"November," Gordon declared as he dropped into Finn's vacated chair and lounged across it like some sort of Roman emperor, "is a bitch. It's disgustingly cold. I'm gonna file a complaint with the weather. Or the atmosphere. Mother Nature, how dare you?"

"Uh huh," Scott agreed absently, hearing the words without registering them. He knew Gordon's overdramatic tone well enough to gauge when there was no need to actually listen.

Besides, his attention was mostly caught on the sea of holograms in front of him. He'd arrived at the GDF hub early and it was beginning to look as if he'd leave late. It was becoming an unhealthy habit of his over the past week and he just knew that Virgil was going to call him out on it if he didn't try to get home on time tonight.

But hey. This work was important.

He reached for another copy of the map and nearly smacked Gordon in the face by accident. His brother had hauled the chair closer to peer over his shoulder, prodding at the data packet until it displayed the series of numbers in full.

"What is this stuff?"

Scott swiped the projector so that the holograms vanished from view.

"What you just saw? Personnel numbers from the closest GDF airfield." He pressed his knuckles against his eyes to banish the residual blue glare. He'd forgotten just how much working with screens for hours on end could screw with his vision. "Also, why are you here?"

Gordon tilted back in the chair and propped his feet on the desk. His sneakers were sort of soggy as the ice caked onto the soles melted. Scott shoved them back down, earning a forlorn puppy dog look which didn't match Gordon's mischievous grin.

"Like here as in this specific place? Or here as in, like, generally? Because the answer to the latter is probably that Mom and Dad were really happy to be reunited after he got back from-"

"Gordon."

"Okay, fine. I'm waiting for Ellis to finish work, so I was chilling with Johnny but he told me that I was being off-putting and that I should bother you instead." Gordon gestured to himself with a sunny smile. "Ta da! Oh, hey." He dropped a plastic box onto the desk. "I brought you a sandwich."

A quick glance at the clock revealed that more time had passed than Scott had realised. It was well after lunch, approaching the hour when most people clocked off and the surveillance team arrived for the night shift. Maybe that headache had less to do with holograms and more to do with not having eaten since five-am that morning.

He wolfed down the sandwich, sparing a moment to mumble thanks while Gordon poked and prodded at the projector and pretended not to be visibly relieved.

"Your workaholic tendencies aren't gonna do anyone any favours. Especially not at the moment."

"The airfield-"

"We'll get to it." Gordon's tone left no room for argument. He leant forward to block the projector from view, levelling Scott with a searching look. "It's not going anywhere. We'll figure it out. But right now, we've got other issues."

That was the understatement of the century. Other issues included fuel shortages and decreasing rations and an ever-increasing number of rotters venturing closer as hunger drove them after the scent of healthy humans. There was heightened bandit activity around the actual city and evidence of scavengers growing bolder with tracks spotted between the safe zone and the GDF airfield.

And that was before he considered the problems closer to home such as Virgil's resurfaced nightmares, John's avoidance of sleeping in favour of work and Alan's refusal to share any further details about what the hell had happened back in that bunker.

Things were not looking particularly sunny to say the least.

Scott tipped back in his chair to spy John's desk across the way. As ever, the space was bathed in holograms and scrawled notes. Equations coated the tabletop in erasable marker. There were multiple projectors overlapping one another.

John himself resembled a man on the brink of insanity, eyes bloodshot from sleep deprivation and hair an untameable bird's nest where he'd run his hands through it too many times. He'd taken apart a radio and put it back together again on at least three occasions in the past hour. All attempts at talking to him ended in either a venomous snap or a vague noncommittal sound which proved that he wasn't actually listening.

"He says he's close to establishing a radio link," Gordon explained. He dropped a granola bar onto the desk as Scott finished the final bite of sandwich. "But then again he's been saying that for the past week, so…"

"He needs to sleep."

"Good luck with that. What are you gonna do? Get Virg to carry him out of here?"

"Don't tempt me." His brain finally registered the details of Gordon's excuse for being here. "What's your deal with Ellis?"

Gordon gave a nonchalant shrug. "We're friends. We're just hanging out."

"Yeah, nice try. Ellis doesn't do hang outs."

"God, fine. It's just- It's a.. It's a thing, yeah? To do with…" Gordon lightly rapped his knuckles against his temple with a self-conscious chuckle. "So, uh, yeah. Els thinks she might have some ideas. Try to fix up my hearing a bit. Because, like, it's okay, but it's not great. So, it's a thing."

"A thing," Scott echoed dubiously.

Gordon was a good liar – annoyingly good at times – but something seemed distinctly off about his claim. Then again, he had been spending more time with Ellis lately, not to mention the hours that Ellis had dedicated to her so-called 'side project'. So, it was plausible. There was no reason to doubt the story. And yet.

"Yeah, a thing." Gordon's voice took on an irritated edge. "Jeez, what's with the interrogation? You don't hear me bitching about your secret meetings with Marisa."

"Because they're not secret meetings. You know that. How else am I supposed to find out whether Alan's confiding in Theo or Jasmin? I can't ask them outright without it getting back to him."

Several heads popped up from desks like startled meerkats. Scott checked his volume and lowered his voice.

"Just… promise me that you're not doing anything stupid."

"Such as?"

"I don't know, Gords. You're a magnet for trouble. You'd somehow manage to find danger at a kid's birthday party. No, don't laugh. It wasn't a compliment."

Gordon lounged across the chair so that it listed precariously to the left, propping his elbow on Scott's shoulder. "You're such a hypocrite."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome." Gordon jabbed at the projector and Scott caught him before his chair could overbalance entirely. "So? What's the deal with the airfield? Talk me through your batshit plan."

Scott considered retaliating but let the remark slide, mostly because he was too tired to bother coming up with suitable retorts. The food had helped revive him a little but his mind was still groggy with tiredness. His body's tolerance for sleep deprivation and overworking was a lot lower since Z-Day and the vague dizziness whenever he moved too quickly was a visceral reminder. He stared at the spread of holograms and silently wished that they could explain themselves. Words were messy and he had too many ideas to sort into sentences.

"Hey." Gordon's elbow slid away to be replaced with a hand, squeezing his shoulder to draw him back into the moment. "Scott? Airfield. Talk it through. Then we're heading back to the house and you're gonna crash for at least five hours, okay?"

"I'm good." Scott pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes until he saw spots and exhaled slowly. "I'm good."

"Uh huh."

"It's just the- The frickin' variables, you know? The airfield's an unknown quantity because we don't have the drone range to check it out. We'd have to send a scouting party. But then we've got the issue of heightened scavenger activity in that area which is even worse than bandits. Finn won't approve that mission, not after he lost three separate teams to scavengers over the summer. So, we need improved defensive capabilities and better weapons or somehow invent a drone with a wider range, which is pretty much a non-starter given we don't have that tech on hand. There's plenty available at the airfield only hey, we're going 'round in circles again."

More frustration bled into his voice than he'd intended. He took a steadying breath, aware of Gordon's uncertain somewhat concerned gaze. The holograms swam in front of him as though taunting him. He kind of wanted to break something; the airfield held the key to solving so many problems yet it remained obstinately out of reach.

It was like running into a brick wall over and over. He found a way around one problem and another raised its head, but at the end of the day it all came back to the crux of the issue: the only people willing to take risks in a world where everything was trying to kill you were those with nothing left to lose and everyone here was clinging onto something. So, he had to eliminate those risks until the mission seemed reckless as opposed to downright suicidal.

"You should try talking to that guy Virgil's been working with," Gordon suggested. He twisted his bracelets, running his thumb over cheerful yellow beads. "He was some famous inventor guy before the world collapsed. Like, certified genius, on Brains' level. Why can't I remember his name? This is really bugging me. Anyway, he's the one who rigged up the grid in this place. He's literally the reason why we have electricity and running water. If anyone's gonna fix up better drones, then he's your man."

"And he's not already working for the GDF?"

"Nope. Virg says he's focussing on improving living conditions for everyone in here before he sets his sights on bigger projects. God, what's his name? This is actually gonna drive me insane. Brains used to fanboy over his inventions, remember that? 'Cos I was all like, hey, you've totally got a celebrity crush and then he got flustered and Virgil sulked about it for an entire week and- Tycho fricking Reeves! That's the guy! I knew I'd remember eventually."

The name triggered a litany of memories, mostly from the business sector but from the occasional crossed path with IR too. Scott nearly smacked his head against Gordon's as he whirled around in his chair and gripped his younger brother's shoulders.

"Tycho Reeves is here?"

"Dude." Gordon raised an unimpressed brow. "Do you ever talk to anyone outside of this place? Yeah, Tycho's here. He was in town for some fancy tech expo when Z-Day struck and got picked up by the GDF along with a handful of other survivors. See, this is why you should take a break once in a while and actually pay attention to conversations…"

Scott let Gordon's rambles fade into background noise. Tycho's designs weren't as familiar to him as Brains' work but he could still recall several of the man's inventions hitting the headlines, often with the tagline of revolutionary attached. Weapons had never been Tycho's remit but drone technology frequently delved into humanitarian purposes and, if Scott thought back, he thought he could recall Tycho working on a drone project in liaison with the UN only a couple of years before International Rescue had launched for the first time.

Holy shit.

If Tycho could fix up some drones with extended ranges then the plan to retake the airfield might just be workable. They could identify which routes were less targeted by scavengers and plot a path into the base itself which avoided rotter hotspots. Of course, there was then the question of how much had already been looted – notably whether all fuel cells had been stolen – and if any of those aircraft were still in working order… but one problem at a time.

"Yo." Gordon flicked him on the forehead. "You've gotta stop checking out on me, bro." His fond exasperation faded as EDEN's avatar filled the main display screen at the end of the room. "Here comes trouble."

"Heads up, folks," Finn called, popping his head around the door to his makeshift office. "We're going to test the early warning system in two minutes, so you might want to cover your ears. No one panic, it's just a drill."

"Ah, crap," Scott muttered, already resigning himself to the killer headache he was going to develop within the next hour. "I forgot that was today."

The early warning system was made up of speakers set in every building and evenly distributed across town so that everyone could hear the sirens if/when they were activated. If a horde was spotted moving en-mass towards the walls, then the sirens would sound and people would flood into the three bunkers constructed beneath the town.

Unofficially, the system would also be used if parasitic spores were detected. The research team currently believed that the destruction of the hivemind had eliminated the parasite's ability to produce those spores and plant the infection in the next generation, but it was better to be safe than sorry. But for now, that information remained classified to prevent a panic.

"Did John even hear that?" Gordon sounded genuinely baffled. He stole a sheet of paper from Scott's desk and fashioned it into a paper airplane. "Yo, Johnny. Look alive."

Even when entirely absorbed by data, John's sixth sense for his little brother's antics had him throwing up a hand to catch the plane before it could fly into his temple. He examined it as if unable to comprehend where it had come from, then recalled Gordon's presence with a long-suffering sigh.

"Zombie warning test," Scott called, trying not to laugh at John's sour stare. "Don't freak out, that's all. Or better yet, take a break and come home for once. Gordon, what's for dinner?"

"Dude, what am I? Your personal chef?"

Scott hooked an arm around Gordon's neck and hauled him off the armrest.

"Yep," he declared cheerfully, ignoring his brother's outraged squawks. "Unless you want me in the kitchen… exploding microwaves again."

Gordon struggled free, combing his hair out of his face with a mock-offended look. "Oh, I see how it is. You remember that incident when it's convenient but when I mention it, you pretend it never happened. Selective memory."

"And?" Scott prompted.

"And Mari's made some kinda soup thing." Gordon shrugged. "She's a good cook, I wouldn't want to miss out if I were you, Jay." He widened his eyes. "C'mon, come home with us. Please? I won't call you Johnny for an entire evening."

John returned his focus to his holograms. "That's a lie."

"I'll try not to call you Johnny for an entire evening."

"That's more accurate." John dropped his gaze to the stray wires trailing from the deconstructed radio. Blue light reflected off his glasses so that it was impossible to read his expression. "Okay."

"Wait, for real?" Gordon exchanged an astonished glance with Scott. "That's... new. Are you sick or something? Since when do you agree that quickly?"

John scratched a little fleck of old paint off the radio casing. There was something dreadfully defeated about his slumped shoulders and tired smile.

"Here's a word of advice, Gordon – if you've won your argument, don't keep pushing." He reached for his headphones with a grimace. "And cover your ears now unless you want to be deafened again."

EDEN's lights flared green. "Initiating test of early warning alert system in five, four, three…"


An unsettled hush ran rampart throughout town after every test of the alert system. The echo of sirens seemed to ring forever and haunted hearts for just as long. There was no true threat yet people flocked to their houses and left the streets empty. The sound of those sirens introduced a fierce paranoia so that every rustle of wind and dull drum of rain proposed panic. It wasn't helped by the ghostly flicker of streetlamps as the generators struggled to meet the demand.

It was just late enough for the majority of people to have finished work already and so even without the additional factor of the alert test the streets would have been deserted. Dark skies promised more rain and the dull drizzle which was already falling kept teetering on the verge of sleet. The bitter chill stole breath and drove knives into any patch of exposed skin. Hats, gloves and scarfs were a must. It wasn't far from the GDF hub to their house but Scott cursed every second they spent in the open air.

"I'm telling you, man," Gordon declared for what seemed like the fiftieth time. His boots crunched on ice as he wandered ahead to swing his arms wide dramatically. "Winter sucks. December gets a pass because we get Christmas and New Year and Penny's birthday, but the rest of it? Evil."

John huffed a laugh, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets as he subconsciously quickened his pace. His coattails flapped in the northerly wind to cast strange shadows across the road. Scott fell behind the pair to lose himself in his thoughts again. Gordon's boots kept slipping on ice so that he glided along the road with a loud whoop, exhilarated by the night air.

"I feel like humans should have the option to hibernate during winter, y'know?" he continued, whirling on another patch of ice. His smile seemed giddy, childlike with delight as several flakes of snow drifted from the sky. He tipped his head back to catch them on his tongue and John gently swatted him on his way past. "Dude!"

"Child."

"You just have no sense of fun, Johnn- John."

"Nearly."

"But not quite."

"You're not going to last an entire evening without slipping up."

"Shh." Gordon pranced on ahead. "You have no faith!"

The drizzle shifted firmly into sleet. Scott could feel it melting through his hat into his hair and tried not to shiver. Hopefully there'd be enough hot water left in the tank for a warm shower because the idea of ducking in and out of freezing spray did not appeal.

Gordon's yelp drew his attention to his brothers where John had removed his glove and reached across to plant an icy hand on the back of Gordon's neck.

Gordon shoved him away with an unholy howl, yanking his hood up. "Jesus Christ, why are your hands so cold? You're wearing gloves. Do you even have circulation?"

"No," John deadpanned. "Get back here."

"Why?"

"Because you're warm."

"I don't trust you."

"That's the first sensible thing I've heard you say all evening."

Gordon eyed him suspiciously, maintaining the distance between them.

"Use Scott as your personal heater instead. I'm staying over here." He relented and ducked under John's arm to share the oversized coat. "If you put your weirdly cold hands anywhere near me, I'm gonna launch you back into orbit, 'kay?"

"Please do," John replied with a longing glance up at the sky. "Thunderbird Five has controlled temperatures."

Sometimes – in moments such as this when hope crept back into life wearing laughter as a disguise – everything felt so delicate that Scott wasn't sure how to handle it. Happiness was a rarity which had always seemed as fragile as brittle glass and he still didn't know how to hold onto it without shattering everything. So, he observed it instead; watched as Gordon and John tried to share the coat and openly laughed in the face of the dark and the cold and the danger which still lurked beyond the walls.

Shouts grew audible as they approached the house. John's steps faltered in unison with Gordon's confused murmur. Scott pushed past them both to pause at the front gate, easily identifying Alan's raised voice and then, a second later, Theo's pained shouts too.

"Oh, boy," Gordon whistled under his breath. "This one's been a long time coming."

The pair were in the living room, silhouetted against the light streaming through the window into the street. Alan had his hands tangled in his hair as he paced back and forth while Theo hung back, wrapping his arms around himself as he tried to keep his voice from wobbling.

"That's not what I'm saying-"

"That's exactly what you're saying. Well, guess what? I don't like this any better than you do, Theo, so if you've got another idea then feel free to tell me. Seriously. Go right ahead. I'm open to suggestions."

Theo curled his hands around opposing biceps in a struggle to remain calm.

"Tell someone. Tell them everything. It doesn't have to be me, I'm not trying to- I'm not going to watch you destroy yourself. I've lost too many people already. I'm not losing another. And you- God, you have so many people who want to help you and it's actually insulting that you're acting as if you don't have anyone."

"Oh, you're insulted? You're insulted?"

"Yeah, I kind of am. Everybody is trying to help you and you're just throwing it back in our faces. And now you're- And it's so shitty, Alan. It's a whole new level of shitty."

"Yeah, great, fantastic, I'm a horrible person, thanks for that."

"Stop twisting my words!"

"Why the hell are you even here?"

"Because I'm worried about you."

"No one asked you to care, Theo!" Alan's voice fractured in that damp manner indicative of being on the verge of angry tears. "Literally no one asked you to care."

There was a long, heavy silence.

"Fuck you, Alan," Theo said at last and turned on his heels.

Scott had just enough time to back up and pretend as if the three of them had just reached home before the kid slammed the front door and made a beeline for Marisa's house. He had no idea of the context of the argument but it wouldn't be the first time that Alan had lashed out and tried to push people away when he was hurting and based off those final few angry words, Theo was the latest target. God knew Scott loved his youngest brother but sometimes Alan could be a complete idiot.

"Hey," he called, casting John a meaningful look over his shoulder for them to head inside and deal with the aftermath of Volcano Alan. "Hey, Theo. Wait up a second."

The sleet was falling thicker than ever. It was not the time nor the place to hang around for long. Theo finally slowed to a halt, shoulders hunched defensively, eyes bright with the sheen of tears that he was desperately trying to keep from falling. He wiped the back of his hand across his nose with a damp sniff, trying to muster a smile as he turned to face Scott.

"Hi."

"Hi," Scott repeated with undeniable fondness in his voice. Theo was a good kid and it was hard not to care for him, especially after he'd sort of latched onto Scott like a lost puppy ever since their talk on the boat. "What was all that about?"

Theo's chin wobbled as he bit his lip against tears.

"Nothing much. I guess I overstepped, that's all. I kind of do that a lot. I don't mean to, I just… I care about people and I want to help them and I do too much sometimes. So. Yeah. It's not- It's… Anyway. You should, um, go check on Alan. I'll… go."

"Theo."

"No, no, it's okay. Really. I shouldn't even be- You're Alan's-"

Scott cut him off. "Alan's my brother but I care about you too, kid. So, are you okay? Because that sounded pretty rough back there."

Theo stared at him for several painful, drawn-out seconds as if trying to gauge whether or not it was a trick. He was still breathing heavily from the argument, trembling too, teetering on the verge of breaking down entirely. When Scott opened his arms, he crashed into them.

"I just want to help him," he choked out, burying his face in Scott's shoulder. "Back on the boat, you told me that grief is loving someone when they're not around anymore. But what am I supposed to do if the person is still here, they just don't want that love?"

Oh, boy.

Scott held him tightly until those tremors shattered into genuine tears. He threaded his fingers through the kid's hair as Theo melted against him.

"You want my honest answer?" he asked quietly. "Love that person anyway. There's no such thing as too much love, only caring too little. And don't worry about the argument. It'll blow over. Alan's terrible at holding grudges no matter what he claims, especially when he knows he was at least partly in the wrong."

Theo reluctantly released his grip and stepped back.

"Thanks, Scott." He scuffed his shoes in the ice, uncertainty twisting his words into a nervous whisper. "Alan's really lucky to have you."

Goddamn, Scott thought to himself, what was with these kids and their ability to yank on his heartstrings? He tousled Theo's hair and gave him a light shove towards Marisa's place.

"For the record, Theo? Alan's very lucky to have you too even if he doesn't realise it yet. You're a good kid. I'm proud of you." He resisted the urge to give Theo another hug at the sight of pure astonishment in those brown eyes. "Go inside and warm up before you catch hypothermia."

Well, at least that was one of them dealt with. Scott steeled himself for an explosion of anger as he stepped inside the house but was met only by quiet voices and soft music from the kitchen. He poked his head around the door to say hi to Virgil.

"Mari cooked," Virgil replied in lieu of hello. "I saved some for you. Alan's upstairs."

"Any idea what happened?"

"No clue. Jazz was in here helping with the washing up and Theo went to find Alan because he disappeared after dinner. Next thing I know they're shouting at each other so loudly that half the street probably heard."

Scott dropped his head against the doorframe with a groan. "Great."

"You okay?"

"Just tired. Long day."

"That makes two of us." Virgil picked up a blanket from the back of a chair and threw it to him. "Put that on. I feel cold just looking at you."

"Any hot water left?"

"Just enough for a quick shower."

"Oh, so the universe doesn't completely hate me then. Good to know."

Virgil shook his head with a fond sigh. "Talk to Alan. Shower. Then eat."

"Yessir."

"You're not funny."

"Copy that, Vee."


Alan's room was once again in darkness. Scott switched on the lamp to avoid accidentally tripping over Finch or any of the debris littering the floor. He sank onto the edge of the mattress and waited for Alan to acknowledge him. The kid was facedown on the bed with a blanket tugged over his head, utterly motionless but clearly awake based off his deliberately even breaths.

"So," Scott broke the silence, clapping a hand to Alan's ankle. "What happened back there?"

Alan drew a ragged inhale but didn't lift his head from the pillow. In the continued quiet, Scott prised off his boots and set about brushing sleet from his clothes. It took another couple of minutes before Alan finally spoke.

"I'm trying. I swear I am. But I keep… Do you ever, uh, do stuff and say things and you're just… You're there but it's as if you're trapped in your head as an observer. And you're saying these horrible things and it's like throwing a grenade 'cos you know how much damage it's gonna do but for some reason you still say it and you can't stop yourself. And then you try to fix it but in trying to fix it you somehow make everything ten times worse and then you just kinda hate yourself for all of it. Because that's… that's where I'm at."

"Alan," Scott whispered softly.

"I screw everything up. I wreck everything. Seriously, ever since Z-Day it's like I'm cursed. And I can't keep- Theo's worried, you're worried, everyone's worried, but I'm just tired. Even Dr Briggs knows I'm a lost cause."

"She said that to you?"

"No, but your reaction confirms that she said as much to you."

"Alan, that's not-"

"Can you go away?" Alan's grip on the pillow tightened to fists. "Please?"

Scott swallowed the hurt until it couldn't betray him.

"Alright. I'll give you some space." He stood up with a silent sigh and pulled a corner of the blanket back to kiss Alan's head. "Love you, bud. Try to get some sleep. Things won't seem as bad in the morning."


It was still dark outside, yet the GDF hub was already bustling with activity. Energy seemed to radiate throughout everyone present. Even EDEN's avatar seemed brighter than usual when Scott stepped into the foyer.

He briefly wondered if he'd overslept but his watch confirmed that it was only oh-five-forty. This time usually saw just the night crew clocking out and early risers from the research sector or engineering department. Today, everyone seemed to have gotten a memo that he had missed out on and he couldn't think of any special relevance about the date.

As soon as the elevator doors parted, he was greeted with noise; voices, comm links, buzzing projectors; a general undercurrent of optimism that had been missing ever since last week's revelation of just how close bandits were getting. The room resembled a disturbed ant's nest, completely filled with constant, rapid movement. Holograms spiralled above each projector and every screen was activated. Finn stood at the very centre, flanked by Lou, Austin Dale and John.

"-Confirmed those data spikes, yessir," Scott heard Lou's voice through the crowd. It looked as if every GDF worker had been told to report. "We've also heard from North Carolina and Maine. Of the two bunkers in Oregon, we've only reached one. We've established connections with four safe zones in Alaska too."

"Any word from our people in Dawson?"

"Yukon is still dark," Austin replied sharply. "So is much of the Northwest."

Finn's mask faltered as he tried to cover up the flash of pain in his eyes. He'd mentioned to Scott once that he'd had family living in Dawson and although he hadn't had chance to make it back, he'd kept hope that they were alive somewhere. He'd sent an order before comms had gone dark for them to be picked up and taken to a GDF safe zone but many similar commands had been sent and hardly any had actually been carried out.

"We're working on it," John interjected with that familiar calmness which had once been the Voice of International Rescue. "It's only been three hours and we've already established links with nearly thirty-six safe zones, Finn. We'll reach them soon- Scott?"

"Hey." Scott looked to Finn. "Sorry, I didn't want to interrupt."

John passed his tablet to Austin. "Take over. I need five."

He didn't wait for an answer, just caught Scott's elbow, guided him into Finn's tiny office and kicked the door shut behind them.

Scott didn't need to ask. He already knew.

"Comms are back online."

"Holy shit."

"I know."

"You did it."

John let out a faintly hysterical laugh. "I did."

"You did it, Johnny. You frickin' did it. I can't…" Scott gripped him by the shoulders and held his gaze. John looked faintly shaky with adrenaline, eyes bright with disbelief. "You have no idea just how badly I needed a win. This is- Fuck, John, do you even realise that you might have just saved the world?"

John gave another of those breathless laughs. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

Scott sank into a chair.

"How many?" He could barely bring himself to voice the question. He could practically taste excited relief, sweet like candy. "How many survival groups are out there?"

John's smile could have rivalled the sun.

"We've contacted thirty-six safe zones so far. More are calling in by the minute. Not all of those are GDF, some are civilian. But they're- Scott, there are so many. We thought humanity was on the brink of extinction, but based off how many people have survived in just a handful of states and provinces… There are far more survivors than we ever considered possible."

For centuries, humans had looked out into the dark abyss of space and wondered that age-old question, are we alone? For the past year, people had listened to empty radios and watched as the world burnt and contemplated that question once again in a context far closer to home.

Are we alone?

No.

Scott closed his eyes and listened to the overlapping hubbub of radio chatter. He still could scarcely believe it. But his relief was mostly on a selfish level because his thoughts kept circling back to one idea in particular – if so many survivors were out there, surely there was a genuine chance that Penelope and Kayo were alive?

"Scott," John continued, pausing to steady his voice. "Jenkins is dead."

Scott bolted upright. "What the fuck?"

"Mitchell is now in control." John pushed aside a projector to sit on the desk. "There was a coup roughly two months after we left which explains why the nukes suddenly stopped. We've still got dangerous levels of radiation across most states but for once I'm choosing to focus on the positives."

"Jenkins is dead."

"I'd say rest in peace but that bastard's headed straight for Hell."

"Am I awake right now?" Scott ran a hand down his face. "Jenkins and the Hood? Both of them are gone? Just like that?"

"Just like that," John confirmed, although glanced away at the mention of the Hood, busying himself with the projector he'd shoved aside. "Mitchell wants to talk to you when you've got a spare minute. Actually, several people want to talk to you."

"Why me? Finn's in charge."

"Finn's GDF. You think civilian bunkers trust the military right now? After everything?" John reached over to press the projector into Scott's hands, gaze searching as he added softly, "Humanity doesn't need a show of force. They need a show of compassion."

"They need International Rescue."

"Exactly." John slid off the desk. "It's not just Dad's legacy anymore. It's ours. We get to choose what we do with it."

Scott stared down at the projector. "This is…"

"A lot?" John offered a sympathetic smile. "Yeah, I know. But it's always been a lot and you're not doing it alone." He held out a hand. "Come on. We've got this."

"Have we?"

"Absolutely."

"Goddamn." Scott took John's hand and hauled himself to his feet. "Commander of IR, huh? It's never not going to be weird."

"I wouldn't say never," John corrected. "You've more than earnt the title."

He flipped the first of many radio links into view above the projector and knocked their shoulders together with a teasing smile.

"Ready?"

Scott took a deep breath. "FAB."


Three days of non-stop radio transmissions later and Scott was stuck on involuntary rest. Finn told him not to step foot in the GDF hub until Friday at the earliest which was a lot given it was only Tuesday. It turned out to be fortunate timing as Scott crashed for the first thirteen hours and awoke to the realisation that this was going to be a bad day. Like, a monumentally shitty day. Actually, if he had to describe it as anything, the main adjective which sprang to mind was heavy.

Sometimes he really hated his own brain but then again that only reinforced the problem and so he became trapped in a vicious circle without end until the darkness ran its course and he could breathe freely again. It wasn't helped by the fact he finally had time to think – to overthink if he were to be precise.

There were so many people out there who had survived the impossible but there were also so many more who hadn't made it. They had died alone and in pain or still existed within that dreadful void because he had destroyed the hivemind and no one truly knew how it had worked, so didn't that mean he had condemned every soul trapped within those monsters? And if that was the case then how-

Yeah.

So.

A really fucking heavy day.

He was probably well overdue one. The thought stirred a dark laugh which never made it to the surface because come on, he was out here describing terrible mental health days as if they could be anticipated like migraines. As if it were possible to mark the dates on a calendar – yeah, sorry, mark me as unavailable that day because I won't be able to get out of bed thanks to my own brain. Christ. The whole situation was a mess and he didn't want to deal with any of it.

At least the weather seemed appropriate; thick, murky clouds with dull sleet as rain teetered on the verge of true snow. It was easier to accept his own misery when the sun wasn't around to taunt him. Even so, the room was overly bright and real with traces of his family everywhere and he couldn't bear it. He yanked the blanket over his head and rolled over to face the wall.

There was a disconnect between the part of him which had no energy to do anything except stare listlessly at nothing and the part of him which felt unbelievably guilty for lying in bed not contributing anything when there was so much which needed to be done and yet here he was and-

Something had thrown all of his memories into a blender as they now mixed into one mismatched loop of terrible moments. In the conscious world, he couldn't stop thinking what-ifs and in sleep they plagued him as nonsensical nightmares. The faces wouldn't leave him alone – anyone he had ever been too late to save and those whose suffering he had put an end to throughout the apocalypse.

Noah Warren's agonised expression twisted into something accusatory and Scott jolted awake again with a strangled gasp and the phantom pain of rotters clawing at his skin as if their roles had been reversed. He fisted his hands in the blanket and curled inwards until his world consisted solely of his own frantic heartbeat and the overwhelming weight of the world. He couldn't seem to get enough air into his lungs. Logic told him that this was purely psychosomatic. Exhaustion swept the fear away before he could fly into full panic.

Time trickled past as slowly as the sleet slid down the windowpanes. Thoughts came thick and fast and languished in his head until there were enough to drown in. One of the strangest aspects was that disorientating sense of being separate, alone, detached from the world when all he had to do was drag his ass outta bed and knock on Virgil's door. It would be so easy… if only the venomous whispers in the back of his mind which claimed he didn't deserve comfort would let him.

God, he was oh-so-tired.

The room grew darker, shadowed by the sleet coating the windows. It muted every sound and obliterated the outside world so that reality existed purely of his own thoughts and the blanket and steady pressure of the mattress beneath all-too-human bones. He pressed his knuckles against his chest and felt his heart pound and wasn't it odd how strong it seemed when in truth life was so fragile?

Thousands of survivors expected him to have the answers. Trust in the GDF was almost non-existent. The World Council had purportedly holed up in a bunker somewhere in the Swiss Alps and radio links had yet to be restored beyond Canada and the States, so they weren't an option either. People were looking to International Rescue because surviving was no longer the greatest concern but having something to live for was and so the most crucial need was now hope.

Unfortunately, Scott had no idea what the hell to do. He tried to remind himself to breathe as the panic threatened to break through the blockade of emotional numbness. It was ridiculous. He knew it was ridiculous. He didn't have to manage everything alone. But it was just… It was a lot. And he was cold and he was tired and everything hurt and he couldn't shake the stupid, childish desire to go home.

He didn't hear the door brush across the carpet nor the uncertain patter of feet. He remained entirely unaware of another's presence until a warm weight settled on the mattress behind him and a forehead pressed between his shoulders. For a moment, neither of them said anything. An arm slunk over his middle as Alan curled closer, breathing deliberately even as if he were counting each inhale and exhale to stave off panic.

"What's up?" Scott asked quietly, wincing at the roughness of his own voice. He tried to recall when he had last drunk something and found his memory lacking. "Allie?"

Alan's grip tightened. "You're having a bad day, right?" He faltered, continuing in an unsteady murmur, "A sad day?"

"Yeah," Scott breathed. He scrubbed a hand across his eyes. "Heavy day. You know what I mean?"

He felt Alan nod as that pressure against his upper back shifted slightly. He lifted a hand to the kid's wrist and traced a soft circle, rewarded with a tiny sigh as Alan finally relaxed.

"Is your head loud?"

Scott frowned but didn't turn to glimpse Alan's expression. He could hear the nerves in his brother's voice and didn't want to spook him. This was the closest Alan had gotten to confiding in him since that horrible night nearly two weeks ago.

"Yeah," he admitted, screwing his eyes shut against the wave of desolation which accompanied the confession. "It's loud."

"Mine too."

"Really?"

"Uh huh." Alan buried his face in the back of Scott's sweatshirt so that his whisper nearly remained a secret. "It's always loud now."

"I'm sorry, bud."

"It's not your fault."

"But it's not yours either."

There was a long, unbearable silence.

"Scott?"

"Hmm?"

Alan pressed closer to keep him from turning to face him. "I love you."

The wall of numbness cracked as emotions broke through. Scott was momentarily lost for words as fear clogged his lungs. He inhaled sharply while his heartrate tripped over itself.

"I know you do, Allie. I love you too." Uneasiness twisted his voice into a small, desperate thing. "Any particular reason why you're telling me again now?"

"Just felt like it." Alan shivered. "Sorry."

"Alan-"

"No, no, you've gotta let me- I'm sorry. That's… yeah. It's important, okay? I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"Just… stuff."

Alan rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling to hide the tears in his eyes.

"Do you ever feel like everyone can see right through you? You can try to be better and pretend to be someone else but it's never gonna work because you can't hide the truth from people. Sooner or later, they figure it out. And then it's just… lonely."

"Is this about your fight with Theo?"

"Not really." Alan tugged his cuffs over his hands and hid his face in his sleeves. "I need IR to be a thing again because I don't know how else to feel okay about myself and the shit I've done. And I feel like… maybe you get that? It's not something Virgil and Gordon understand. John's… I don't know. But I need to know that we're at least gonna try."

"To bring IR back online? Yeah, of course we're going to try. But that's not-"

"Don't." Alan kept his face hidden as his voice wobbled. "Just… don't. Don't say it." He shivered again despite his thick hoodie. "You love me too much."

Okay, what? Scott stared at him helplessly, trying to figure out what the actual fuck that was supposed to even mean. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know how to even begin to fix any of this. All he knew was that therapy wasn't working and he couldn't remember when he'd last seen Alan smile and now the kid was trembling in the manner of someone trying to repress a sob.

"I don't think-"

"It's true. You love me too much. It's why you forgive me way too easily. I mean, I was horrible to you when we were on our own. I told you- I said you got John k-killed and that's… You just- You forgave me. Just like that."

"Jesus, Alan. That was months ago. Why are you still thinking about it?"

"Because I…" Alan trailed off. "Nothing." He curled his hands into fists but the bunched fabric of his hoodie kept his nails from biting his palms. "It's nothing. I just- You're great. You're really great. And I'm shitty to you sometimes. And you shouldn't let me get away with it. So, um, I'm sorry."

"Alan," Scott sighed, overwhelmed by exhaustion again. He couldn't find the words he was searching for. "God, Allie."

Alan hastily changed the subject.

"Are you hungry? Virgil made breakfast. I'll bring yours up here, just gimme a minute." He scrambled upright and braced himself at the edge of the bed. "Oh, wow. Headrush. That sucked. Okay, I'll be back soon."

"Alan…"

"Cool, 'kay, see you in a mo."

The door knocked behind him. Scott rolled onto his stomach and buried his face in the pillow to block out the world. When had every interaction with Alan started to fill him with dread? Before they'd arrived at the Sanctuary? As long ago as that boat trip? He couldn't remember the exact moment but there was no denying it now.

We're losing him.


Unsurprisingly, Scott didn't wait until Friday to return to the GDF hub. He tried to be surreptitious about it – not greeting anyone, just sidling over to his desk and drawing up the transcriptions of latest radio calls to catch himself up to speed – but John spotted him within minutes. Seriously, it was like the guy had eyes in the back of his head or something. Scott hunched over the desk and pretended to busy himself with holograms but this did nothing to deter his brother.

"Friday," John sighed. He gripped the back of Scott's chair and spun it so that they were face to face. "You're not supposed to be here until Friday."

"Friday," Scott replied with a wide grin, "is a state of mind."

"No," John said flatly. "It really isn't. It's Thursday, Scott. What are you doing here?"

"Careful, Johnny. Someone might think you don't want to see me." Scott tipped back in the chair and summoned one of those kicked puppy looks that his brothers were so fond of using on him. "I've got delicate feelings. You're gonna upset me."

"You're an asshole."

"Said fondly, of course."

"Why are you here?"

Scott dropped the jokester act. "Because I need something else to focus on. Being cooped up in the house wasn't doing me any favours. Virgil keeps fussing and it's driving me up the wall. I had a bad day, not a complete…" He waved a hand vaguely. "..whatever-the-hell."

John studied him for a long moment. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yep."

"Scott."

"Jeez, I'm fine. I'm not the person you should be worrying about right now."

It came out harsher than he intended but the point was valid. Gordon had picked up some bug or another that had laid him flat out with concerningly flu-like symptoms and Alan was… Well, Alan was a mess and just thinking about him was enough to knock Scott's heartrate into overdrive. This had been made even worse by Alan's seemingly overnight transformation into a robot. The kid was walking around utterly emotionless like some kind of… well, zombie.

Wow, okay, now Scott really wanted a drink.

John weighed up the pros and cons of pressing the matter and clearly decided that he didn't have the energy to deal with Scott's stubborn streak. He reached over to highlight a section of the radio transcripts.

"Read this, then we'll talk."

Scott scanned the first few lines. "What's this?"

"Observations on changed infected activity since the hivemind collapse." John cast him a meaningful look. "Mitchell called it in. Other safe zones have reported similar sightings."

The data contained some heavy implications. Previously, rotters had only gone after healthy humans but now they were attacking anything that moved, including one another. There had been multiple reports of infected feasting on those which were more decomposed and so could be easily overpowered.

Without the hivemind, radiation didn't seem to scare the creatures anymore and they were now wandering southwards again regardless of the great swathes of irradiated land which awaited them. Unfortunately, that same radiation tended to fry tech so no one knew how it affected the rotters. On the upside, fire still seemed to kill them but on the downside, winter seemed to have a rejuvenating effect, renewing not only their hunger but their persistence.

"They're still human," Mitchell pointed out over the conference call. "Won't their bodies succumb to the radiation? It'll kill them regardless of the parasite, right?"

"You're focussing too much on the data itself," John interjected as several voices from various safe zones rose over one another. "Consider the conclusions instead. The hivemind has evidently been rendered inactive. We don't know how long that will last – if the hivemind will recover – and so we need to act quickly. We have an opportunity. Without the hivemind, they can't strategize. They can't counteract our plans or defend themselves. Right now, they're-"

"Vulnerable," Ellis finished for him. There was a trace of wonder in her tone. "They're vulnerable."

"If we're going to strike," an unfamiliar voice growled, "We should do so now."

"Define strike," Finn snapped. "We've tried the offensive. It doesn't work. We've got more issues than just infected – I don't know your supply counts but here we need to retain our weapons unless we want bandits and scavengers launching a raid."

"A tactical strike is-"

"-Not what we should prioritise," Scott interrupted, grateful that this was only a radio link; the urge to throttle the man wasn't as strong when he couldn't see his face. "The hivemind used to attack supply runs and large groups. It deliberately planned to keep us apart. We should use this opportunity to re-establish links and infrastructure. You cannot treat this as a military operation. We're in a humanitarian crisis and our top priority should be survivors, not the enemy."

Once again, the radio channels were filled with a clamour of voices.

"Jesus H. Christ," Mitchell muttered. "Would y'all listen for a second? Scott's right. The military had their chance to manage this situation and they fucked up. We screwed the pooch, big time. If the hivemind recovers, then it's back to formulating attack plans but for now, we've got a lot of scared people who need help and that's not our speciality. That's International Rescue's deal. So, sure, vocalise your opinion, but don't disregard IR's view entirely."

The same military man from earlier sounded clipped, trying to restrain his temper. "Alright, Commander Tracy. I'll follow your lead for now. Tell me your plan."

Scott drummed a hand against the edge of the desk. "I have a few ideas. John, could you forward them the data packet?"

"FAB."

What followed was a long, infuriating discussion which felt akin to hitting his head against a brick wall over and over and over. Ironically, the biggest hurdle wasn't rotters but the threats posed by scavengers and bandits. Mitchell confirmed that the bandits which had been working for Jenkins had been 'dismantled' but there were still hundreds of other such groups. If they were going to create a working infrastructure between safe zones and pool their resources for equal distribution, they needed to first establish a way of defending those links.

"We might be able to help with that," said Major Samantha Howie of the GDF safe zone somewhere in Ontario that Scott couldn't recall. "We've got some fairly advanced tech which we've been using to defend ourselves. It would take some time, but we could adapt it to protect a wider area."

"What kind of tech?" Scott asked out of genuine curiosity. As far as he could recall, the GDF's capabilities were remarkable but still nowhere near the scale of the defensive system they needed for such a venture. Then again, maybe his views had been warped after so many years of having Brains' inventions as his basis for judgement.

"You've been off grid for quite some time," Sam reminded him with a hint of amusement. "We've developed some new technologies… made some advancements. I'll share the schematics with everyone later, but if you want my honest opinion? It's workable."

John noted something down on the back of his hand and glared at Scott when he attempted to read it over his brother's shoulder.

"What we really need is eyes on infected in irradiated areas," Ellis ventured.

Finn laced his fingers behind his head with a weary sigh. "We haven't got access to drones which can withstand such intensive radiation. Scott? You got anything?"

"Without access to Thunderbird Five?" Scott exchanged a look with John. "No. That being said… I might know a guy."

"Tycho Reeves won't help the GDF," Finn announced before Scott could even suggest it. "Not after… well, everything. He won't agree to build us anything unless it has zero capacity to be weaponised, so a drone? Yeah, that's not gonna happen."

"What if it's not the GDF asking?"

John finished the sentence for him. "What if it's IR?"


Discussions continued well into the night and then dragged on through the early hours until feeble daylight reared its head. Scott stumbled home on autopilot with that vague, foggy-headed sensation indicative of no sleep and intense concentration.

John had made the sensible choice to leave around two-AM – although it had been less of a choice and more a case of Scott ordering him to go home before he fell asleep in his chair – and so Scott made the journey alone. It was a wonder that he didn't slip over as he didn't have the energy to dedicate to looking out for patches of black ice, but somehow he made it back.

Jasmin was waiting for him. Or at least it seemed that way. He couldn't think of any other reason for her presence at such an early hour. It had only just turned five-AM and while many people were headed to work, Jazz was not one of them. She leant against the fence, hands buried in fluffy mittens while she huddled deeper into her coat, drumming her heels to the beat of whatever song played through her headphones.

She glanced up and yanked the headphones off. "Hey. Can we talk?"

"You know, I don't think you could've made that sound any more ominous if you tried." Scott stifled a yawn and motioned for her to follow him into the house. "What's up? This is an early start even for you."

Jasmin kicked her boots off and grimaced at her damp socks where ice had leaked through. She followed Scott into the kitchen and hopped up to sit on the counter while he hunted through the fridge for his breakfast rations and added a little extra for her.

The house remained quiet in a haunted manner which implied it had been a restless night. He leaned back from the stove to glimpse the note in Virgil's handwriting pinned on the fridge by a magnet.

G still sick. Don't wake him.

"You're worried about him, huh?" he guessed aloud, suspicions proven correct by the way Jasmin dropped her gaze to the grass stains on her jeans with a tiny shrug. "It's a bad cold, Jazz. He'll be alright."

It was a bold-faced lie. Truth be told, concern had set root in his own chest. Gordon's fever had spiked dangerously high on Wednesday evening and Scott still felt sick remembering his brother's panicked hallucinations as they'd tried to bring his temperature down in the bathtub. Even if it was the flu, his symptoms didn't match a textbook case and there was no obvious origin. Besides, he didn't seem to be contagious. Even Ellis had been fairly noncommittal with her opinions.

"But will he?" Jasmin didn't usually sound so young and it was painful to hear. "Ellis is doing her weird secret squirrel act again and whatever she's up to, it involves Gordon. I don't know if it's just a coincidence, but yeah, I'm worried."

Scott couldn't think of any theories which made sense. He blamed the exhaustion. The only thing his brain was good for at current was recycling ideas posed by other safe zone representatives and letting his body complete tasks automatically such as leaning against the table before he could do something stupid like collapse. Light-headedness reminded him that he hadn't eaten in a long time – lunch, yesterday? Or had it been a late breakfast? God, he needed to sleep.

"I knew they were working together," he admitted. "But Gordon told me it was in relation to his hearing. Ellis had a few ideas to aid his recovery. There's no direct link between their project and him getting sick. I think we've all got a little leftover paranoia since the Minnesota bunker, but no one's out to get us here."

"I guess."

"Jazz, I get you're worried, but I don't think there's anything sinister going on. Sometimes bad things happen for no reason. Unless you're trying to tell me you don't trust Ellis…?"

Jasmin shook her head vehemently. "Oh, no. I do. I trust her a lot. She's cool. I'm just overthinking again. I can't stop going down mental rabbit holes. It's been a problem ever since Z-Day. I don't want to lose anyone else so the second there's anything wrong, I freak out. But if you're certain that he's going to be okay…?"

"He will be," Scott confirmed. Despite his own unease, he did genuinely believe the words. "His fever's already broken. Virgil thinks he'll be back on his feet within the next week."

Jasmin knitted her hands together in her lap to keep from fidgeting.

"Good. That's… good." She gestured to the saucepan. "Um, Scott? That's gonna burn."

"Ah, crap."

"Language."

"Don't tell Mari."

"She cusses as much as you do, it's fine."

Jasmin shuffled along the counter to give him space to rescue the rations. She'd spent months perfecting her defences but occasionally she let the mask fall and revealed the vulnerability of a scared teenager beneath. Now was one such instance. She tucked stray hair behind her ears as she slid down to land with a damp thud on the tiles, passing him spare plates from the draining board.

"I miss him."

Scott stole a surreptitious glance at her. She had her arms wrapped around herself, eyes shadowed with loss. He slid her a plate and earnt a wane smile in return.

"He'll be back to annoying you soon."

Jasmin ghosted a hand across the back of her neck, staring intently at her plate as she confessed softly, "I didn't just mean Gordon. Alan's… different now. It's like he's not really here. And Theo knows something about it, but he won't tell me. So… I know I don't need to tell you this but keep an eye on him. Please?"

Scott stabbed listlessly at the plate as his appetite fled. Ah look, there it went, floating away on the wind which was whipping leaves and broken twigs into a frenzy in the street outside. The grey light only reinforced that weary exhaustion, inviting further fatigue and grief for inevitabilities.

He didn't need Jasmin to tell him that there was cause for concern. He already knew that much; he had three unread messages from Dr Briggs requesting another meeting. He wanted to draw the curtains on the world and crash on the couch for a few hours until it all seemed less overwhelming, maybe knock back a few drinks with Virgil and John and try to forget everything.

"I'll watch out for him," he agreed, realising that Jasmin was awaiting an answer. Concern still softened her face, making her seem young and lost and in need of reassurance. "It'll be okay, Jasmin. Really. We made it this far. I know it's difficult but try not to worry too much. Things will work out."

Jasmin bit the inside of her cheek against the threat of tears. "Right. Yeah. They will. Of course, they will. I'm just… yeah. Thanks. For the talk, not for the food. Your brothers weren't joking about your lack of cooking skills."

"Alright, kid, get outta here."

Scott made a joking swipe for her and she skidded out of range with a loud laugh. A few seconds later, she reappeared, hovering in the doorway for a moment before she plucked up the courage to march across the kitchen and draw him into a firm hug. He found it funny how purposeful she was, as if it were a mission objective or a task on a checklist.

"You okay, Jazz?" he asked when she didn't let go after ten seconds.

"Uh huh." Jasmin had to rise onto her toes to hide her face in his shoulder. "I'm adopting your family, by the way. I've always wanted brothers. Well, I mean, Theo's like family, we've known each other for so long, but he's an annoying younger brother if anything. So, you're family. And I care about you. So, um, yeah. You know that now. Cool. I'm gonna… head out."

"Jasmin," Scott called after her, fondly amused. "You've been one of us for a while now."

"I like to clarify things, y'know?"

He tossed her a blanket from one of his nights spent sleeping at the kitchen table. "Warm up before you catch hypothermia."

Jasmin grinned. "FAB, Scotty."

"You're not going to stop saying that now, are you?"

"Hell no! I'm part of the family, I totally get to say the catchphrase."