Once upon a time, life had been so easy. There had been no need to think about where food was going to come from because all you needed to do was head to the nearest store. Electricity came with the flick of a switch. The global water crisis had been solved a decade earlier. Peacetime brought prosperity to the majority and so people had grown complacent. Who needed to learn manual labour when those roles were automated nowadays?
And then the apocalypse struck.
Survival was as complicated as it was easy. The principles were simple but the complexities of living posed a challenge. The days were long and exhausting. People worked their fingers to the bone to keep the lights on and put food on the table. No one had just a single role but a multitude of responsibilities which demanded attention. Nine-to-five jobs became five-to-nine jobs.
The only mercy was that the constant work distracted them from the icy temperatures and left them too tired to dream. The days were cold but the nights were freezing and central heating was another relic to be mourned.
But despite the dreary weather and innumerable hardships, there was a heightened sense of community and good feeling. Survivor's guilt had been lifting its chokehold ever since Scott's speech at the Memorial Ceremony and more tender hope blossomed by the day.
It was just a shame that it didn't apply to everyone.
Midway through October and Scott still wasn't used to the temperatures. He was wearing a thermal shirt under a thick hoodie with a coat on top yet he could still feel the chill sinking its teeth into his bones.
It was probably a side effect of how much weight he'd dropped, he reflected, repressing another shiver. It was a miserable 37.4F and wind chill made it seem even colder. It wasn't so bad in the heart of town but out here, in the lonely stretch of flat land between the final buildings and the northern flank of the wall, the skatepark bore the full brunt of the icy breeze.
There was no one around except for the lone figure he'd come searching for. He hung back for a few moments, dropping onto the bench beneath a skeletal tree as he waited to be noticed. The only sounds were the faint rush of the wind and the rattle of wheels accompanied by thuds as the skateboard swooped up rises and landed skilfully without so much as a slight wobble. The rider seemed utterly absorbed as he concentrated on each trick. He also didn't seem to feel the cold despite the fact he was wearing only a thin sweatshirt.
"Alan," Scott called, trying not to startle him. There were several patches of ice lying around and his overprotective streak could already imagine the various injuries those could cause. He raised his voice when there was no immediate response. "Alan!"
Alan finally looked up and caught sight of him. He slowed slightly, then kicked into a faster ascent to glide up the side of the bowl and over the rim.
He flipped his 'board up and under his arm, running a hand across the back of his neck as he ducked his head, unable to make eye contact. "Hey."
Scott forced a smile despite the sinking pit in his stomach. Worry was a constant when it came to Alan these days, yet every morning Scott woke up hoping something would have changed. But no, the kid remained as withdrawn as ever. If anything, he seemed to be getting worse.
"Hey," Scott echoed, biting back a comment about Alan's choice of clothing. He shrugged off his own coat and wrapped it around the kid's shoulders.
Alan curled his fingers in the fabric instinctively.
"I'm not cold," he said in a tiny voice, despite shrinking into the warmth.
It was very obviously a lie; Scott could see the goosebumps on his arms where his sleeves had ridden up and he was shivering. It wasn't the first time Scott had found him alone out here, skating until his teeth chattered and his fingers were tinged blue, and he doubted it would be the last. But he didn't refuse the coat, so at least that was something.
"You've been out here a while," Scott commented, resisting the urge to wrap his arms around himself in the face of the northern wind. He slid his hands into his pockets instead. "Didn't Jazz want to join you? I thought she liked skating."
Alan shrugged, gaze still fixed on the floor. "I guess." He toed at a bit of broken ice. "I just didn't really feel like company. And… I dunno. She's happy here. I don't want to drag her down."
"You wouldn't drag her down," Scott protested softly. "She's your friend. She's worried about you."
We all are.
Alan finally looked up, turning to stare at the swathe of shadow as the winter sun sank below the wall. He didn't say anything for a long minute, jaw clenched as he blinked away traitorous tears. His eyes were rimmed with red, suggesting that this wasn't the first time he'd been struck by that desolate sadness today.
"I don't want anyone to worry," he whispered.
Scott faltered. He hated everything about this – the painful brittleness about Alan these days; the way the kid's hands trembled before he hid them in his pockets; how he worked in absolute silence; the fact no one had seen him smile in weeks – but he couldn't bear the helplessness. There was nothing he could do to make it easier and he knew that from personal experience.
"I know you don't, bud," he said quietly. "But I don't think you get much of a say in it. Worrying comes naturally with caring about someone."
Alan dropped his gaze back to the skateboard in his hands. He picked at the flecks of red paint, voice hardly even a murmur as he confessed, "I don't want to make anyone else sad."
A lonely wail of wind stole the final few leaves from the stricken trees. Scott tried to keep the heartbreak out of his tone, moving closer to stand at Alan's side at the edge of the skate bowl.
"You don't need to worry about anyone's feelings except your own right now, Allie."
Alan inhaled shakily as though he were going to say something, but then remained quiet. He dropped his 'board onto the icy concrete and turned to face Scott. He was twisting his hands again, picking at raw nails which he bitten down to the flesh, tilting forwards slightly to lean his forehead against Scott's shoulder.
"Scotty?" he mumbled into the thick cotton of Scott's hoodie. "I…"
Scott lifted a hand to the nape of the kid's neck. Alan trembled under the touch and it took a few seconds to reach the painful realisation that he was trying not to cry again.
"Talk to me?" Scott asked, despite knowing Alan would never take him up on the offer. He pulled him into a proper hug - a fierce, warm thing - tucking his chin over that mop of blond hair. After a moment, he felt Alan's arms wrap around him in return. "It'll be okay."
Alan didn't say anything, but his disbelief was almost tangible.
Scott hated the fact that he had to end the hug, but it was almost six-fifteen and they needed to get across town for Alan's latest therapy appointment - not that those seemed to be doing much good. He kept an arm around his brother's shoulders and tugged him gently back towards the buildings, hoping against fate that maybe tomorrow would be the day he'd get to hear Alan's laugh again.
Dr Sloane Briggs had set up shop on the uppermost level of the community hub. It was a private floor which was only accessible if you knew the code, otherwise you had to hit the intercom and wait to be buzzed in.
The space was divided into three separate sections, all bathed in daylight from large windows. There was a waiting room and then two rooms dedicated for therapy: one for adults and one for kids. Alan had his sessions in the adult area but Dr Briggs had brought a beanbag from the kids room for him to sit on and had gifted him a fidget cube to try to prevent him from biting his nails.
Scott usually headed downstairs during Alan's sessions, but today he remained in the waiting room. He could probably find a certain sense of irony in the fact that he had been to these offices so many times since their arrival and yet still hadn't had sat down for therapy of his own. He had priority due to his history – which Virgil had stuck on the application form despite his protests – but the list was still long enough for the earliest available date to be in December; Alan had only been seen thanks to Lou's favour.
The sessions lasted roughly an hour. Scott slid down in the blue couch and watched the final rays of sunset grace the sky. He stretched his legs out and crossed his arms behind his head, wincing as his muscles reminded him of earlier's workout carrying crates of GDF gear out of storage. It should have been very easy to fall asleep – Dr Briggs' rooms were one of the few places which were actually heated – but there were too many thoughts spinning around his mind.
He must have drifted into an uneasy doze at some point as he suddenly became aware of the door opening. He pushed himself upright, trying to gauge Alan's mood but finding it pretty difficult when the kid seemed insistent on staring at his shoes.
"How'd it go?"
Scott tried to inject some positivity into his voice. His heart was sinking, plummeting faster than a meteor through the atmosphere, plunging into his boots, because this wasn't working and he couldn't shake the tiny, terrifying thought which constantly haunted him, what if you can't save him?
Alan gave a mute shrug. His hands were shaking as he finally uncurled his arms from his middle. His knuckles were chapped from too long spent skating in cold air – raw and painful and made worse by the fact he kept picking at them. He fixed his sights on the fading sky beyond the window for a few moments, seeking stars which were mostly hidden by gathering clouds, then let his shoulders drop with a tired sigh.
"I don't know. Same as ever?" The only thing scarier than his exhausted tone was the utter desolation in his eyes. "Nothing changes. I'm just… here. And I shouldn't be."
"You want to, uh, elaborate on that?"
"You know. Here. Therapy."
Oh, thank God. That's what he meant.
"There are so many people waiting for a session. Hell, you're waiting for a slot. And yet I'm here taking up time and it's pointless. I'm not getting any better. Doctor Briggs should give my space to someone else."
"Alan…" Scott didn't have the words. "These things take time. It's a slow process, just like healing a physical injury."
"Yeah, I guess."
Alan pressed his wounded knuckles against his eyes and drew an unsteady breath. For a few seconds he seemed to waver on the verge of shattering, then he closed the space between them and buried his face in Scott's shoulder. His grip was painfully tight and Scott repressed a wince as those skinny arms accidentally pressed on the bruise from a training session gone wrong.
"What's going on in here?" he asked, faintly teasing but mostly worried as he tapped Alan's temple.
"I'm making everyone sad. I know I am. But I can't stop. I've seen the way you and Virgil look at me. Gordon treats me like I'm made of glass. John's… It's like he's scared of me. And I want to be better, I swear, but I can't- I'm sorry. For making all of you worry. I just… I want to go home, Scotty."
"Okay," Scott agreed softly. "We can go home. Finch is probably missing you, so-"
"No, I mean I want to go home." Alan withdrew to wipe his sleeve across his face. His voice cracked painfully on stifled tears. "I miss home. I miss Grandma and Kayo and Brains. I miss Penny and Parker. I miss Three. I miss all of it. And it's gone. Even if we teleported back to the island, it wouldn't be the same now."
"I know."
Scott pulled him into another hug, still unable to comprehend how his kid had been hurt so badly without any of them realising. Had there been an exact moment which had tipped him over the edge? It wasn't just Gordon's accident.
"I'm sorry, Allie," he murmured. "I wish I could make it better."
Someone meaningfully cleared their throat. He looked up to spy Dr Briggs waiting in the doorway to her office, clearly reluctant to interrupt but seeing no other option. She tried to summon a smile, but it was a little too tight at the corners to seem genuine.
"Mr Tracy? Could I have a quick word?"
"Yeah." Scott cleared his throat and repeated more steadily, "Yes." He tousled Alan's hair. "I'll just be a minute, Al."
Alan gave a damp sniff and offered him a thumbs-up.
It was dark enough outside to require lights. Dr Briggs closed the door behind him and offered him a seat in an armchair beside an ornate lamp. She leant back against her desk, running her thumb over her wedding ring as she organised her thoughts.
"I have some… concerns," she explained eventually. "As Alan's legal guardian, I feel you should know. We've completed a full month now, yet I'm still seeing a deterioration. Pre-Z-Day, I'd have recommended trying him on a course of fluoxetine. Unfortunately, we don't have access to such medication anymore."
Central heating blasted from the radiator to his left, yet Scott felt as though he'd been doused in icy water.
"You want to put him on meds?"
"In an ideal world, yes."
His voice sounded pitifully small even to his own ears. "But he's so young."
"It's immaterial," Dr Briggs pointed out gently. "We don't have any on hand."
Her gaze flickered to the file of notes under her hand.
"Alan has gone through some sort of traumatic experience which he refuses to talk about. I was wondering if you might have any ideas as to what that might be?"
"It's the apocalypse. Everything's a traumatic experience." Scott leant back in the chair, struck by a new wave of exhaustion. "There was an… incident. Gordon, our brother, was hurt."
"I know about that," Dr Briggs interrupted. "There's something else on his mind. There's a missing gap in the timeline he's provided me. Something happened during your final two days in the Minnesota bunker and until he confronts that memory... There's only so much I can do to help him unless he's honest with me."
"I can talk to him. Maybe he'll confide in me. Or John could try. Alan's always looked up to him, so he might have more luck."
Dr Briggs studied the file without truly seeing it. "There are many people waiting for an appointment. Alan's a good kid and I want to help him, but if he's not going to engage with these sessions then there are plenty of others who would."
Scott looked up sharply. "Excuse me? You can't drop him just because he hasn't made immediate progress. He's traumatised. Jesus. With some of the shit he's seen- You don't get to give up on him this easily."
"Mr Tracy, I can assure you that I am not 'giving up' on him."
Scott pushed back his chair despite her protests, then turned to her as all the fight suddenly drained away to be replaced by weary worry.
"Just give him a little more time. Please."
Her smile looked as tired as he felt. "Of course."
Night had engulfed the world by the time they made it back to the house. A bitter wind had dropped temperatures even further and their breath fogged under the sporadic flicker of streetlamps.
It wasn't much warmer inside but at least they were out of the wind. Alan hooked his borrowed coat on the rack and vanished upstairs to find Finch. Scott dropped his keys into the bowl on the shelf and wandered into the kitchen on autopilot.
"Hey," Gordon greeted, sat criss-cross on a chair. "You're back late."
His nose was still red from the cold air and he was bundled into a thick sweatshirt to fend off the chill which had wormed into his bones. Evidently he hadn't been back long either. There was an array of bracelets scattered in front of him. They were childish creations formed of plastic beads and cheap elastic string, but a lot of care had gone into them.
Scott longed for a hot drink but their rations didn't account for such luxuries. Wintertime was a grade-A bitch.
He sank into a chair opposite and poked one of the bracelets curiously. "New hobby?"
Gordon laughed.
"Totally. No, I didn't make these. The kids have been doing so well in my gym classes lately that I figured I'd give them a day off to do something fun. So, I asked Addison – you know, the kindergarten teacher? – if I could borrow a few things from her arts and crafts corner. And hey, bracelet making day was a success. They loved it. They're sweet kids – these are all the bracelets they made me as a thank you."
It had been such a long, dispiriting day that it was a relief to hear some positivity. Scott observed his brother's smile, warmed by fondness.
"You really enjoy it, huh?"
"Yeah, I do. I'm thinking about helping out with the biology lessons too. I was speaking to Helen about it and she thinks I've got a lot to offer. Which is cool." Gordon propped his chin in a hand and pulled a face. "And also weird. I'm basically a teacher now. My fourteen-year-old self would be horrified."
He fished a silver, red and blue bracelet out of the mix and tossed it to Scott.
"Here. It's inspired by Thunderbird One, apparently."
Scott slid it onto his wrist, a little overwhelmed by the amount of care and attention which had gone into the creation.
Gordon watched him with a wide grin. "Keep it." He slid back his chair. "Hungry yet? Because I'm starving. John said something about working late, but we can stash his share in the microwave."
Everything plunged into darkness. For a brief second, no one reacted.
Gordon let out a dramatic groan and leaned around the doorframe to holler, "Virgil. The goddamn generator's gone again."
Footsteps pounded down the stairs.
"Yeah, I know, I know. I'm on it. Give me five minutes and I should have the lights back on."
Scott reached for the matchbox at the centre of the table – a necessity given the frequent blackouts – and struck a match. Gordon slid him a candle and they sat in silence, momentarily hypnotised by the flame.
"So…" Gordon socked him in the shoulder. "What's up with you? You're being broodier than usual."
"I'm not brooding."
"Except you totally are, but okay." Gordon dropped the joking tone. "Seriously, what's up? I'm guessing Al's therapy didn't go so well?"
It was a fairly redundant question. Scott folded his arms in front of him and dropped his head into them. Today had been long and gruelling and now it looked set to get even harder if Virgil couldn't fix the generator. He turned his cheek to watch candlelight play across the tiles, letting Gordon surmise the afternoon's events from his lack of response.
"Shit," Gordon muttered, lifting his feet onto his chair to wrap his arms around his knees. There was no immediate correlation between the broken generator and the temperature yet the room already seemed colder. "Has he spoken to you? At all? Because he keeps avoiding me."
"That's… new."
As far as Scott could recall, Alan had been acting as Gordon's shadow since they'd left the Minnesota bunker. He tried to think back over the past couple of weeks and discovered that ever since their youngest brother had started hiding his nightmares, he'd also stopped trailing after Gordon like a lost puppy. Scott was fairly certain that it wasn't a good sign.
"I think he talks to Jazz," Gordon offered, staring into the flame as if it could tell him the trick to fixing everything. "Maybe Virgil too. A little bit, anyway."
"Maybe." Scott glanced across at the doorway just to be sure that there weren't any eavesdroppers lurking in the dark and lowered his voice. "Briggs thinks something else happened, something he hasn't told anyone about."
Gordon frowned. "When?"
"Not sure exactly, but at some point during our final forty-eight hours in the bunker."
"I mean… we don't know the exact details of what happened before we left. We know the Hood sent someone after him. We know there was a gun involved. But other than that? Nothing. Nada. Zero details."
"What are you implying?"
"I don't know. Just that… I know how you got away. I know that you still think about Noah Warren. But Alan? He never told us the full story, just that it was an ambush. We have no idea how he escaped. Scott, he came back with blood on his face. Kinda sounds like a traumatic experience to me. If he's hiding anything, I'm pretty sure that's got something to do with it."
There was a strange, electrical hum followed by several sharp flickers as the lights whirred back into life. The microwave bleeped as the clock reset. From somewhere upstairs, distant music started back up.
Virgil joined them in the kitchen, still wiping oil from his face with a ragged cloth. There was grease streaked up his forearms and his nails were ringed with filth. Grandma would have ordered him to take a shower if she'd been present.
"Nice work," Gordon called, tipping back in his chair to swat Virgil's bicep.
"I try." Virgil scrubbed his hands under the faucet with a faint growl as it refused to budge. "What did I miss?"
"My inner teenager is judging me for taking on a teaching role and Scott's freaking out about Alan for like the hundredth time."
"I'm not freaking out," Scott protested, shooting Gordon an irritated glare. "I'm justifiably concerned."
Gordon held up his hands in surrender. "I never said it wasn't justified freaking out. Just that you are kind of… you know… hella stressed right now. We should take up Mari's offer of drinks. She said we could come over at any time. We could kick back, chill for once."
"I've got work in the morning," Virgil reminded them both.
Gordon twisted to send him a deadpan stare. "We all have work in the morning, Vee. Just down a glass of water and a couple of Tylenol before you crash and you'll be fine."
"And suddenly I'm reminded that you're still in your early twenties. You might be immune to hangovers but Scott and I certainly aren't." Virgil gave up on using the cloth and reached for a knife to pick grease out from under his nails. "Back to Alan. Is there a specific reason for concern? Or is this just general worry? He had therapy today, right?"
"Right," Scott echoed softly. He absently ran a thumb over the TB1 bracelet, recalling Dr Briggs' words and sad smile in that impromptu meeting.
"Briggs thinks Alan's repressing some traumatic memory from the bunker and we're pretty certain it's whatever happened when the Hood sent someone after him," Gordon supplied when it grew obvious that Scott wasn't going to volunteer any further information. "Any ideas?"
Virgil turned off the faucet and knitted his hands in a towel as he considered.
"It would track with a lot of the things he's been saying. We've assumed his guilt complex stems from…" He gestured vaguely in Gordon's direction. "But if he hurt someone else, even in self-defence, that could be on his mind. He wouldn't tell us about it because he doesn't want to disappoint us."
"Disappoint us?" Scott stared at him incredulously. "That's insane. Why would we be…?"
"This family isn't exactly known for logical thinking," Virgil pointed out wryly. He discarded the towel on the draining board and sank into a chair. "So, what do we do about it?" His gaze fell on Gordon. "You're the best at reading people."
"You're basically our family counsellor though."
"Gordon, that's really not-"
Gordon lightly elbowed him. "Relax, I know what you mean. I'll try to talk to him, but if he keeps avoiding me… I'll do my best, anyway." He rolled off his chair and slid across to the fridge in his oversized thermal socks. "Yo Scotty, pick your poison. We have some kind of veggie dish or… another kind of veggie dish."
"I don't know, Gords, that's a difficult choice. I think I'm gonna opt for the veggie dish."
"Excellent decision."
Virgil leant a little closer, propping his shoulder against Scott's as he murmured, "Did Briggs say anything else?"
Scott pushed the heels of his hands against his eyes and exhaled slowly. "If we had access to meds, she'd put him on Prozac. Which is… He's just a kid. I can't even begin to comprehend- Sticking me on meds? Okay, understandable. I've been in an active fucking warzone. But Alan? It's not fair."
Virgil remained quiet for a moment. "We'll figure it out."
"I feel like I screwed up."
"In what way?"
"This whole thing." Scott let out a brittle laugh. "Maybe I should have picked up more parenting books."
"It's the apocalypse. Everyone has trauma. It's impossible for anyone not to be impacted. That's not a reflection on you. You raised him well enough in the years pre-Z-Day. This is just… It's something we'll work through as a family."
"Hopefully."
"Definitely. Hey, you were the one who gave a speech about saving ourselves." Virgil trailed off as Gordon nearly dropped an armful of baking trays. "Need a hand?"
"Nope. I've got this." Gordon yelped, jolting backwards as a tray nearly landed on his toes. "Okay, maybe a little bit of help wouldn't go amiss but only if you absolutely, totally insist. 'Cos I've got this."
Scott and Virgil exchanged a long look.
"Okay," Virgil sighed, swinging out of his chair to open the fridge whilst Scott took the trays from Gordon before he could drop them again. "Let's see what we're working with."
Technically, the setbacks were far outweighed by the progress which had been made. John was off the meds entirely and Scott's own doses were approaching the realm of negligible. He had claimed IR as his own – for the first time without guilt about taking his father's title – and inspired an entire group of people that the future was worth preserving as well as the present.
Radio interference was decreasing by the day and John had high hopes that comm links to other GDF safe zones would be restored within the next fortnight. Winter was tough but they looked set to make it through until spring without too much trouble. Hell, even nearby bandit activity had declined.
So. You know. Things weren't really so terrible after all.
Unfortunately, Scott had never been good at focussing on the positives. Or rather he was but only when it suited him such as in the heart of a rescue or trying to convince people to go along with his plans. But when he was worried about someone, the fear drew constant attention to the negatives until he was sucked into a spiral, unable to consider anything other than various worst-case scenarios.
Such as exactly what the hell had happened to Alan back in that bunker.
Too much had happened since then and his memory was faded and untrustworthy. To be brutally honest, most of what he remembered from their time in the bunker was a blur. He'd blocked out great swathes and softened other moments so that recalling them was less painful. It was a great coping strategy up until it really wasn't.
Alan had seemed relatively okay in the immediate aftermath. Rattled, sure, and unable to stop shaking, but still functional. He'd shut down somewhat in the tunnels – falling into an unsettled silence which may actually have been an unresponsive daze in hindsight – but being lost in the darkness with cannibalistic monsters had been a horrific experience so that was understandable.
Unless it hadn't just been the threat of rotters; what if he'd been processing the realisation of what he'd done to survive?
And then he'd been steadily spiralling ever since. There'd been a momentary respite during their initial return to the surface but that could have been thanks to the aftermath of drawn-out adrenaline rushes and the sheer elation of seeing the sun again. He'd been quiet on the boat too, temporarily coaxed out of his shell by Gordon's impromptu karaoke session, but spending most of his time alone, lost in thought amongst the sails.
It had been so goddamn obvious even then, Scott thought darkly, trying not to berate himself but finding years of habit difficult to avoid. Alan had been displaying warning signs for weeks but somehow all of them had missed those red flags so now they were here, hitting a point where the kid's mental health was so bad that a therapist thought he needed to be medicated.
And it was only going to get worse. If Scott couldn't find a way to get through to the kid and Alan still refused to address those memories… He didn't dare consider the repercussions.
Anxiety slithered through his ribs to steal the air from his chest, a physical pain as if he'd been stabbed. He dug his nails into his trousers subconsciously, only registering a vaguely amused, insistent voice when it was accompanied by fingers snapping in front of his face.
He jolted backwards. "Sorry, what?"
Finn's raised brows were accompanied by a faint trace of concern. "Have you listened to a word I've said?"
"Probably not," Scott admitted.
The knot of anxiety had drawn tighter between his lungs again, drifting up to coil around his heart so that each beat seemed constricted. It spread outwards slowly like a virus, sapping the feeble remnants of warmth from his bones. The GDF hub was ordinarily heated but fuel was running low and so they'd switched it off to conserve power for critical systems such as surveillance and defence. He blamed this perpetual chill for the tremors running through his fingers.
"What's bothering you?" Finn tipped back in his chair until the front legs lifted precariously. "I hate seeing you frown. It's such a waste of a pretty face."
"Finn, I swear."
Finn's grin shifted from wolfish to genuine worry. "Seriously, Scott. As your friend, I want to help or at least provide a friendly ear. As your ranking officer, I need you to have your head in the game and that clearly isn't going to happen until you figure your shit out. So? What's the gossip?"
"Gossip," Scott echoed, more venomously than he'd intended.
The word held connotations of light-hearted schoolground talks; whispers of parties and who had a crush on who. It had no place in the current world, especially not in this context. He still had Briggs' voice in his head – that godawful softness with which she'd essentially confessed to giving up on Alan – and he sort of hated her for it because out of everyone, didn't the kid who'd risked his life to rescue the world deserve more than just one chance at being saved in return?
"Not gossip," Finn corrected. "Sorry. I didn't mean to… I make light of serious matters because the world is often too much to bear these days. But I don't know your situation, so that was a really shitty move on my part. Feel free to tell me to get lost."
Scott forced himself to take a breath. He had the stirrings of a tension headache snarling at the base of his neck and he couldn't get his stupid heart to beat properly. It was as if he'd been on the wrong end of a defib; it had been a long time since his anxiety had been this bad and he'd forgotten just how sick it made him feel.
"Something happened to my kid brother. None of us know what and I can't help but think that if we don't find out soon he'll tear himself apart."
Finn faltered. "Jesus. That's…"
He sat forward, bracing himself against his knees. Some of the empathetic seriousness which made him a great leader crept into his voice.
"Shit, Scott. I'm sorry. I don't really know what to say."
"Neither do I," Scott replied bitterly. "That's half the damn problem."
Finn reached across to knock the door shut only to realise that the undercurrent of voices from the main room had already fallen silent, save for the sound of increasingly loud bickering.
This had become a familiar noise ever since the research team had switched focus from rotters to radios. Or to be precise: since John had joined their ranks. He was too used to working by himself or with people who could read between his words and so found it frustrating to be 'held back by incompetent idiots'. Needless to say, some people took offence to this attitude and by some people, Scott was mostly referring to Austin Dale.
Austin had once been a data intelligence analyst for the US government. Now, he worked for the GDF's technology team establishing which levels of power could be drawn from the generators at which times without running out of energy to keep the lights on.
He also happened to be helping out the research team with reestablishing radio links. He was loud, sanctimonious and mourned the loss of his Bentley more than anything else including his own wife. In other words, he clashed with John from the very second of their initial meeting.
"Not again," Finn groaned, kicking his chair aside as he strode into the main room. "Scott, please wrangle your brother before he commits a crime."
"Already on it," Scott confirmed, picking up the pace to reach the duo just in time to hear the tail-end of their conversation – not that the tense snaps could really be considered a conversation.
"I could do your job in my sleep, pal." Austin puffed up like a prized turkey. "And I'd get it done in half the time. How hard can it be to get one comm working?"
"You spent five months with no radio range beyond a two-mile radius outside these walls," John replied without looking up from his screen. "I fixed that within ten days of my arrival."
"You think that you're some kind of prodigy just because you saved a few people?" Austin crowded into John's space. "Because you're sure as hell no hero. Hey, what is your kill count now?"
"I'm not sure of the exact number, but it'll be one higher if you keep talking to me."
Scott repressed a smile. At his side, Finn struggled to hold back laughter. Austin spluttered and scoffed, still bristling even as Finn guided him away, successfully distracting him with some question or another. Scott cleared a space on the edge of John's desk and sat down. His brother pinned him with a baleful stare.
"I'm busy. What do you need?"
"You're snappy too," Scott commented. He nodded to Austin's retreating figure. "Is he going to be an issue?"
"If he keeps disrupting my work, I'm going to be an issue." John dropped his glasses onto the desk and pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. "He's an asshole, but he's good at his job. Not as good as others but then again not everyone can be the GDF's golden boy."
Scott frowned. "Who…?"
"Finn Wolvin. Also known as the GDF's prodigy. Did you know he served under Colonel Casey? Aunt Val mentioned him a couple of times but the name didn't register until I did some digging. Their security systems are terrible by the way, so if we ever rebuild a functional society someone should probably take a look at that. In another universe he'd have either worked his way up to the top of the GDF or quit and run for a seat on the World Council. He's ex-Air Force too. RCAF, not USAF, obviously. He's got quite the collection of medals to his name."
"John," Scott said slowly, already knowing the answer before he'd voiced the question. "Did you hack into the GDF servers to access Finn's records?"
"Possibly." John gave a nonchalant shrug. "I wanted to know who we were dealing with. He seemed decent but appearances can be deceiving. Anyway, we've got nothing to worry about there. Austin on the other hand… He's definitely been committing tax fraud for the past decade but I guess I can overlook that provided he keeps doing a good job."
"You…" Scott cut himself off. "You know what? Sure. Whatever. I'm not even going to question it." He turned to spy the holo display. "This doesn't look like radio signals to me."
"Because it's not."
John swiped a few holograms aside to reveal a string of code.
"The second we regain contact with the other GDF bunkers, this is going back to our old friend Jenkins." His smile took on a sharp edge. "I left a few backdoors for myself. It would be easier with EOS, but I can still access their security logs and possibly even disable a few of their systems… Enough to make Jenkins miserable until I can get my hands on him, anyway."
"Woah, slow down. What's that supposed to mean?"
John shot him a flat look.
"What do you think?" He returned his gaze to the display. "There still has to be justice in the world even if it's ending."
John's birthday didn't get off to the best of starts. Nightmares hadn't dissipated entirely over the past few weeks but had become less intense - although perhaps they had all simply grown more skilled at hiding them – so it was rarer to be woken by another's terror.
To be fair, Scott wasn't jolted out of sleep by screams but by Finch alerting him to someone's presence. He'd fallen asleep at the kitchen table by accident with a holoprojector still glowing in front of him. The proposed plan to retake the GDF airfield had been his primary focus for the past fortnight and Finn still wasn't sold on the idea. There was a long way to go before it would be feasible, but Scott was determined to bring that date forwards. So, he was back to working late even if he did frequently wake with a headache from hell and an unrested chill.
Finch sat back on her haunches, pawing at his knees with a low whine. He pushed her away groggily but she only grew more insistent. This time the whimper deepened into a faint growl. He reluctantly sat up, scrubbing the exhaustion from his face as he stared at her.
"What?"
Finch tilted her head. Her ears pricked, tail sweeping the tiles. There was a very human worry in her eyes.
He tousled her fur, gradually registering the sound of hushed whispers from the corridor; the deliberately soft voice John hardly ever used and Virgil's strained tone as he tried to keep his emotions in check. Scott fumbled for the holoprojector with a sinking sense of dread. Any time between one- and four-AM never promised anything good.
"It's not…" Virgil faltered. "It's not an issue. It's just that this entire situation's brought up bad memories and my subconscious keeps giving me run throughs of the worst what-if scenarios."
"It sounded fairly horrific," John replied quietly. "And if you're about to apologise again for waking me, don't. But this isn't healthy. You must know that."
"If you can magically reduce Dr Briggs' wait list, go ahead." There was a pointed pause. "No, John, that doesn't mean changing the order of names."
"It's not my fault that she doesn't keep her confidential files secure. Her firewall is nearly as bad as Fischler's used to be."
"I mean it. Don't."
"The offer's always there." The faint hint of amusement faded from John's voice. "I get it. You must know that. I understand what it's like because I get similar dreams." It was difficult to pinpoint the exact moment his tone shifted from sympathetic to exhausted. "They fade eventually."
"How long is eventually?" Virgil muttered. He let the bitterness drain away. "I know it'll get easier. I could never sleep after near misses on rescues either, just replaying those moments and all the ways they could've gone wrong. So, I know that this won't last forever. But it's… I still hate it so much."
Scott rapped his knuckles against the doorframe so as not to startle them as he slipped into the hallway. The pair were sat partway up the stairs, shadows merged in the glow thrown from the motion-triggered lamp on the landing. Virgil was still shaken enough from his nightmare to be jumpy, curled inwards with his arms wrapped around his middle while John kept a hand on his back.
"You okay, Virg?"
The words seem to hang in the silence for a minute. Finch's claws clacked against the floorboards as she nosed past Scott's legs and scampered up the stairs to plant herself at Virgil's side. He patted her head, absently straightening her dusty bandana as he searched for a reply. In the end, it was John who stood up and wordlessly left to give them chance to talk.
For several seconds, they sat in silence. Finch scrambled around to push her way between them, a welcome bulk of heat in the icy hour. She propped her chin on Virgil's knees and let her tail swish across Scott's. Sometimes it seemed as if she could understand every word they said and every feeling which went unspoken.
"Nightmares?" Scott queried softly. It was cold enough for his breath to fog and he mentally cursed himself for not bringing the blanket that someone had draped over him in the kitchen. He reached across Finch to put a hand on Virgil's shoulder. "Virgil?"
"Sorry, yeah, I was just… thinking." Virgil studied the white flecks on Finch's muzzle without truly seeing them. He hesitantly lifted a hand, just shy of Scott's wrist. "I don't want to talk yet. I need a minute. I keep seeing- This is entirely unnecessary and I know that but can I check your pulse?"
Yeah, that definitely clarified a few details about that nightmare.
Scott rolled up his sleeve and held out his arm. "Go for it."
Virgil's touch was featherlight with uncertainty. His thumb ghosted Scott's pulse then settled and it was almost possible to see the tension leak from his shoulders.
He tipped sideways to rest his head on Scott's shoulder, closing his eyes so that his world consisted entirely of the two of them for several precious seconds. His breathing was shaky in the hitched ebb and flow of repressed tears. Finch's ears flattened with a sad little whine as she tried to comfort him.
"I'm still here," Scott reminded him.
Virgil exhaled through clenched teeth. "Not in my head."
"Your head isn't reality."
"I know that. It still seems real. I keep seeing…"
"Rotters?"
"You."
Virgil's grip tightened slightly.
"I've-" He paused to steady his voice. "I've always been scared of losing you. Probably more scared than is healthy. There have been so many moments when I thought you weren't coming back because there are too many cruel people in the world and for some reason you seem intent on trying to stop all of them alone. But I never expected you to be one of those dangers. And I know you're doing better now. I know you try to confide in us when your mind gets loud these days. But I love you so much and it terrifies me that I have to entrust your safety to the one person who doesn't seem to give a damn about you – yourself."
"Virgil," Scott whispered.
"And lately that fear's been taunting me. I have these nightmares and the worst part is knowing that they could become a reality. The potential is there. I still see it in you sometimes. And it hurts." Virgil flinched as Scott pulled him close. "I can't… Tonight was- I don't know how to stop being so fucking scared."
Years ago, John had hinted at a similar fear. Not outright confessed, but nearly. Scott hadn't known what to say then and he still didn't know now. No one ever wanted to scare the people they loved but when you were in so much pain that it stole all rationality from your mind, it was near impossible to comprehend the idea that people cared to the extent that losing you would break them. It was only in the aftermath that it became possible to see those repercussions.
"How the fuck did John do this before?" Virgil choked out, crumpling against Scott's side. "I don't know how he- He did this alone."
John's coping methods were actually very questionable given he'd used to disregard all sense of privacy/boundaries by remotely hacking their watches/phones/projectors so that he could check on their vitals to reassure himself. It was less about John being socially inept and more about his deep-rooted terror of being unable to reach loved ones in danger. But that wasn't the point right now.
"He had Dad. He spoke to a therapist of his own. And…" Scott tossed over the words in his mind, then spoke in a rush, "He trusted the part of me which tried to save myself first."
Virgil held himself very still. "Sorry?"
"I called him. Before I- I called him first. So, there must have been a part of me which hadn't completely given up. I was still trying to save myself. He focussed on that part. That's what he says, anyway."
"Not this time. Not- In the bunker, you-"
"I didn't lie about my scale. I let you help." Scott shrugged, suddenly incredibly self-conscious. "I didn't… I didn't try anything, Virg. And sure, I hit a point where I was too damn tired to do anything, but I still… I let you help. I'm letting you help. I feel like that's got to count for something."
Virgil drew him into a proper hug. It was clumsy and somewhat uncomfortable given they were sitting halfway up a staircase and were crushing a fully grown dog between them, but that didn't matter. Scott could hear his own uneasy heartbeat in his ears and feel Virgil's frantic pulse beneath his hands. The night didn't seem quite as cold anymore. He dropped his head to Virgil's shoulder and let himself breathe.
"I don't know what to say to make it better," he confessed. "I don't think those words even exist. But John and I worked through this once before, so I know it's possible. And now- It's all out in the open. I partly wish it wasn't because now you have to live with that knowledge but it does mean that you know which signs to look out for. So, it's just a case of me trying and you pulling me back from the edge when I screw up and that's… That's nothing new. That's just us. It's how we've always been."
Virgil gave a damp chuckle. "Dragging your ass out of trouble, huh?"
"Exactly." Scott held his gaze for a moment, voice gentle as he added, "You've never let me down, Virgil. You're not going to start now. I trust you. You know that."
"Okay." Virgil inhaled deeply. "Okay. I can work with that."
And then John nearly fell down the stairs.
Scott scrambled upright just in time to catch him. "Jeez, Johnny. Talk about a dramatic entrance."
"What's wrong?" Virgil picked up on the barely repressed terror in John's eyes before Scott registered the fact that his brother was tenser than a taut string. "What happened?"
John braced himself against the banister. "Tell me you know where Alan is."
Scott momentarily lost his ability to breathe.
"He's in his room, isn't he?" Virgil cast a fearful look at Scott. "He's… He's asleep. I only checked on him thirty minutes ago."
Scott couldn't keep the pure panic out of his voice. "He's gone?"
"I can't find him." John sounded unnervingly small. "I've checked everywhere. Gordon's trying Mari's radio to see if he's headed over to their place."
The following silence held a presence as if their joint panic had formed a physical menace. It lurked in every shadow and drew fears into the dim light until the air seemed sickly and difficult to breathe. Dread felt even colder than the approaching winter. Scott made a desperate grab for fleeting logic but it slipped through his fingers to be replaced by cloying anxiety. He could practically feel the weight of fear compressing his lungs.
"There's a curfew," Virgil whispered. "He wouldn't- Where would he even go?"
Scott took a small, sharp breath of air cold enough to sting and let the ache snap him out of his frozen state of panic.
"The skate park." He tripped into a run, nearly slipping as he bolted downstairs and snatched his coat from the rack. "He'd go there."
The faint chatter of a radio was accompanied by hesitant footsteps. Gordon had a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, hair still stuck on end from sleep as his tired mind toed the line between logical action and irrational terror. What-if scenarios held more power in the dark hours before dawn.
"Mari hasn't seen him. Neither has Theo and Jazz and Ellis are both asleep." Gordon curled his fingers around the radio like a lifeline. "Is it worth calling Dr Briggs? Or Lou? Maybe Finn? I could ask Joanna if she's seen any sign of him?" He cut himself off, biting his lip viciously enough to draw blood. "He's not in this house anymore, that's for sure."
There was another of those dreadful silences.
"Scott," John ventured, reaching for him.
Scott shouldered past him and made a beeline for Alan's room. He didn't know what he was expecting to find. Some clue or hint? Hell, anything. But it was twenty minutes past three in the goddamn morning and it was bitterly cold outside – dangerously so – and Alan tended to forget to wear warm clothing and he'd been missing for God-knew-how-long and Scott couldn't think-
He froze in the doorway. The duvet had been abandoned in a forlorn ball on the floor. A cold wind funnelled through the open window. Curtains billowed like strange ghosts. Crumpled balls of abandoned sketches rattled in the wastebin in the corner.
The entire space seemed sort of eerie as if the soul had been hollowed out of it. There was a sense of unbearable wrongness that had Scott wanting to crawl out of his own skin. He stepped deeper into the room and tried to ignore the poisonous thoughts creeping from his subconscious, your fault, your fault-
The shout tore from his throat as if ripped out of him by some otherworldly force.
"Alan."
Virgil's hand landed on his shoulder, tugging him back into the hallway where John and Gordon were waiting. Gordon had a wide-eyed, fearful expression, openly vulnerable as he fidgeted with the plastic shell of the radio. He dropped his gaze to the floorboards as Scott approached, unwilling to read the panic in his eldest brother's face.
"Okay," John began in a forcibly calm voice. "Two of us will check the skate park and two of us will wait here in case he comes back."
"It doesn't need two of us," Scott snapped. "Gordon stays here. You and Virgil check the park. I'll scout the streets."
"No." John's warning stare left no room for argument. "We stick together for our own safety. There might not be rotters around but thoughts are just as dangerous. And Scott, you're sure as hell not going off on your own. So, Gordon, Virgil, you two should stay here."
"We can cover more ground if we split up," Scott protested.
"He's got a point," Gordon agreed, albeit with reluctance.
Virgil shook his head vehemently. "No one's going alone. John's right, it'll only make matters worse. If we-"
"Hey, um, guys? Why are you all freaking out in the hallway?"
For a minute, no one said anything. Then Gordon collapsed into hysterical laughter, gripping the banister behind him for support. John stepped back, incredulity blurring with relief as he battled to keep his emotions in check. Virgil just stared as if he couldn't believe his eyes.
Alan twisted his hands, uncomfortable under the sudden scrutiny. "What?"
"We've been looking for you," Scott explained slowly. An increasing wave of anger rose closer to the surface at Alan's nonchalant shrug.
"Sorry." Alan gestured vaguely at the window. "I was on the roof."
"You were- What?"
"It's the first clear night we've had for ages." Alan's voice wavered. "I just wanted to see the stars."
"You wanted to… I don't care. You can't pull shit like this, Alan! What the hell were you thinking? No, I can answer that – you weren't thinking. You climbed out of a window on the top floor when everything is covered in ice. What would have happened if you'd slipped? You cannot be this irresponsible. God forbid you'd broken a bone because we don't have a hospital. We have very basic medical care. That's it. There's no room for accidents in this world."
"Scott," Virgil interrupted very quietly.
"No, I'm not done. We're not finished here. Do you have any idea just how worried we were? Your actions impact everyone else around you. You don't get to- You know the risks. You know them. But you're running off and pulling this kind of crap as if it doesn't hurt us too."
"Scott, that's enough." Gordon's shout echoed slightly. He stepped between them, shielding Alan from the full force of Scott's fury. "Back off."
"I need to back off? He could've gotten himself killed because he acted like an idiot." Scott finally remembered to take a breath as his vision swum. "You could've-" His voice broke, shattering into a painful whisper. "You could've been killed, Alan."
Panic gave way to relief so potent that it left him dizzy. As the anger drained away, he finally looked at the kid clearly and immediately hated himself for shouting because Alan…
Alan looked devastated. He remained frozen, eyes wide and glassy, arms curled across his middle to dig his fingers into his ribs in a final desperate attempt to hold back tears. It was impossible to tell where those full-body shivers ended and trembling began. The ghost of self-loathing in his tearful gaze was all too familiar as he fumbled for words and came up empty handed.
"I'm sorry." His voice was raw. He couldn't look at anyone, shrinking back as he tried again in a shaky whisper, "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."
Gordon eyed Scott with a steely hint of warning, don't you dare screw this up.
"I know you didn't," Scott agreed tiredly. "I'm sorry for shouting. I just- You scared the hell outta me, Allie. I thought… I don't know what I thought. But you're…"
The words came out thickly, strangled by the threat of tears. He reached for Alan, internally crying out at just how cold the kid was as he cupped Alan's face in his hands and raised his chin. Please hear me, he thought desperately, let me help.
"I would do anything for you, Alan. Do you get that? Anything." He drew him into a proper hug, reassuring himself with the rise and fall of each breath. "But I can't help you if you keep shutting me out like this. You've got let us in. Whatever it is, whatever happened - tell me. Let me carry some of that pain." He pinpointed the exact second his heart shattered when Alan flinched. "You can't keep going like this, bud. It's crushing you."
"We're here, Allie." Virgil laid a gentle hand on Alan's back. "We're right here. Just let us help."
There were moments in life in which everything seemed to teeter on the brink of total collapse. They'd been treading a very thin tightrope for a long time now and that balance was wavering. The only thing worse than the fall was seeing it coming and being utterly powerless to stop it. And perhaps it was a mind trick but the night seemed darker and colder than ever and the presence of the apocalypse weighed heavily on everyone and everything.
Gordon shrugged off his blanket and draped it around Alan's shoulders. He twisted one of those beaded bracelets around his wrist over and over as his thoughts raced, then confessed in a rush, "I gave away Thunderbird Four."
Scott looked up sharply. "What?"
"I gave away Four."
Gordon shifted slightly from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable under the sudden stares. He kept rotating the bracelets, voice deliberately level as he continued,
"There was a family when I first made landfall in San Diego. They were kind people. They saved me when I needed help and so in return I gave them safety. And I mean, technically? I don't know them. I know that they've done things in the name of survival that left their kids with nightmares. But that doesn't make them bad people.
So, I gave them Four because I didn't know if I was ever gonna come back for her and… Maybe it was the wrong call. I put a Thunderbird into the hands of strangers, which is why I didn't want to tell you. But what's done is done and I don't regret it. So, if we're sharing secrets tonight… that's one of mine."
There was no easy answer. Giving up Four to save a family? Yeah, that tracked. But the risks involved? If the sub had since changed hands…
Scott didn't want to even consider the potential implications if the GDF or bandits had gotten hold of the Thunderbird. There were too many possibilities to consider. He preferred to believe that an innocent family were still protecting Four just like she had protected them. But reality proved to be crueller by the day and he wasn't sure if he had space in his heart for optimism right now.
"What other choice was there?" Gordon asked helplessly. "Was I supposed to just leave her? The city was crawling with rotters but that didn't stop the bandits. It was a fucking blood bath. I barely escaped and I was on my own. A family? Kids? They would never have made it. So, I gave them a basic crash course in how to operate her and I let them take her."
Alan stared at him for a long minute. "Why are you telling us this?"
"I don't know." Desperation bled into Gordon's voice. "I just want you to- I need you to talk to us. So, I guess you could consider it a show of good faith. You've been asking me for months what happened to Four, so I'm trusting you with that secret. Now I'm wondering what really happened back in the bunker. Are you gonna trust me in return?"
Alan went to reply and hesitated. He stepped back, smacking Scott's hand away as he reached for him. The blanket fell from his shoulders but he made no attempt to pick it up again despite being so cold that his fingertips were tinged blue. His shivers even looked exhausting.
"Alan," John asked cautiously as though approaching a wounded animal. "What happened?"
"I…" Alan backed up until he smacked against the doorframe. He drew a small, strangled gasp, trying to still the tremors in his hands that had nothing to do with his temperature. "I think I…" He swallowed, flinching at the sound of his own voice. "I did something bad. I h-hurt someone."
"We've all hurt people," Virgil said gently. "It doesn't make you irredeemable."
"Not like this." Alan was getting dangerously close to a fully blown panic attack. "There were t-two- two of them and- He had a gun a-and… I- I couldn't- They…"
"It's okay." Scott swept in before Alan could start hyperventilating. He kept his hands up so that the kid could see his intentions and then, when Alan didn't protest, eased him into another hug. "You don't have to tell us everything right now. It's late and you're freezing and we're all tired. Let's finish this conversation at another time, yeah?"
Virgil shook the blanket out to its full size and wrapped it tightly around Alan. Gordon tackled him from the side to pull the three of them into a hug, making grabby hands for John to join them, bracketing Alan in the centre.
It was both a protective embrace and also intended to warm him up. Scott lowered his chin to the top of Alan's head and closed his eyes, trying to focus on the hug rather than the memory of Alan's shaky voice playing on repeat in his mind.
"Hey, Johnny?" Gordon piped up, somewhat muffled by Virgil's shirt. "Happy birthday."
John's laugh sounded distinctly damp. "Don't call me Johnny. But thanks."
"Sorry for ruining it," Alan mumbled.
"It still beats last year," John considered aloud. "Nearly getting eaten by zombies was not a fun experience."
"Oh my god, John." Virgil reached over Gordon's head to swat John's shoulder. "Don't joke about that."
"Wait, hold up, what?" Gordon sounded horrified. "New Zealand happened on your actual birthday?"
John shot him a bemused smile. "Didn't you know? I thought that was common knowledge."
"Um, obviously not, what the fuck? I knew it was your birthday week but I wasn't keeping track of the exact date. That's…" Gordon seized a fistful of John's shirt and yanked him closer. "C'mere. Jesus, John. I'm sorry."
"Why?" John looked genuinely confused. "I survived. What are you apologising for?"
"I dunno. Shut up. Just let me hug you."
A few moments passed in silence.
"We'll be okay," Virgil murmured.
"Yeah," Scott agreed quietly, but still didn't let go. "We will."
