovery." He bounded over to Virgil, snatching his helmet from his seat on the way. "So? Are we going?"

Scott offered Virgil a thumbs-up behind Alan's back. Virgil narrowed his eyes and motioned to the bio readouts. John snatched the console before Scott could hide it and scrolled through the results with a barely concealed wince.

"Not a good idea," he mouthed.

"It's a great idea," Scott announced.

John mimed strangling him. Scott shot him an angelic smile. Virgil knocked his head against the dash with a groan. Alan slotted his helmet into place, satisfied that he'd won his case.

"Let's go!"

John gestured vaguely between the console and Scott. "Are you insane?"

Virgil dragged himself out of his chair, albeit reluctantly. "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em, isn't that what they say? I can't stop these two, so I'll go with them instead."

John muttered something uncomplimentary. Alan sniggered.

"Fine. Fine. Clearly I have the only brain cell in this family." John grabbed his helmet and strode over to join them. "I'm coming with you."

"That's a terrible idea," Scott told him.

John treated him to an evil smile. "It's a great idea." He tilted his head in challenge.

Scott wilted. "Alright, Johnny, I hear you. Point made."

Virgil planted a hand on Alan's shoulder to keep the kid from launching into orbit. "Why are we like this? That's a genuine question. Why?"

Alan beamed at him. "It's the trauma."