The average distance between Earth and Mars was 140 million miles. Theoretically, this could decrease to 33.9 million miles if Mars reached its perihelion at the same time as Earth approached its own aphelion, although the closest distance in recorded history so far had only been 34.8 million miles. That being said, it was also possible for the distance to stretch to 250 million miles if the two planets were on opposing sides of the sun.

When EOS sent word to the Red Planet of regained contact with Earth, Mars was not in the close opposition launch window that so many projects had once taken advantage of. The two were not as far apart as they could have been but the distance was not ideal. It would burn far more fuel and the approach angle would involve complications. The crucial element was time; it would significantly increase the length of the journey.

Thunderbird Three's ion engines cut this time by approximately two-thirds in comparison with the average spacecraft. The exact figures were dependent on too many other factors to draw a precise conclusion but the general consensus was that if you put the most advanced rocket in the world in the hands of Alan Tracy then the journey would not take very long at all.

Mostly because Alan had inherited Scott's tendency for instinctive flying as opposed to John's preference for prior assessment of data and so would weave through asteroid fields and space debris without hesitation in a manoeuvre that Gordon had coined threading the needle and John called reckless insanity.

But Alan was not in charge of Thunderbird Three and so the countdown to entering Earth's orbit was far higher than anyone cared for. It was quicker than it would have been had a certain family friend not tagged along – Brains might have built Three but he was not an astronaut; similarly, neither were Grandma or Parker and so Lee Taylor's presence made a world of difference – but it was not fast.

And so by the time Thunderbirds One and Shadow touched down on the Creighton-Ward estate, Three was still nosing her way through the stars, closing steadily on the moon's orbit but still roughly four hours out from Planet Earth.

It seemed strange to think that in a handful of hours, three Thunderbirds would be in one place again; EOS had been hunting for Four's signal too but so far had come up empty-handed, something which both irritated her and encouraged her stubborn streak. FAB1 was still parked in the Tracy Island hangar but Two's absence was notable, tearing open old wounds so that her loss felt as fresh as the day they'd fled the GDF bunker. Scott made a mental note to keep an eye on Virgil over the next few days, but for now his brother appeared caught up in the rush of having One back.

Shadow settled lightly on the lawn beside him. Kayo slid from the canopy but remained on the wing for a moment, shielding her eyes as the sun reflected off One's paintwork in a dazzling display. Scott didn't move to join her. The thrill of flight had subsided a little, replaced by warm nostalgia and a welcome sense of homecoming. He powered down but stayed in his seat for a few more minutes.

"Scott?" EOS sounded sort of timid, quieter than usual as she ventured, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

"Because your heartrate is elevated."

"How do you know-?" He glanced down at his blue gloves, silver baldric, the familiar colours of his IR uniform that he'd missed far more than he'd realised. "Ah. Suit telemetry."

"It's…" EOS searched for the best-fitting word. "…reassuring to be able to monitor your health again."

Scott shot her avatar a fondly exasperated look. "I won't complain but only if you promise not to rat me out to my family."

"But your adrenaline levels-"

"It's because I'm happy, EOS."

"Oh. Then I'm glad."

"Want me to give the suit to John so you can spy on his health too?"

"Don't be ridiculous," EOS teased. "He's smarter than you are. He'd realise my plan within seconds. Besides, it barely fits you. John wouldn't have a chance."

"Yeah, Grandma's gonna have kittens when she sees him."

"I'd like to point out that she is also going to see you."

"…How'd you feel about having some company up on Five? I'm gonna need a good hiding place."

EOS simply laughed at him and cut the link.

He ran through post-flight checks slowly, taking his time to reconnect with his Thunderbird. It still seemed surreal to be standing in One's cockpit; dreamlike to hold the controls; an unbelievable quality about the weight of the grapple packs in his baldric and the seams of his gloves against the backs of his hands.

He leant against the bulkhead and closed his eyes, drinking in the moment until he could convince himself of its reality. Sunlight crept inside to dab gold over the toes of his boots. Distant voices clamoured for attention. He briefly considered changing out of his suit but there was something comforting about wearing IR blues again that made him reluctant to give them up.

Curious eyes watched from the manor itself. He paid them no attention as his chair deposited him on the grass beside his brothers. Penelope held out a hand to steady Kayo as she swung herself down from Shadow's wing and moved to join them. Alan had ignored all safety protocols about not approaching the Thunderbirds until their engines had cooled and was already crowded into the space beneath One, reaching up to run his hands over her hull with a smile to rival the sun.

"I'd call that mission a success," Scott declared, sounding like a gleeful child even to his own ears.

"Hell yeah," Gordon whistled, bounding forward to high-five him. "Up top, Scotty! Nice one."

"Barely a scratch," Alan called over his shoulder, still inspecting each panel with the sort of dedication that a chemist might show to a spectroscopic analysis sample. There was the same level of awe in his voice that he'd once directed at Thunderbird Three. "How'd she fly?"

"Beautifully," Scott replied, distracted by the way that John and Virgil were looking at him. To be fair, John was dividing his attention between Earth and EOS, but Virgil kept staring at him with indistinguishable mix of emotions in his eyes. "What?"

Virgil blinked. "Sorry. It's just…"

"Blue," John said unhelpfully as if that clarified anything at all.

"Oh my god!"

Theo's voice echoed across the lawn, swiftly accompanied by a thud as the kid tripped over his untied laces. He propped himself up on his elbows, wiping grass from his face as he beamed at them all delightedly.

"You're wearing the suit! The proper International Rescue uniform! So cool!"

Virgil gave up on vague gestures and let his hands fall back to his sides. "Exactly."

"So?" Scott lifted his arms to get a better look. "What's the big deal?"

Virgil exchanged a look with John.

"It's been a long time since you wore your own uniform," John explained, tapping his earpiece to mute EOS as he returned his full attention to them. "It's…"

"Better?" Gordon suggested, squawking as Kayo hooked an arm around his neck and hauled him close. "What? It's true. He's more like himself than he has been in forever."

Alan finally ducked out from under One to join them. "I don't know…"

There were grass stains over his jeans and a streak of aviation fuel in his hair; chipped varnish on his nails and tiny stars scribbled on the sides of his Converse in blue ink; a hint of paint on his cheek which vanished when he smiled and Kayo's hoodie draped around his shoulders. He rocked on his heels as he jammed his hands into his pockets, tipping his head back to examine One's nosecone.

Suddenly, Scott kind of got what his brothers meant about seeing him look like himself again because he felt the same way about Alan. He hadn't seen the kid's spark make an appearance in too long but now there was a hopeful gleam in his eyes and a lightness about him, full of energy and excitement and utterly, irrevocably alive.

"You don't know about what?" John prompted.

Alan shrugged, stealing a sideways glance at Scott's uniform. "It doesn't feel like a return to the past. It feels more like something new. Something different, you know? I think it's a good thing."

Scott reached up to flatten his hand against One's hull.

"Yeah," he agreed softly. "It's a good thing."

Virgil's shoulder knocked against his own. "Welcome back."

"Is that directed at me or Thunderbird One?"

Virgil shot him a fond look. "Both of you."


Thunderbird Three was projected to enter Earth's orbit around early evening. There would be just enough light left in the sky to bathe the rocket in russet and gold but sunset was already fading fast and there was still a half-hour left before their predicted ETA. Excitement ran rampart throughout the manor, a physical buzz like an electrical current, encouraged by the sight of Thunderbird One on the lawn and channelled through voices and secretive glances.

"You weren't part of my welcome party," Scott teased, knocking the door to the roof shut with his heel. "I don't know if my feelings will ever recover."

He had yet to change out of his uniform but Marisa's absence had been grating on him, so he'd made some half-hearted excuse and left to track her down. A series of hoots and whistles had followed him, but he was still high on the elation of One's retrieval, so had let the comments slide.

Besides, Gordon was in for a world of teasing himself in the not-so-distant future given the way he kept following Penny like a lost puppy, all wide, adoring eyes and soft words regardless of who was watching. Scott would get his revenge soon enough. Just not yet, because priorities.

"Sorry," Marisa replied, more of a reflex than a genuine apology.

At first glance, her gaze appeared to be fixed on the sunset – warm colours; deep lights; feathery clouds dusted with brilliant gold; darkening ambers setting the stage for another display of stars post-dusk – but a closer look revealed that her sights were actually set on Thunderbird One.

"She's fantastic, right?"

Scott took a seat beside her, stretching out his legs and leaning back against the heels of his hands to ease the residual ache in his knee. The support had helped a lot but it still needed a proper scan and while Virgil was a brilliant medic, he didn't have Grandma's qualifications.

"She's incredible," Marisa agreed softly, tilting her head to let him spy her smile. "Although I'll let you in on a secret - I'm fonder of her pilot."

"Sorry Falcone, compliments will get you nowhere." He dropped the teasing tone, nudging her shoulder with his own. "Why are you hiding?"

"I'm not hiding."

"Everyone's in the sunroom. Even Ellis, which should tell you something. I didn't think it was possible to find anyone more introverted than Johnny but she's proved me wrong."

He dared to move his hand, placing himself closer so that he was only a second's impulsiveness away from actually having an arm around her.

"Seriously, Mari. What's up?"

"It's ridiculous."

"Uh huh."

"I'm not joking. It's… stupid."

"Try me."

"It makes no sense."

"I raised Gordon and Alan – I'm used to things making no sense."

Marisa turned to face him, fingers twisted in the drawstrings of the hoodie that she still had yet to give back to him. There was an abruptness to the action that seemed akin to a challenge as if she were daring him to stay but expected him to run.

It was understandable given he had spent so much time on risky mission lately – something he was aware his brothers weren't happy about either – and a part of him regretted that even if it had been necessary. He caught her gaze, stilling her hand as she reached for the hoodie string again, willing her to find the silent promise on his face, no more running, I swear.

"Okay, Tracy," Marisa murmured, smile contradicted by the vulnerability in her eyes, "Riddle me this. Everything is going well. The world is making progress again. Yet for some godforsaken reason, the idea of things getting better scares me more than the rotters ever have. I keep expecting it all to fall apart and I don't know how to overcome that fear. See? Ridiculous."

Scott wasn't sure what he'd expected, but it certainly wasn't to have his own thoughts echoed back at him. He spent a few seconds floundering for words, overcome by a sense of incredulity so strong that in the end all that bubbled up was a laugh. He wished that he could claw it back as soon as it escaped, able to pinpoint the exact second that Marisa closed herself off.

"Wait-"

Marisa ignored him, pushing herself to her feet and stalking away before he'd even had chance to recognise that he'd made a grave error in judgement. Why the hell had he laughed? Goddammit, he'd known he was going to screw up the unspoken thing between them at some point but he hadn't anticipated it being quite so soon.

"Mari, come back." He scrambled upright. "Marisa! I didn't mean to…"

Marisa's steps faltered. She couldn't have been too furious with him because she didn't pull away when he reached for her wrist and gently tugged her back to him.

"I wasn't laughing at you," he promised. "I was laughing at me."

"Of course you were."

"Mari, I'm serious. I wasn't laughing at you. Look, see? Scout's honour and everything."

He repressed a wince when she didn't react to the poor joke.

"C'mon honey, I'm sorry. Really." He let his shoulders slump, honesty bleeding into his voice as he forced himself to confess, "I've spent most of my life being wary of good things. It's why…"

He inhaled deeply and let go of her wrist to catch her hand instead.

"…why this scares me. So, I get it. I understand. And I'm sorry for laughing. I was just surprised that you have the same thoughts. Which is a shitty excuse but it's the truth."

Marisa ran her thumb over one of the scars across his palm. "You're an idiot."

"So I've been told."

She shook her head with a light laugh. "Not all the time though."

"No?"

"No."

"Well, that's a relief."

"But I still have questions about how you managed to talk Yale into giving you a degree."

"I worked my ass off for that degree!"

"Uh huh."

He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close, grinning at the sound of her laughter. The final dregs of anxiety melted away. He bit back further comments before he could make an even bigger fool of himself, but it was difficult to stay silent when he was floating on a wave of happiness; he could see Thunderbird One shining silver below; could hear his family's voices from downstairs; had Marisa in his arms and…

Oh, no.

He was in trouble.

When was the last time he'd caught serious feelings for someone?

Fuck.

Marisa didn't seem any wiser as to his internal crisis. She traced the edges of the TB1 emblem on his arm, disbelief battling with awe as if she hadn't quite comprehended who he was – or at least who he had been – until now. She tapped her knuckles against the IR logo on his baldric.

Scott cleared his throat and attempted to sound normal.

"People might be more willing to listen to me now that I actually look like the Commander of International Rescue, huh?"

Marisa flattened her hand against the silver fabric. "Probably. Although…"

"Although?"

"You were always a hero, even without the uniform." She glanced up with a teasing grin and he promptly lost the ability to breathe. "But it does help to look the part."

He wasn't quite so distracted as to miss the way her eyes flickered over him.

"I'll be sure to wear it more often then."

Marisa blinked. "I- What?"

"You know. To encourage the GDF to trust me." He smirked. "Why? What were you thinking?"

"Nothing."

"You totally have a thing for the uniform."

"I do not."

"Sure."

"Shut up, Scott."

"Hell no, this is important information."

"Oh my god. You're ridiculous."

"And to think I haven't taken you for a flight in One yet…"

She whirled on him and jabbed a finger into the IR logo. "You haven't even worked up the courage to ask me on a proper date yet."

"Would you say yes?"

"Ask and find out."

It was tempting – oh-so-very tempting – to ask her right there and then. They were so close that he could have brushed her hair out of her face with little more than the twitch of a knuckle; could have kissed her in a heartbeat. And he was still so hyped on adrenaline that he nearly did.

So, given all of this, he felt like it was pretty understandable when his first thought upon hearing Thunderbird Three's engines was not overwhelming joy but a more irritated are you serious? Right now? Really? Talk about terrible timing. It took a second to recall that this was the apocalypse and so hearing Three's engines was very much not normal; the overwhelming joy swept in immediately.

The familiar red rocket caught the final embers of sunset as she descended through the atmosphere, glowing like a candleflame, flattening several shrubs as she came to a halt.

The sudden silence was deafening. Scott wasn't sure if he was breathing, scared to blink, only realising that he was still holding Marisa's hand when she pulled him into a jog which became a run and then a sprint, clattering down staircases and along hallways to burst from the front door onto the lawn. The grass was wet with dew, slippery and treacherous, glistening in the glow of Three's engines as she settled onto the designated landing pad.

"Oh my god," Alan breathed, starry-eyed at the sight of his Thunderbird again.

His hands were shaking and he shoved them into his pockets until he found the remains of an old tissue, tearing it to shreds to anchor himself as if he feared that stepping closer would shatter the illusion just as Scott had found himself momentarily frozen at the sight of Thunderbird One.

The engines had scorched the grass, instantly evaporating dew to steam which rose in a wide circle around the rocket so that it appeared to be smoking. Everything seemed to have grown very quiet all at once. The slow tick of cooling engines was deafening in the silence. A lone owl called to the approaching night.

Scott could hear his own heartbeat in his ears. He took an unsteady step closer, struck by a sudden rush of nervousness. Marisa laced her fingers through his and squeezed his hand before letting go and giving him a slight shove towards the Thunderbird.

In the dying light, Three was a beacon of warmth, both literally and visually. There was still heat radiating from her engines and the deep amber glow of sunset reflected off her red hull.

But the real miracle didn't happen until the hatch door began to open. Light flooded from the cargo bay, a sharp contrast from the darkness of young dusk, dazzling like stage lights complete with the sickening rush of adrenaline that accompanied the start of any performance; the stomach-plunge at the top of a rollercoaster drop; daring to believe in the impossible.

Hope and belief were similar forces. There was a distinct overlap but a division too. Hope was an ember, carefully coaxed into a flame until it became an inferno. But if hope was fire then belief was water and it was so much easier to recognise the power of a wildfire than it was to examine a flat ocean and know it could be capable of such strength also.

Thunderbird Three carried hope but Scott didn't dare let himself believe until the first set of boots stained with Martain soil set foot on Planet Earth. He remained frozen, ears filling with static, mouth dry as the world spun away from him for several seconds. The sight didn't change. It was real. It was truly happening. They were actually here.

A disconnected part of his mind recognised that the shock probably ran both ways. It hadn't crossed his mind to be self-conscious. It took too much effort to worry about appearance when every survivor wore scars nowadays. But he spared an instant to consider it from the eyes of someone who had lived with safety as a constant throughout much of the apocalypse rather than a luxury and realised how different they must all have seemed.

For his own part, a loose-fitting uniform; uneven haircut far longer than he'd once kept it although thankfully maintained by Virgil's attempts with scissors; scrapes and scratches from everyday tasks; faint scars across his chin and knuckles which travelled beneath his suit where the deeper damage remained hidden; the gleaming beads of a childish TB1 bracelet that clashed with the professionalism of a uniform but he didn't care.

The others:

John's shadowy, silent ability to blend in-and-out of sight, still treading the line between skinny and scary although he'd regained enough muscle mass to handle a threat, as skilled with a knife as with a radio these days and never seen without a weapon.

Virgil's new defensiveness, warmth sharpened into protective walls, a brief glimpse of scar tissue when his shirt rode up leftover from his brush with death after the boat explosion, still pink in the manner of dangerous injuries which would take a long time to fade.

Gordon's scar that ran across his temple and into the long hair that he'd tied up with a neon pink band courtesy of Penny, barefoot in the grass with ink-stained jeans and a dark hoodie stolen from Kayo's closet. Kayo herself with choppy hair cropped to her chin, the thin scar that sliced through her eyebrow, a hidden ring in her pocket like a cursed talisman and a constant, tightly wound energy forged throughout months of having no one but Penny to watch her back.

Alan: all sharp edges of both his own creation and the world's cruelty; scarred knuckles and watchful eyes; impulsivity worn into calculated action; fearful of compassion but handing it out freely; always cold but warm at heart; bright with light and life with paint on his face and stars on his shoes.

Penelope, standing with her head held high, challenging the world to find fault with her bravery as she surged forwards to greet her family without a second thought for the scar that had once made her shy from those who loved her. Her hands were calloused from manual labour and she had soil beneath her nails, but she had never seemed so authentically and utterly herself and Scott was so proud of her, so utterly proud of all of them.

Yet, just as he'd recognised how different they must have looked to Three's passengers, so too did their newly arrived family look to them. Not notable contrasts – in some ways it was as if no time at all had passed, a swift step from pre- to post-Z-Day – but small, subtle differences.

Separation and its subsequent grief had taken its toll on all of them, even those safe on Mars. Emotional wounds were torn open over and over again because you never lost someone once but repeatedly: when you tasted their favourite food, found one of their shirts in the back of your closet, caught a hint of their shampoo or stumbled upon their beloved books in EOS's literary archives.

Grandma seemed older but somehow stronger too. The lines of her face had deepened but there was a steel in her spine and stubborn fire in her eyes. Her spacesuit contained elements of IR tech, lined with the same rich purple of her old jumpsuits. A tiny, macro-EOS drive blinked on her wrist as she fought out of the top half of her spacesuit to leave her in a soft cable knit sweater better suited to offering hugs.

In much the same way, Parker had been aged by grief but fighting for his future was nothing new to him and so he had clung onto hope. Rugged stubbornness melted away to reveal the soft gaze only ever saved for Penelope. He'd shucked off his spacesuit before the hatch had even finished opening, marching forward in battered boots and army-rated gear, already prepared to protect his family should their luck suddenly turn for the worst. He discarded his collection of blades and holsters, leaving them in a heap in the flattened grass as he broke into a jog, pulling Penny into his arms.

Brains didn't hang back as such but remained at Grandma's side. One hand hovered at his hip in anticipation of reaching to steady her, fully aware that Martian gravity played havoc on the muscles.

Perhaps that was the reason why he seemed to have focussed on his own physical form, all lithe muscle and new sturdiness like a healthy cat released into the wild: cautious but determined. He wore the black z-rated IR gear that he had designed so many months ago, searching the gathered crowd until he found the person who he'd been seeking for so long.

Fun Space fact: time behaved differently around black holes. There were a lot of very clever, fancy explanations as to why and how but a simple statement was that to an outside observer, time at the event horizon reached a complete standstill. Coincidentally, this was exactly what their current moment in time felt like; stretched to a breaking point as they stared at one another, unmoving.

Then, as if someone had flipped a switch, it snapped.

Scott's run slowed to uncertain, staggered steps until he finally stopped less than a pace from his grandmother. He wasn't sure why he was hesitating – or what he was looking for within her worn, well-loved face – but the nervous energy had crawled out of the space between his lungs, coiling around his ribs, strangling his voice until all that came out was a pitiful, raspy whisper.

"Hey."

Grandma's disbelief softened into a tearful smile. "Oh, Scotty."

And then she was pulling him into her arms, holding him close, cradling his head as he tucked his face into the crook of her neck. He fell into her embrace as if he were a young child again, too little to understand which parts of the world were truly worth being afraid of, flinching from shadows under the bed when the true monsters lurked in events yet to pass.

His eyes were burning, face wet, hands aching from his fierce grip on her sweater. The tightness in his chest had pulled into a thicker knot, each breath strained and damp, unable to form words. Her hands trembled slightly as she rubbed circles into his back; cupped his chin to raise his head; sought his eyes to read the unspoken truths in them. The world was a house of cards that had finally come tumbling down but the aftermath wasn't as scary as he had believed it would be.

"Are you-" His voice failed him; a painful crack that splintered on tears. He sucked in a lungful of air, lifting his hands to her shoulders, holding her as if she might float away. "Are you okay? I mean- You're…?"

"I'm alright," Grandma promised him thickly, reaching up to wipe the tears from his face. Her knuckle brushed the scar on his chin and her smile wavered. "We're okay, kid. And so are your brothers. You protected them. You've done so well and I am so, so proud of you."

"You're here," he breathed, words tripping over a damp laugh. "You're really here."

"I'm here." Grandma's expression crumpled. She drew him close again – the warm, effortlessly protective type of hug that was so rare post-childhood – and let him cling to her. "I'm here, fly-boy. Everything's going to be okay."


The reunion itself grew faded in his memory almost immediately in the manner of all overwhelming events. He was gripped by a sharp stab of anxiety – that same fear which made him wary of good things and had him flinching from kindness – but he was slowly learning to ignore that and instead focussed on the very real happiness of having family back.

Grandma greeted all of them with open arms but seemed particularly reluctant to let him go. She kept finding him again; a hand against his elbow; warm smile full of concern; gentle touches to his upper back until she could grip his arm and pull him within range of a side hug.

There was a note of horrified knowledge beneath the relief in her eyes as the medical side of her brain made swift judgements and diagnoses. She couldn't turn it off, just as Scott could not shut off the part of his mind which looked at a scene of destruction and made quick assessments, spitting out survival rates and ways to minimise further damage. She refused to let John go for a full two minutes. Gordon was treated similarly. Her hold on Virgil threatened to crack ribs. Alan fell into her arms and didn't let go.

Background moments floated in-and-out of Scott's peripheral vision. Parker had pulled him into a brisk hug but had since returned to Penelope, unwilling to let her out of his sight for longer than a few seconds. Their bond had always been apparent to anyone who knew them personally, but they had never been so tactile with one another until now. The only missing piece was Sherbet who had been left on Mars for safekeeping where food was plentiful and he wouldn't be at risk.

Parker's grief upon spying Penny's face had nothing to do with her new appearance and everything to do with remorse that he had been unable to spare her from such pain. He tucked her hair behind her ear and cupped the back of her head as he drew her close in such a fatherly gesture that Scott had to look away.

The rough fabric of Parker's army vest was not suited for gentleness but Penelope hooked her fingers in it as if it were cashmere. His jaw clenched, eyes squeezed shut as he collected his composure, then held her at an arm's length.

"I'm sorry, M'Lady."

Penelope drew a sharp breath, unused to the title after so many months. She swallowed, unable to keep her smile from trembling as she tried to repress relieved tears.

"You're here now."

Parker gave her a firm nod. "And I'm not leavin' again."

Some moments weren't supposed to be witnessed. They belonged to the two people caught in each other's orbits and observation felt uncomfortable yet was as inescapable as the gravity tying them together. Scott couldn't help but glance across at Virgil and Brains despite Kayo's kick to his ankle.

No words were exchanged. They had always had an uncanny knack for understanding one another, finding overlap in their languages; Virgil reading the artistry in Brains' designs and Brains identifying the underlying logic of creative meanings; the science of colours and music versus the intricacies of mechanical beauty.

I love you was a silent declaration shouted in every expression of affection; shared smiles; borrowed strength; Virgil's hands on Brains' shoulders; Brains leaning up to rest their foreheads together; wordless whispers that fell into a fierce hug.

Virgil seemed oddly small in Brains' arms – the sort of tender moment that belonged to a private story of their own telling – and Brains' hands ghosted his waist, travelling up to cup his face for a single, precious instant that felt like the first glimpse of clear skies after a storm.

Grandma's voice broke through the white noise that had filled Scott's head – relief and gratitude and the feeling of finally getting to exhale as if he had been holding his breath ever since he'd stepped out of Thunderbird Five for that last fateful spaceflight – and he averted his gaze. Kayo had been hovering at the periphery, letting each of her brothers reunite with their grandmother, but now Grandma beckoned her closer.

"Hi," she mumbled, rough with emotion that she struggled to keep prisoner, clenching her jaw against the threat of tears. She couldn't meet Grandma's searching look. "I…"

Grandma tutted. "Come here, Tanusha."

Scott couldn't recall the last time he'd heard her call Kayo by that name. It made an immediate impact. Kayo glanced up, eyes wide and glistening so that they appeared vividly green. She drew a shallow, nervous little breath as Grandma's arms closed around her and pulled her into a hug.

"You don't have to be strong all the time," Grandma whispered, intended not only for Kayo but for Scott too, catching his gaze over the top of Kayo's head. "Look at all you've accomplished. I'm so proud of you."

Kayo swallowed, fumbling to confess, "I missed you." Her breath caught. "I missed you so much."

"I've missed you too, sweetheart."

Scott couldn't help himself, wrapping his arms around them both as he joined their hug. A weight landed against his back, followed by a chin tucking over his shoulder as Gordon rose onto his toes in order to accomplish this. Alan scrambled underneath Kayo's arm. It didn't take long for John to be pulled into the hug too, swiftly followed by Virgil, hand-in-hand with Brains and accompanied by Penelope and a seemingly reluctant but secretly joyful Parker.

"New plan," John spoke up at last. "No more splitting up."

"Not a chance," Parker agreed roughly.

Scott glanced up, finally registering that they had other company. Marisa had ushered Theo and Jasmin inside and despite her curiosity Ellis had accompanied them, but two other figures stood at a respectful distance. One was a relatively tall, gruff-faced figure with kind eyes and a smile to match while the other was a shorter, scrawnier youth with a mop of dark hair and nervous energy.

Scott was taken aback by his own rush of relief at the sight of Lee Taylor and he knew Alan would be delighted to see Conrad. But their reasons for returning to Earth remained unclear and he mentally prepared himself for that conversation.

As if on cue, Lee stepped forward, clapping a hand to Conrad's bicep to tell him to hang back for another minute.

"Hey, Captain Taylor," Scott began, sticking out a hand – what was the protocol for greeting family friends in the apocalypse? – only for Lee to haul him into a hug.

"None of that, son." His smile was affectionate as he kept a tight grip on Scott's shoulder. "It's good to see you. Now… I reckon we've got a lot to catch up on."


Conversations stretched into the depths of the night. Scott intended to stay awake – and gave it his best shot too, stubbornly stifling every yawn despite Virgil's and Grandma's matching frowns – but the past twenty-four hours had been both mentally and physically taxing. He ended up crashing around half-three or perhaps a little later when the hour hand was treading on the coattails of four.

The slow slide into sleep was easily facilitated by Virgil's shoulder serving as a pillow and Grandma's familiar voice filling the air to lull racing thoughts. The couch was comfortable and the room was warm and it had always been simpler to give into sleep when surrounded by people who loved him. Finch planted herself in his lap and he was vaguely aware of petting her soft fur before the world faded.

His next memory was of a dark space; heavy pressure from every angle; an urgency that gripped him fiercely and an emptiness that nearly overwhelmed him. It was by no means the first time he'd dreamt of falling and he very much doubted that it would be the last.

He awoke with a jolt, pulse still racing and a thin shin of sweat gluing his shirt to his back. The room was in darkness and most people were asleep, although he spied the glow of a tablet reflecting off Brains' glasses and John's watch. He extracted himself from Virgil's clutches, spared a moment to pull the blanket higher around Grandma's shoulders, then fled the room.

He hadn't been unsettled to such an extent by a dream – not quite a nightmare, at least not by his standards – in a very long time. He couldn't shake the memory of that gnawing emptiness.

Perhaps emptiness was the wrong word, he reflected, letting his steps carry him towards the kitchen. If he had to draw a direct comparison, then the closest description that came to mind was hunger. He rolled his shoulders, unnerved by the thought, a slow shiver scuttling down his spine.

Thunderbird Three's cargo bay had been jampacked with supplies. The majority had yet to be unloaded and would be shared between survival zones, but a small selection of homely luxuries had been saved for family alone. Coffee was one of those precious gifts.

Something about the scent was therapeutic, soothing his frayed nerves and transporting him through time to pre-Z-Day, to cheerful voices and running shoes, the sun rising to a human hour when clamour would accompany the clatter of breakfast dishes after Gordon inevitably annoyed Alan or Virgil.

Scott ventured into the kitchen slowly, trying to glimpse the occupant through the gap between the hinges and the frame without much success. He'd grown accustomed to Isaiah's calm, quiet manner but he was still unsettled by the dream and he wasn't close enough to the mechanic to call him a friend and so was reluctant to be around him while… well, vulnerable.

Goddamn, he hated that word. It carried too many connotations.

He squared his shoulders, scrubbed the last remnants of grogginess from his eyes, and stepped into the room regardless of Isaiah's possible presence.

The universe must have felt sorry for him as Isaiah was nowhere to be seen. Not that the kitchen was empty, but the figure leant against the radiator was familiar, nursing a mug between worn hands as he examined the gardens through the fogged window. His shoulders tensed slightly before recognition trickled in and he returned to his lonely post, watching over the place he had once called home. He didn't speak but reached back to pull out a chair from the table: a silent invitation.

Their private kitchen was always the warmest room in the house. Scott was grateful for that more than ever as it melted the final traces of ice from his bones. The residual heat from pipes under the tiles bled through his threadbare socks as he made a beeline for the coffeepot, old habits reawakened by the strong smell. There was another mug sitting on the counter as if Parker had anticipated company, cheery yellow patterned with Van Gogh's Sunflowers.

Neither of them said anything for a few minutes. Parker seemed captivated by the sights unfolding across the lawn below; early risers making a start on the day's chores, scurrying between beehives and vegetable patches and greenhouses; so much activity that they resembled a disturbed ant's nest. Ordinarily, Kayo would be among them, but she'd let herself sleep in for once.

Scott wrapped his hands tightly around the mug and cradled it beneath his chin so that he could appreciate the warmth as well as the smell. It was strange how much he missed mundanity. He'd taken everything for granted before. Things were simpler now; in what other version of reality could he have possibly found delight in the prospect of eating an orange? Hell, Penelope had nearly broken down in tears when Grandma had gifted her a box of teabags.

"Mornin'," Parker said at last, more of a grunt than an actual word. He kept blinking as if his eyes stung, movements more sluggish than usual; clearly he hadn't slept long if at all.

Scott leant heavily against the counter. He toed the piece of stray fluff on the tiles, inhaling deeply until he could taste the coffee in the air.

"Morning," he echoed quietly.

Parker's gaze was unreadable. There was a heaviness to the silence that Scott wasn't sure what to do with. He examined the sunflowers on the mug, momentarily distracted as he recalled the paint on Alan's face yesterday. What had the kid been working on? Had Virgil picked up a brush yet?

Parker cleared his throat. There was a brief pause as if he'd been intending to say something of greater depth, but all he said was, "You should drink that."

"Huh?"

"Before it goes cold."

There was a new layer to Parker's voice which Scott hadn't noticed before, not exactly soft but gentle as if he were attempting to sound fond but wasn't sure how to navigate that new territory.

"So," Parker continued. "How've yer been?"

It was a loaded question.

"You know." Scott lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. "Surviving."

Parker let out a bark of laughter. "Seems like you've done a decent job."

"I don't know. It was touch and go for a while there."

Scott stared into the dark depths of the coffee and willed his voice not to shake. Memories welled to the forefront of his mind and he repressed a shiver, pressing closer to the counter until the hard edge dug into his lower spine and jolted him out of the semi-trance. Because really, had he done a decent job? He'd tried his best but he was still uneasy with how certain events had played out.

He set the mug aside, forcing himself to look up.

"I'm sorry I couldn't keep her safe."

Parker gave a derisive scoff.

"Creighton-Wards are good at finding trouble. Her Ladyship's no exception. You can't keep her from the action, you've gotta follow her and that was never your job, you hear?"

"Still."

"No, not bloody still."

Parker gripped Scott's shoulder in a hold that could have been considered painful but served as an anchor too. His gaze was searching, filled with enough warmth that Scott sort of wanted to hide from him.

"It wasn't your fault."

"The apocalypse? Yeah, no kidding."

Parker let out an exasperated growl. "I'm talking 'bout that satellite."

Scott narrowly avoided flinching. It was a close call. He dropped his gaze to the tiles; pretended to be distracted by the hole in his sock; tried to avoid the flood of memories that he'd managed to squash into a tiny box at the back of his mind for so long. The pressure of the counter against his back was suddenly too much, constrictive, a visceral reminder of powerlessness.

"I screwed up," he confessed, swallowing the lump in his throat as Parker's grip on his shoulder tightened in a silent attempt at comfort. "I trusted- Well, not trusted, but I let my guard down and I let it slip about the immunity. It spiralled from there. We all got separated because of my mistake. So, everything that's happened since? That's my responsibility."

Parker studied him for a long moment. "Clearly the smart gene skipped you."

"I- What?"

"Must've gone all to Master John."

"Parker!"

"You're an idiot, lad."

"Thanks."

"It wasn't your fault."

"Okay."

"Do I have to beat it into yer skull? It wasn't your fault."

"I said okay."

"Scott."

That unfamiliar gentleness had returned to Parker's voice and somehow that made it so much harder to accept what he was saying. Scott was horribly conscious that he was sort of shaky and visibly nervous but then again Parker had seen him hyperventilate into unconsciousness while drenched in John's blood, so really, why was he even trying to hide?

Parker squeezed his shoulder, voice low with urgency as he repeated, "It was not your fault."

Scott swallowed. "Okay."

It came out pitifully small, but it also sounded genuine. He was taken aback by the flare of pride in Parker's gaze, ducking his head like an awkward teenager as heat prickled up the back of his neck. It was definitely time to change the subject.

"How was Mars?"

"Difficult. We lost all of you." Parker flexed his hands, considering before admitting, "She's gone."

"Who?"

"That reporter."

"Maya?"

"The one who drugged ya."

"Yeah, Maya." Scott stared at him. "What do you mean she's gone?"

Parker gave a nonchalant shrug.

"Did you kill her?"

"How'd you feel if I said yes?"

"I… You- Okay. That's…" Scott pinched the bridge of his nose. An incredulous chuckle bubbled up. "I don't know? She…" He clenched his teeth against a wave of revulsion at the memory. "She wasn't a good person."

"She hurt you."

"Yeah."

"There you go then."

He instinctively went to question it – Parker, did you literally murder someone just because they hurt me? – only to realise that he already knew the answer. It was obvious in a second mug on the kitchen counter; in fond eyes and an attempt at softness.

Yes, Parker had killed for him. And would most likely do so again without hesitation. The same fierce care showed to Penelope extended to him and had done for several years - he had just never noticed until now.

"You killed her," he said slowly.

"She hurt my family." Parker lifted the coffeepot, so casual as if he hadn't flipped Scott's worldview on its head. "Another?"


It took several days for Scott to track down Gordon. It wasn't intentional, but everything had happened all at once and so their paths never seemed to cross outside of group settings. He'd been meaning to check in with his brother for a while and so as soon as he had a free moment, Scott set about finding him.

Gordon had been spending most of his time with Grandma or Penelope or Alan and Jasmin, so it was rare to catch him alone. But the relief of the reunion that had tied them all so tightly together had dissipated into warm acceptance so that they felt comfortable to go off and do their own things again. There were plenty of tasks to be getting on with: calls and calculations and so on. So, today, Gordon was finally by himself.

He'd set up shop in an attic room that was predominately used for storage. It was a small space filled with crates. There was an old writing desk in front of the window, crafted from cherry wood, darkened to a deep, rich hue that revealed its age. The vintage desk struck a sharp contrast with the modern holoprojector perched at its centre, an upgraded model brought back from Mars.

Sunshine streamed through the glass and reflected off the plastic rim, bouncing rainbows through rafters and making EOS's avatar ghostlike, fading in-and-out of sight in the bright light. It was warm up here – the room benefitted from rising heat as well as trapped sunlight – and Gordon had his sleeves rolled up, lounged sideways across a dusty armchair with his legs hooked over the armrest, shoes discarded in a heap under the desk.

Scott stepped inside just in time to catch the tail end of EOS's sentence. It seemed strange to see the pair working together without their usual verbal sparring – and indeed EOS had already made several teasing remarks that Gordon had met with equal amounts of sarcasm – but some tasks could only be achieved through teamwork: finding Thunderbird Four was one such example.

"It's intermittent," EOS was saying, sounding rather put out about the fact that she'd been unable to get a secure lock on Four's signal. "Whoever has control is keeping Thunderbird Four's systems powered down most of the time."

"Can you gain remote access?"

"Not easily. I still don't have an exact location."

"Dammit." Gordon twirled a pen between his fingers, so laser-focussed on the holograms that he had yet to notice Scott's presence. "Okay, but these fuel readouts indicate that Four's being moved every other fortnight, right? Forty-minute bursts each time. That's forty minutes in which we can triangulate her location. You've already narrowed it down to the Oregon coastline – that's progress."

"It should be easier now that John's secured the comm channel," EOS admitted.

Gordon jabbed at the projected map. A subsection of coastline had been highlighted to show the search area that EOS was still attempting to narrow down. The question of what had happened to the family who had originally taken control of Thunderbird Four remained unanswered. There was a possibility that she was still in their hands but the sub had travelled a very long distance.

"If they keep to the pattern, Four should come online in… what, six days?"

"Six days, eight hours and thirty-two minutes," EOS confirmed. There was a note of fiery determination in her voice that Scott was used to hearing from John when he really set his mind to a project and couldn't be coaxed away until he'd succeeded. "I've been counting."

"Uh huh," Gordon deadpanned, swinging his legs around to sit criss-cross on the armchair. It tilted backwards with a precarious squeak. "I can't believe I'm about to say this, but… I agree with you. Remote piloting isn't a good idea until we can figure out a precise location. Just- God, I don't know. Let me know the second you find anything. Please."

EOS quietened for a few seconds. "We'll find her."

"We?"

"I was trying to be polite. We both know you're no help. I'll find your Thunderbird."

Gordon shook his head with a tired grin. "That's more like it. You're never nice to me. It's unsettling."

"Would you prefer it if I returned to insulting you?"

"Only if you switch it up a bit. Get some new lines. It's getting boring."

"I'll do some research."

"And find my sub."

"I'll consider it."

EOS's laughter rang around the room before she cut the comm. Gordon tipped back in his chair, lifting his feet onto the desk, stretching until his spine clicked. He twisted to glimpse Scott, brows raised expectantly.

"Dude. Are you gonna come in or what?"

Scott shrugged, patting the doorjamb. "Nah, I felt like hovering for a bit longer."

He pushed away from the doorframe, picking a path through the collection of crates and various other obstacles, taking care not to trip over uneven floorboards. Gordon made no move to get up, so Scott swatted his ankles, shoving his feet out of the way to take a seat on the desk.

His brother gave a half-hearted protest but didn't push him away, too busy rubbing the tired blur from his eyes with his knuckles, shoulders tense with a holo-induced headache. He'd been pouring over the data with EOS since early that morning and it was fast approaching late afternoon.

"Remember how you used to criticise me for not taking breaks?" Scott began.

Gordon rolled his eyes. "Don't start."

"I'm just saying."

"This is important. It's different."

"You should add hypocrite to your resume."

Gordon paused, considering possible comebacks, then decided that he was too tired to think. He slid down in the chair with a groan, clawing his hair off his neck and securing it in a rough knot with Penny's hairband that had taken up permanent residence on his wrist alongside his rope bracelets and the beaded creations that his students at the Sanctuary had made for him.

"We'll find Four." Scott injected a healthy dose of conviction into his voice. "It might take a while, but we'll find her."

Gordon lifted his feet from the desk and sat up to draw his knees to his chest. He twisted one of his bracelets, thinking in silence for a few seconds before saying simply, "I know."

"Hey." Scott reached for Gordon's shoulder. "I'm serious. EOS already has partial coordinates and it won't take her long to narrow it down further."

"I just…" Gordon chewed on his knuckles, blinking as if he hadn't realised what he'd been doing when Scott guided his hand away. "If someone else has control of Four now… That's a lot of power in the hands of a stranger. At least I knew the family had good intentions, y'know? What if scavengers…?"

"Then we'll handle it."

Gordon exhaled slowly. "Yeah. I know we will. I'm just being…" He gestured vaguely. "I dunno."

"You need a break."

"Probably."

Scott offered him a hand. "C'mon. You missed lunch, but I think Penny saved you something."

Gordon let Scott wrap an arm around his shoulders, physically guiding him towards the kitchen before he could get sidetracked or distracted by some other urgent thought. It was rare for Gordon to fixate on a project to the point of forgetting basic human needs – that was mostly Scott's and John's speciality – but not unheard of and the search for Four had the possibility to turn into one of those occasions. Scott made a mental note to keep a closer eye on him over the next week.

He retrieved the plate of sandwiches from the fridge and shoved it under Gordon's nose, leaning against the counter to watch as his brother practically inhaled the late lunch. Two full glasses of water later and Gordon seemed significantly more alert. He folded himself into a tangle of limbs – because he'd never been able to sit on a chair like a normal person: something which he still hadn't grown out of despite hastily approaching his mid-twenties – and fixed Scott with a sunny smile.

"Okay, I ate and I drank so you can stop hovering now."

"I'm not hovering."

"You so are."

Scott shook his head, unable to fight his own fond smile. "I haven't checked in with you for a while and I was wondering how you're doing, that's all."

"Smother hen," Gordon pretended to cough. "I mean, uh, what? Who said that? Not me."

Scott played up his supposed exasperation to hide his wave of fondness. There was little point in telling Gordon that he was proud of him, not just because the squid would make a joke out of it but also because he almost certainly already knew. But still. Scott was proud of him. He'd watched Gordon claw his way out of hell yet again, witnessed smiles return and now jokes too. It was only a matter of time before someone got pranked.

"We're together again," Gordon said, sort of soft and wondering as if he still couldn't bring himself to believe it. "And we've got One and Three back. EOS has a lead on Thunderbird Four. Ellis is close to a fully developed vaccine and now that Brains and Grandma are here it'll roll out even faster. And Penny is… So, I'm good. I'm really good, Scott."

"I'll believe that when you finally prank someone."

"Oh, really?" Gordon's gleeful grin was matched by a gleam in his eyes and Scott instantly regretted speaking. "Are you volunteering?"

"No."

"Too late, you said it."

"Gordon, I swear."

Gordon let out an ominous cackle.

"April Fools isn't that far off. I could make a grand comeback. Oh, the ideas. They're already flocking to me." He sprang from his chair like a freed jack-in-a-box, unable to stay still for longer than a second. "I'm a genius, Scooter!"

"I take it back," Scott protested half-heartedly. "I take it all back."

"Catch ya later, I've got plotting to do-"

Gordon cut himself off with a squawk as Scott hauled him into a hug. He mumbled something incomprehensible but made no attempt to free himself. He tucked his face into the crook of Scott's shoulder and held on, wrapping his arms around Scott's middle in a limpet grip.

Scott closed his eyes and let the room drift away. "I'm proud of you."

Gordon made a vague sound of protest.

"What? It's true."

Scott released him, stepping back to glimpse his brother's face. Gordon ducked his head, palming the back of his neck to hide his flush; there had been a lot of compliments thrown his way lately given Grandma's return but for some reason he always seemed to revert to an awkward teenager whenever Scott praised him. He scuffed the kitchen tiles, rocking back on his heels to glance up at Scott with a soft, uncertain look on his face.

Scott gave him a light shove. "Go on. Get outta here, kid."

"Less of the kid, old man." Gordon hesitated, then dragged him into another hug. "Thanks, Scotty."

Scott shot him a bemused look. "For what?"

"Just… you know." Gordon shrugged. "Everything."

He clattered out of the kitchen before Scott had chance to process, nearly barrelling into Lee on his way through the door. Lee stepped aside to let him pass, face lined with amused confusion as Gordon practically bolted from the emotions stagnating in the room.

"What's got young Georgie on the run?"

"His name is Gordon," Scott corrected gently, mostly out of habit; he'd long-since learnt that Lee's memory wasn't quite as bad as he made out.

Sure enough, the man's lips were twitching with a repressed laugh. He pulled out a chair and sank onto it, scrubbing a hand across his moustache as he pondered how to approach the conversation. In many ways, it was a vaguely familiar sight; Scott was jolted into a childhood memory of Lee and Jeff sat around a kitchen table trading jokes and drinks, warmed by good cheer and shared memories, Lucille's laughter joining their voices.

"You're wondering what's next, right?"

Surprise flickered over Lee's face, swiftly replaced by a knowing smile. "No one would blame you if you wanted to take some time to reconnect with your family. But you're too much like your father for that, aren't you? Always onto the next project."

Scott caught the flash of pain that always arose at his father's mention and squashed it back down. A dull memory stirred at the back of his mind – an artificial world in a lifetime that had never existed – and he physically shook it off, moving to sink into a chair beside Lee.

"We're not the only ones to have survived. There are a lot of people out there who need our help. And..." He faltered, then pushed onwards. "I don't want to settle for just surviving. Life is supposed to be more than that and I think it's worth fighting for something better. I know it'll be difficult, but-"

"-But humanity never got anywhere taking it easy," Lee finished. There was a strange look on his face akin to nostalgia but a little shocked too as if he'd heard a ghost.

"…Exactly," Scott agreed, mildly surprised by how quickly Lee had caught on.

He wasn't sure why he was taken aback. Lee had already admitted that he'd returned to Earth out of a sense of duty to Jeff's memory but also out of worry for the boys who he had known since they were little more than a young couple's dream. He'd sworn to help them in any possible way and it had been somewhat inevitable that International Rescue would want to save the world.

"Well then." Lee leant back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head. "We should start thinking about our next steps."

Scott examined the fine grains of the tabletop beneath his hands. A hint of doubt crept into his voice despite his best attempts to quell it.

"Do you think it's achievable? Or am I insane to even consider it?"

Lee let out a gravelly chuckle.

"Oh, you're definitely insane, son. But that's the Tracy blood in your veins. It's only considered insanity until you succeed; then it becomes daring, innovative, heroic and however else the press described your father back in the day."

"I don't want to screw up."

"Eh, we all screw up at some time or another. You pick yourself up, dust yourself off, fix what you can and keep going." Lee's tone became gentler. "But for the record, Scott? Your dad would be darn proud of you. Your mama would be too. I know I am."

Scott stared at him. Then, in a thick whisper, he blurted out, "You remembered my name."

Lee winked. "I remember all of your names, but that stays between us, got it?"

He pushed back his chair and stretched.

"It's been a long day. Let's drag Brains and that Emily girl outta their lab and make the most of the sunshine."

"It's, uh, it's Ellis, sir. Her name is Ellis, not Emily."

"Ah, well. I can't be expected to remember everyone's names now, can I? It took me long enough to remember your scientist pal. Brian, is it?"

"You literally just called him Brains."

"…That's our secret."


At the tender age of six, Penelope's parents had decided to add piano lessons to her curriculum. Penelope had many talents, but unfortunately being a skilled pianist was not one of them and so the lessons grew more infrequent until she gave them up altogether.

Given this, it seemed odd for her to be the owner of an antique grand piano. It had once been in pride of place but now it was hidden away in a tiny room behind the museum collections; no one played it, so why would it take up space in one of the main living areas?

So, when he heard the tender notes of piano song, Scott stopped in his tracks. He listened carefully, straining his ears to catch another chord.

He was partly convinced that it was some sort of auditory hallucination. It had been a long day and he hadn't slept well, plagued by those eerie, twisting-turning dreams yet again, so it would be understandable. If anything, it seemed a more likely explanation than the possibility of someone actually playing the piano.

But the notes continued, drifting into a cautiously hopeful tune, so Scott followed them, letting them lead him along the corridors and into the museum, past the shelves of human history and through the tangle of sunbeams that filtered through large, ceiling-high windows. The door to the backroom was slightly ajar and he took care to remain as silent as possible as he stepped closer.

Virgil hadn't touched a piano since pre-Z-Day. He hadn't written any music either. Scott hadn't realised just how silent the world had become until now; Virgil's music had been such an intrinsic part of their life before the apocalypse that it had been another jarring change. His playing was a little rusty – Scott observed him wince at the clumsy clash of chords – but it was still a wonder.

The music continued. Virgil either hadn't noticed him or was content to let him watch. Scott propped himself against the doorjamb and listened. Every aspect of the scene struck him as soft for lack of a better description; warm sunlight stirring the air; Virgil's fluffy socks and pale green sweater; Finch curled up quietly at his feet; gentle music which grew into a crescendo and ended with a triumphant series of complex chords.

Scott blinked, finally registering the burn behind his eyes. He took a moment to steady his voice, pushing away from the doorway to join his brother on the piano stall. Virgil shuffled aside to let him sit down.

"It's been a while," Scott commented quietly.

Virgil made a non-committal hum and returned his hands to the keys, coaxing a pretty little tune from the old piano. It sounded almost ethereal in the weak sunbeams.

"You can't force it." He trailed into another arpeggio. "I didn't have any music in my head for a long time. But now it's… The time is right, I think."

Scott studied him for a long minute. "Are you okay?"

"Not yet," Virgil confessed, finally turning to face him. His smile still looked sad but there was a lightness in his eyes that had been missing for almost as long as his music. "But I'm getting there."

The moment seemed fragile as though speaking might shatter it, so Scott simply lifted his hands to the piano and lightly elbowed Virgil into a lower octave. It had been a very long time since they'd last played together but the duet came to them naturally.

"Hey, Virg?" Scott whispered, accidentally missing a note as his concentration faltered. "Want to help me save the world?"

Virgil didn't say anything at first, waiting until they had completed the piece before revealing his smile.

"Always."