I have been working since 3am and I've got to do it all over again tomorrow too but the cute barista gave me a free hot chocolate so my soul hasn't been completely extinguished yet. Also, to those of you who were looking forward to a fluffy family reunion: uhhh I'm sorry...


Despite still being hopelessly outnumbered, Gordon's appearance turned the tide. He activated Kayo's old tasers on his wrists so that even those who got within striking range wound up on their asses with a serious shock turning their blood to fire. His new suit seemed to be made out of some sort of metal-fabric hybrid as it deflected any bullets. After a minute of observation, Scott stopped doubting him. Honestly, Gordon was faring better than anyone else in the room, having yanked his mask back on and bringing his blades back into commission.

Virgil brought Two just low enough to maintain a steady position without too much turbulence from the insane updrafts caused by wind funnelling through the complex and out through the shattered skylights. Alan ducked to let Gordon fire the crossbow over his shoulder, then skidded across the floor to Scott's side. The roar of VTOLs finally overpowered the gunfire, but there was a faint thunder underneath it all.

Gordon tilted his head, listening carefully. The lenses on his mask narrowed. "They're coming," he reported, retrieving a grapple pack from his belt and tucking it into Alan's hand. He gestured to Two's open hatch above the skylight. "Go. I'll be right after you."

"I'm not leaving you again," Alan protested.

The mask didn't offer much of a hint as to Gordon's expression but somehow he managed to inject enough exasperation into his body language alone as Alan backed down. It was an impressive display of silent communication between the two as usually Alan had a stubborn streak to rival Scott's own.

"If you're not on board in three minutes, I'm coming back down to find you."

Gordon smacked their hands together in a particularly violent high-five. "Deal. Now go." He followed Alan's pointed look to the new onslaught of attackers. "Relax, I'll cover ya. Scott, you got any weapons up your sleeve? No? Cool, take this."

Scott inspected the gleaming blade with a healthy dose of apprehension. "This is a machete." He side-eyed his brother. "I have so many questions."

Gordon lifted his mask just enough for Scott to spy his grin. "Join the club." He turned back to the shifting shapes within the smoke and levelled his shoulders. "Right. We've got ten more of these fuckers lurking in the shadows and an entire horde of infected heading our way. Reckon we can handle 'em?" He twirled a blade. "That was a trick question – we don't actually have a choice."


Crashing onto the floor of Two's module with a trail of screeching infected on his heels was fast becoming a regular pastime and Scott could say with absolute certainty that he did not approve. For starters, the grapples were never designed to be used as such but mainly it just hurt. Smacking into hard metal was a bitch to the knees and he had more bruises than that time he'd found himself on the wrong side of a rockfall. It also didn't help that he'd made his hasty retreat on the same grapple as Gordon for quickness and so now they were in a tangled heap, and he couldn't get up because Gordon was still pinning him to the floor.

Alan had taken the initiative apparently, as he was nowhere in sight but Thunderbird Two suddenly skyrocketed while Virgil was very much still in the module with them, console no longer operating his ship remotely. John steadied himself against the wall at the sudden increase of gravity. Scott gave up on trying to free himself and stared at the ceiling, trying to ignore the blood splattered across his visor. The pressure faded back to ordinary levels as Alan stopped ascending and set them onto autopilot.

Virgil peeled himself off the floor where his own grapple journey hadn't ended in a particularly dignified fashion. For a moment, he simply stared.

"What?" he said eventually. "Just…" He gestured vaguely. "What?"

Gordon tugged his arm free from under Scott's waist and rolled into a crouch. "Oh, hey Virg."

A stony silence settled. Scott tugged his helmet off and sent it skidding into a far corner, trying not to heave at the tackiness smothering his gloves because killing infected was one thing but potentially killing healthy humans - no matter how evil their intentions - was quite another and he didn't know how to feel about it. He hadn't processed anything yet. He certainly hadn't considered the fact that John had stabbed someone. That was a crisis he could have in the shower when no one could hear him. For now, all he wanted to focus on was the immense relief at having Gordon safe and sound in front of him.

Virgil seemed torn between relief and that stinging sense of betrayal he'd been nursing ever since Gordon had left him on Tracy Island. In the end, he pushed himself to his feet and walked out without a word, choosing the stairs over the elevator up to the cockpit because he needed the extra time to calm himself down before being greeted with Alan's elation.

Gordon's face fell. "Right. I- uh…" He tugged his mask off to run a hand through sweaty hair. "I probably should have expected that, huh?" He shuffled closer to the wall so that he could slump against it, drawing his knees close to his chest, crestfallen. "Should I go after him?"

John intercepted before Scott could advise otherwise. "Give him some space. He's had a rough day."

"A long day," Scott added, suddenly exhausted. Had it really only been that morning that he'd trekked to the camp with Virgil?

Adrenaline was beginning to give way to a pretty big crash. He had the shakes coming on again. A shower followed by bed sounded ideal but there was no hope of that anytime soon, not when he had damage control to run. Besides, he didn't think he was going to be letting Gordon out of his sight for the next twelve hours at least. He couldn't shake the nagging fear that all of this was a dream, that he'd close his eyes and wake up back in his bunk the previous night, that Gordon was still lost beyond his reaches.

"Hey." John's hand landed on his shoulder. "C'mon, you need to get outta that suit."

Which- hold on a damn minute. John sounded suspiciously put together. There was compartmentalising in the heat of the moment to get through it all without falling apart but this was different. This was repression. Only this was John, so it was only repression to a certain extent – he'd continue to overthink himself into a spiral on the downlow, just like he'd done with that satellite, and there was no version of that story which ended well.

Gordon, being the observant little shit that he was, noticed something was up immediately. He sat up, gaze flicking between his eldest two brothers, curiosity clear on his features.

"What's happened?"

"A lot," John retorted, not unkindly but sharp enough to make a point. Which was fair enough, because Gordon had ditched him and Virgil without so much as a goodbye. "But you wouldn't know because you weren't here for the past two weeks."

"It's not quite two weeks," Gordon replied, a trace more hesitantly. "What's wrong? Is it your health? Did something happen with the Hood?"

And- oh shit. The last Gordon had heard was when Scott and Alan had been out of radio contact, halfway to Earth with the Hood as an unwanted passenger. He had a lot to catch up on.

"The Hood's gone." It was ironic having the Hood as the simplest loose end to tie up. Scott gestured vaguely to the right as if a map of the states could somehow appear from thin air for him to point out the location. "He's at a private bunker."

"Yeah." Gordon tipped his head back with a dark chuckle. "Sounds about right." He stretched his legs out, flipping his mask from one hand to the other. "Okay, so if not the Hood, then- Johnny?"

"Meds are still working."

"Still popping pills, huh?"

"Like a proper junkie."

Gordon shared a surprisingly dark sense of humour with Scott and John but even he cringed at that particular line. "Jeezus, John," he muttered, grip tightening on the mask until he was strangling the fabric. "Maybe don't joke about that."

"Hmm." John didn't sound too chastised. Then again, he'd perfected the art of not giving a fuck about people's opinions a very long time ago. He activated something on his console and Scott jolted away as that familiar hum of a med-scan passed over him. John angled the results out of his brother's eyeline, frowning. "Food. Now. C'mon Scott, on your feet."

Scott glowered at him. "Dammit, John, don't do that. You're as bad as Virgil."

"Hilarious. Now get up. You need to eat before you pass out again and this time I might just let you fall on your ass."

Gordon blinked owlishly. "Wait, Scott passed out?"

"Scott's an idiot," John informed him.

"Thanks. I feel so loved."

"Really?" Gordon interjected, trying to joke but falling several degrees short of a genuinely humorous tone. "Because I don't." He tried to play it off as a quip with a crooked smile to match but John was too good at reading people, his brothers most of all, for it to pass as believable.

"I am beyond relieved to have you back. Virgil is too. But you ran out on us, Gords. That hurt. It wasn't kind. I understand why you did it, but we're going to need time to come to terms. So yes, I'm happy you're here and I'm grateful you're safe, but do not expect open arms straight away."

Gordon faltered. "That's fair," he admitted at last, sort of strangled, ducking his head to fix his sights on the reflective lenses on his mask. "I'm sorry."

"As you should be." John held out a hand to Scott. "Get up and get some food. I'm not asking a third time."

Scott wasn't entirely sure what this display was trying to prove – because they both knew that John would wind up flat on his ass if he tried to pull Scott upright, especially when he was beginning to reach the danger-zone of detox, well overdue his next dose of meds – but he took his brother's hand anyway, even if John did nothing other than stand there while Scott got himself standing. If Gordon noticed, he didn't mention it. In fact, he didn't say much of anything, just sorta crumpled against the wall, suddenly very small. Scott had seen him dispatch five assailants within ten seconds without hesitation and yet right now Gordon seemed impossibly young again.

The shakes were only getting worse, he was drenched in filthy water and general gore, and there was more information swirling in his head than he knew what to do with, but his little brother needed him, so Scott had to stay. Just for a few more minutes. He didn't need to voice this aloud as John shot him a knowing look and trudged towards the elevator with a heavy sigh and a vague gesture towards the place where a watch would be, as in make it quick.

He let the whirr of the elevator fade into obscurity before sinking down beside his brother. Gordon traced the outline of those lenses before finally discarding the mask at his side.

"It's GDF issued," he explained after a moment, holding out his arm so that the fine seams of metal gleamed under the lights.

Scott examined the suit. It was a clever design and well manufactured. But it didn't seem right, or perhaps Gordon just didn't seem as if he belonged in GDF gear. And how exactly had he come across it in the first place? So many questions. So few answers. So little time. How the hell did you even start this sort of conversation?

Gordon was clearly itching to ask just as many questions of his own but didn't know how to broach any of those topics either. So, they settled for silence, relief palpable in the form of zero pressure, shoulders brushing, Scott not prying and Gordon not pointing out how badly Scott was shaking. There was the familiar hitch as VTOLs cut out completely to give way to horizontal flight. Distantly, a shower was running. Scott mentally staked a claim on it – the grime had found its way under his suit and his skin was itchy with dried muck.

Gordon finally broke the silence. "Are you okay?"

And he sounded so goddam genuine, eyes wide with concern, dropping all the masks and brushing aside that dangerous edge for a second because sharpness wasn't necessary here, none of it was, but they'd all changed within those two weeks, so they had to learn how to be a family again but the one thing which remained constant was that truest sense of self: the part of them which openly cared. And yes, Gordon had always been an empath, but it would have been very easy to bury that softness beneath all the sharp pieces where he'd shattered parts of his soul to form a sword, to protect himself and those he loved. And even now, fighting back tears – because at the end of the day Gordon was too fucking young for this, for any of it, and he'd finally found his family again only for John and Virgil to show him anger, even if it was valid and completely understandable – he was asking whether Scott was okay before attempting to seek comfort. It was just- It was a lot.

"Not really," Scott replied, trying to catch his thoughts before they could spiral into another hurricane. He put an arm around Gordon's shoulders. "Are you okay?"

"Uh…" Gordon gave a sharp laugh, cold and painful. "Not really," he echoed. He listed against Scott's side. "I can't believe this is real. I dunno. I think I just need time to process. But… okay, it's dumb but in my head I had this idea that if I could find you, if I could bring us all back together, maybe even bring us home, then maybe… maybe everything would just fall into place. Fix itself. Or at least present us with a way to fix it. And I know, I know, you don't need to tell me. It's stupid. But I needed something to believe in." He grew quiet. "I still do."

"What happened to you?" Scott asked softly, not intending on actually voicing the question until he'd already started speaking. He tightened his grip as Gordon gave a tiny shrug.

"That's a long story, Scotty. Besides…" Gordon pulled away slightly to glance up at him. "What happened to you?"

"Life," Scott shot back instantly. It wasn't exactly a lie.

"That's ironic," Gordon replied dryly. "I'd say death was what happened to the rest of us."


It was awkward.

It shouldn't have been. There was a sense of belonging, that feeling that the final puzzle piece had fallen into place, which came with having all five of them once again in the same room. And yet there was that tension. A slight strain to the conversation. Silence where there should have been noise. It was just- well, awkward.

And it wasn't simply due to the silent resentment that no one was willing to address – the part where Virgil was still hurt and John was, apparently, angry, that Gordon had walked out on them, no matter how good his cause had been. There were several long silences. Safety in flight provided the chance to talk – unfortunately communication was something their family had never excelled at.

GPS was on the fritz again. That lost signal to EOS had degraded even further. Radiation readings projected another wave of ash sweeping across the state within five hours. Maps showed it moving steadily from south-west to north-east. No one mentioned the direct path it tore through the survival camp's last known coordinates.

So. That awkward silence. It descended once more. Scott would honestly have preferred fighting a horde of the infected because at least that left no room for conscious thought. As it was, he kept dwelling on Joanna and those kids, all of whom were probably dead now if they were lucky, and at worst… radiation sickness was a horrific way to die. He banished those ashfall projections before they could burn their way into his mind. Nope. Not thinking about burning thank-you-very-much. Fuck. Well. This was so much fun.

"Alan's gonna use up all the hot water," Virgil noted as the silence began to take on a presence, infecting every part of the cockpit like a virus. He made no move to actually shut off the shower, although he was perfectly capable of doing so and had irritated Gordon as such on multiple occasions.

John rolled out of his chair on unsteady feet and took a moment to catch his balance. "I'll get him. I need to grab my meds anyway."

With John gone, the tension reached an entirely new level. Virgil was devoting far more attention than necessary to Two's controls given he was probably capable of flying his 'bird in his sleep. Gordon decided to fold himself into a corner of his chair and just stare. Silently. As if he could somehow telepathically project an apology across the cockpit and have it accepted without a need for a full-on conversation/argument. Probably the latter. Definitely the latter, because Virgil rarely got genuinely angry but when he did it usually stemmed from worry and oh boy, had Gordon caused them a lot of worry.

"Where are we going?" Scott finally asked because this was getting ridiculous. Come on. He wanted a shower and sleep, but he couldn't do either of those until he at least started the ball rolling on this conversation. "Virg?"

"Somewhere."

Jesus Christ. He resisted the urge to smack his head against the nearest locker. This was actually painful. "Great. Thanks for clearing that up."

"Shut up, Scott." Virgil finally turned away from the controls. "Sorry. That was uncalled for." And oh hello, mother-hen mode activated. Progress. "Have you eaten?"

In between struggling out of the suit and attempting to prevent fratricide from occurring, Scott had snagged another ration bar which would now forever be engrained in his tastebuds and had given him a new appreciation for space rations which were arguably more flavoursome. Sawdust. Just… sawdust. He'd kill for a proper American burger. Or pancakes. See, now he was just thinking about food and that was even more depressing than thinking about the cold shower he was going to have to suffer through because Alan had definitely drained the hot water.

Virgil set Two onto autopilot. Which- wait. Wait. Autopilot?

Gordon coughed. "I… uh… I could fly. For a while. If you want a break. You don't need to- is autopilot a good idea when there's ash inbound?"

"At least the autopilot is reliable."

Ouch.

Gordon finally sat upright.

"That's not fair," he said, quietly, more to the floor than to Virgil, bracing himself against his knees as if he were about to be shouted at. Virgil didn't do shouting. That was John or Scott's thing. But everything was different now. Everything was wrong. The process of relearning what it meant to be human in this new world meant figuring out identity and how you fit into everything. It was a mess.

"You know what also wasn't fair? When you walked out on me."

"You would never have let me leave."

Virgil yanked open a locker, possibly on the hunt for more rations but most likely just to hide his expression. "Really?"

"Yes, really."

"I wouldn't have let you go alone. But I would have gone with you, Gordon, you know that."

"Obviously I know that, why do you think I walked out?" Gordon lifted his feet onto the edge of the chair and tipped backwards a little to hide in the shadows. "Virg, you're not meant to be here. Neither is John. You can't-"

Virgil spun around sharply. "Can't what?"

Gordon trailed off. "Can't cut it," he said in a very small voice, sensing he'd made a grave error in judgement. He twisted his mask between his hands, not daring to look up.

"Oh, fuck you. I can't cut it?" Virgil stormed past him. "Really? Because I seem to have done a pretty good job of keeping myself alive so far."

"I was trying to keep you safe."

"I don't want to hear it."

"Virg-"

"Save it."

"Virgil, come on."

"Back off." Virgil gestured to Scott. "You need to eat something before you take the next dose of antibiotics. Let's go."

"Uh…"

"Scott. Now."


Angrily taking care of someone didn't seem possible but somehow Virgil was managing it. Which would have been vaguely impressive had Scott not been so worried and also trying not to freak the fuck out at the same time because this was the first time he'd been in Two's med-bay since October.

It was squeaky clean. Which seemed obvious, but for some reason his subconscious had imagined it very differently. There was still that unmistakeable stench of bleach which had infiltrated everything, seemingly even the metal. He perched on the edge of the bed so he could put his back to the wall and tried not to let his imagination run wild with his memories. It was a tricky task. He splayed a hand over crisp white sheets and felt the cotton beneath his fingertips, brand new, having never seen even a trace of blood in the short time it had been in use. Ironically enough, in normal times it would have seen a lot more, but oh goddammit, why couldn't he stop thinking about blood?

Virgil, despite having his back turned, rifling through the meds he had spread across the table, somehow sensed that Scott was not doing what he was supposed to. "You'd better be eating."

"I'm eating." Scott jabbed a fork into the ration mix. "See?"

"That's stabbing the food, not eating it."

"It's both."

"I swear to God…"

He was struck with the urge to laugh. Sorta hysterically. Or perhaps cry. Definitely sleep. A coma sounded appealing right around now. Instead, he methodically ate the rations whilst staring very intently at his brother's back because Virgil wasn't saying a whole lot, but his body language said enough without a need for spoken words. There were a series of bio-readouts glowing above the projector in the corner and he consulted it as he sorted out a collection of depleted medicines.

Scott slid off the bed to peer over Virgil's shoulder, twirling a fork around the rations absently as he recalled the medical training he'd picked up throughout years of IR. The baseline was that those readouts were spectacularly shit and were definitely cause for concern. He picked up the nearest cartridge of something marked hazardous, to only be taken in small doses, rarely used except in severe cases.

Virgil snatched it back. "Don't touch that."

"Sorry." Virgil eyed him until he took the hint and ate another forkful of food. "Those readouts are…" He sought for a gentle phrasing, but subtlety had never been his forte. He shrugged. "They're pretty crap, aren't they?"

"Three weeks," Virgil began, sinking into a chair and burying his head in his hands. His voice grew muffled. "Three weeks may have been on the generous side."

"Wait-" Scott deposited the food on the table before he could drop it and increased the size of the projections. "-are these John's vitals?"

Virgil made a vague sound of confirmation.

"Fuck, Vee, I didn't know he was this bad."

"Yeah, well…" Virgil exhaled shakily. He lifted his head to spy the bowl and nudged it back towards Scott. "If you don't finish that, I'm gonna stick an IV in you." He was still in his suit and perhaps it was simply the contrast of the dark fabric, but he suddenly looked exhausted. "We're outta time."

The food was suddenly even more unappetising than it had been previously. Scott forced down the final few bites and shoved it aside. The ceramic smacked against the wall hard enough to leave a chip along the rim. He propped himself against the edge of the table and banished the readouts before Virgil could fixate on them again.

"We're not out of time," he said firmly, as if he could will a cure into being through determination and sheer stubbornness alone. "We've got three weeks... well, slightly less according to these stats but-"

"Two."

"…What?"

"Two weeks," Virgil corrected, hushed, and put his head back in his hands. "Has he told you about his batshit plan involving Five?"

"He mentioned it."

"It's insane."

"I know."

"It's a last-ditch solution."

"I know."

"It might be time to start considering it."

Virgil didn't give him chance to dwell on it which was probably just as well because they'd both been awake for over twenty-four hours and Scott was only one bad discussion away from a new spiral. He downed the antibiotics dry and then chased them with a bottle of water after Virgil produced the med-scanner and announced he was dehydrated. He didn't fight his brother's fretting too much, because Virgil taking care of other people was a relatively healthy coping method.

They sat side-by-side on the edge of the bed with just the holo-projector for lighting and stared at the opposite wall without speaking. Scott was trying to keep from falling asleep upright. Virgil was overthinking again. They made quite a pair. The faint hum of the shower finally cut out, shortly followed by the smack of wet feet along the corridor as Alan made a mad dash for the cockpit, laughing in that specific pitch which meant he'd definitely done something to irritate an elder brother, as confirmed by John's indistinct shout.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Scott took a moment to drag himself back to the present. He was half-convinced Virgil had put something extra in the food because he had definitely not been this level of tired before. The words registered slowly, and it took a good couple of minutes of processing to make the link and realise exactly what his brother was referring to. Right. This was going to be a fun conversation, especially without John around to translate his bullshit because Virgil was good at seeing through him ninety-nine percent of the time, but this topic just happened to be the remaining one percent of other crap he wasn't fluent in.

"John's not around most of the time. You are. John can call but it's not the same. If I'd told you, that would have made it real."

"It is real."

"It would have made it a problem."

Virgil was quiet for a moment. "One to ten sounds like it already is a problem."

"Probably," Scott admitted. "Don't you ever do that though? Not that, but… you know. Pretend there's nothing wrong until you convince yourself it's the truth."

"I try not to do that because nine times outta ten the problem will then come back to haunt you worse than it was before."

"Yeah. I can confirm that."

"Shit, Scott."

"Probably not the best time for this conversation."

"I know."

He knocked their shoulders together until Virgil looked at him. "I'm okay right now. Honest. C'mon, you can tell if I'm bullshitting you or not. I'm okay for now."

Virgil studied him and, apparently satisfied that Scott wasn't lying, relented. "For now," he echoed in a small voice, picking at the tiny shard of glass that had worked its way under the metal knuckle of his left glove.

"I'd tell you."

"You wouldn't."

"I'm trying to get better at that."

"Today… yesterday…" Virgil gave up on the glass fragment. "The past twenty-four hours have been a lot. It's uh- it's…"

"A lot?"

"Hmm."

"I know."

Virgil tipped back on his hands. The projector was reflecting strange blue shapes across the ceiling, and they moved slowly, swirling like a spiral galaxy set in motion.

"John killed someone."

Scott repressed a flinch. "Self-defence."

"I'm not saying it wasn't."

"What are you saying?"

"I don't know. I- maybe- fuck. I don't know anymore. And now Gordon's… and I didn't realise just how much it hurt when he left until I got him back. On the one hand, I just want to give him a hug, because of course I'm happy he's here, but on the other…"

"He was trying to protect you, in his own way."

"We always try to protect each other, but typically that's how we hurt each other too."

"Being selfless can also be selfish," Scott whispered.

Virgil gave him a strange look.

He shrugged. "It's something John once said. Look, Gordon was trying to do the right thing. You need to talk to him. We're all hurting, and the only way we can fix this – any of it – is together."

"Right." Virgil gestured to the projector. It shut down instantly, lights giving way to shadows. "What if there's no together left?" he asked quietly, because vulnerability was never a crime, but it always felt safer in the dark.

Scott flinched away from the thought. "That's not-" He inhaled sharply, suddenly grateful that Virgil was right there because the darkness was thick enough to drown in. "We won't lose him."

"Is Gordon right?"

"About what?"

"About me."

"The world's too cruel as it is, Virg. I reckon we could all do with some softness. Besides, you don't need to go around killing zombies. You've got me for that."


The infected were active. Scans showed great swarms of them in an endless expanse across the land below. It was unbearably dark outside. The world was wild and unknowable. Everything was a threat. Fires had broken out in the distance and the clouds glowed amber. Smoke formed strange creatures along the horizon. Two wrestled turbulence for control of the skies. Hovering seemed a greater struggle than standard flight. Crosswinds picked up by the hour. Sleep came in snatches, feeble and faint so that the slightest sound was enough to jolt anyone awake.

They didn't bother with bunks, just threw blankets over the floor and bundled sweatshirts into spare pillows. Two's holograms provided a soft light. Virgil was finally out for the count and Alan wasn't far behind him. John sat upright with his back to the wall, cradling a console on top of his knees so that the pale glow reflected in his eyes. Scott didn't bother telling him to go to sleep. There was very little point when his brother looked that haunted. He draped a blanket around John's shoulders before flopping across the blankets by Virgil's side.

Virgil, apparently not quite as asleep as appearances had suggested, lofted himself on an elbow, squinting in the dim light. "You 'kay?"

"Uh huh." Scott struggled into a shirt, swiping stray water droplets from his damp hair as he tugged it over his head. His back protested, wounds flaring up as if someone had taken a match to them, but at least they were beginning to heal properly now. He caught Virgil's concerned look and shot him a reassuring smile. "I'm good."

Virgil didn't look convinced but lay back down. "Get some sleep."

Two trembled as another violent gust of wind barrelled into her left hull. John fumbled to catch the console before it could crash against the floor. Alan made a questioning sound at the sudden jostling but buried his head under a blanket before anyone could reply. Scott tugged the nearest makeshift pillow closer and attempted to get comfortable which was a challenge but wasn't impossible.

He drifted off for about an hour or so before a faint whisper caught his attention. Virgil was half-buried beneath not only his own blanket but also the one he'd stolen from Scott at some point during the night. Alan was curled as small as possible against the bulkhead, clutching a sweatshirt tightly to his chest like a shield. Both of them were fast asleep. Scott propped his chin on his arms and observed the dark cockpit, attempting to maintain the pretence of sleep because eavesdropping wasn't exactly polite but sometimes it was necessary.

"You knew them," John was saying, quietly so as not to disturb anyone, but with a definitive edge to his voice. He'd finally discarded the console and was sat in Virgil's usual chair while Gordon lounged in his old co-pilot's seat, legs hooked over the armrest, supposedly casual and well at ease if it weren't for the hunch of his shoulders and the death-grip he held on the blanket in his lap. He still hadn't changed out of his GDF suit, and the metal turned gold in the glow of fire-heavy clouds.

"There are multiple groups," Gordon replied after a moment. "They're all linked. I've been working to track them down and take them out."

John observed him, searching for something behind the facade. "Who are they?"

"Bandits is the most common name for them, at least amongst survival groups. But they're… it's not that simple. They're not just raiding supplies. They're taking people."

"Human trafficking?"

"Not just humans."

John was quick on the uptake. "They're taking the infected?"

Gordon tipped back in his chair, twisting to lean against the dash.

"Infected, those who are immune, kids. There's a massive market. Private bunkers, mostly. They want kids for obvious reasons – you can't have the continued survival of a species without children. I guess there are some who genuinely have the kids' best interests at heart but… I don't know, John. They pay these people to bring them children without caring about how. As for the immune – that news has been trickling down the grapevine for a while now. Bunkers pay a shit ton to get their hands on those with immunity, thinking they can unlock the secrets."

"And the infected?"

"Research. But mostly entertainment. You remember how people used to have animal fights before it became illegal? Imagine sticking two infected in a ring and letting 'em attack each other."

"That's barbaric."

"That's how it is. They take kids and the immune from survival groups and destroy the rest before they can spread the news to other camps. The GDF are trying to focus on research at the moment – they can't spare the resources to combat this shit but it's a real problem. There's a few of us who go out and tackle the bastards whenever we get a tip off that they're gonna be at a specific location. I'd been tracking earlier's group for the past twenty-four hours." He shook his head with a chuckle. "Didn't expect to find you guys there."

John studied the reflections of amber clouds across the dash. "You've killed them?"

"What, infected or the bandits?" Gordon shot him a sideways glance. "Both. I'm uh… I'm guessing you've…"

"I stabbed someone. A human being."

"They'd have taken Alan. I can tell you that categorically. If they'd learnt about your immunity, they'd have stolen you and Scott too and Virgil wouldn't be here right now either. You saw the state of that place, what they did to the survivors they had no use for. I mean, shit, Johnny, you did the world a favour."

"They were human."

"They were monsters. At least the infected don't have conscious thought. These assholes are pure evil."

"So, you have no regrets?"

"Nope."

"Then why did you wake yourself up crying?"

Gordon froze. John watched him, unblinking, not pushing but unwilling to back down either. In the dull light, tear tracks were faintly visible but only if you knew to look for them. Gordon lifted his feet back to the floor, socks light against cold metal – his boots were the only part of his suit he'd taken off and they were stowed in a locker where their bloodied soles couldn't contaminate anything – and trailed a hand across the steering column, eyes overly bright and bloodshot.

"We've seen a lot. Nightmares aren't anything new."

In other words, stop asking questions now.

John summoned scans of the world below. They were cruising over an empty wasteland littered with infected which had once been fields levelled for a housing development. He didn't say anything for a long minute. Scott nearly drifted back to sleep, exhaustion easing his senses into a daze, Virgil like a freaking radiator next to him so that he didn't even miss the stolen blanket.

"We're living in a nightmare," Gordon said suddenly, in a very small voice, utterly exhausted so that he sounded more resigned than hurt. He tightened his grip on the controls despite the autopilot, closing his eyes as if imagining that all this were his own imagination and that he could blink and find himself back at Virgil's side flying another standard rescue. "We're already… yes, I've killed them. Infected and healthy. Monsters and yet more monsters. And maybe deep down I do regret it… not taking them out of the equation but becoming a person who's capable of doing that without remorse. Becoming this new version of myself – that's what I regret. But what's the point in fearing Hell when I'm already there?"

John let out a dark laugh. "Maybe we're already dead."

"Or maybe this really is just a nightmare," Gordon countered.

"Maybe." John wrapped his arms around himself in a rare display of vulnerability. "If we are, then I could really do with someone telling me how to wake up."

Gordon reached across to pat his shoulder. "Yeah. That makes two of us."