In Scott's official opinion, the only thing worse than one genius was three geniuses in a single room. Talk of amino acid stabilisers, increased levels of 2-phenoxyethanol and other technical topics flew over his head. The only part which made the remotest sense to him were the diagrams which EOS had helpfully projected within his eyeline; a simplified example of how the vaccine would work.

He cleared his throat meaningfully. "Let's pretend for a second that we don't all have qualifications in molecular biology."

"We don't," John interjected. "Ellis is the only one. Brains and I have just done a lot of research and EOS accessed the World Health archives to give me a crash course in immunology."

A hastily muffled laugh came from behind a stack of laboratory equipment gifted to them by the GDF back in February. Ellis was concealed by readouts but the gleam of holograms off her glasses was just about visible around the edge of a miniature freezer used to keep samples cold. Her doctorate in this area of research meant that she was technically in charge, a change that had taken both Brains and John some adjustment given their preferences for working on solo projects.

Scott repressed a sigh. Ellis stuck her head around the freezer and offered him a sheepish smile before returning to whatever it was that had captured her attention. Across the room, contacts flaring bright blue as he activated a new layer of holos, John grew distracted. Whatever his reasons were for calling Scott into the research room, he clearly wasn't going to reveal them for a while.

Brains didn't look up from his work – holograms sprawled across his desk, notes tacked onto the window, a collection of parts which looked like a deconstructed circuit board pinned under his arm – but nudged a spare chair with his heel.

Scott sank into it, stealing a glance at the readouts but nope, he still didn't understand any of the data. That being said, he was fairly convinced that he knew why John had called him; the trio had been on the verge of a breakthrough with the vaccine for the past week and it seemed like they might have finally accomplished it.

He reached for a hologram - some kinda antigen model – and spun it. Brains reached over and stilled his hand, all without tearing his gaze away from the data. He wore the classic marks of sleep deprivation – and come to think of it, Scott had seen light spilling from beneath the research room door when he'd gone for his usual insomniac walk around two-am last night – with a rumpled shirt, fingerprints smudged on his glasses and the unfocussed glaze of exhaustion over his eyes.

Scott propped his elbow on the edge of the desk, leaning closer. "Brains? You okay, buddy?"

"Fine." Brains blinked to refocus his vision, frowned, then tugged his glasses off to clean them on his shirt. "I'll be done in a m-moment."

"Uh huh," Scott humoured him, because a moment in Brains' world could easily translate to twenty-four hours. "When was the last time you slept?"

The sour stare he was treated to was probably well deserved. In his defence, he had never claimed not to be a hypocrite. Besides, it was difficult to sleep when you were plagued by memories that didn't fit your own narrative as if they'd been plucked from someone else's mind and injected into your subconscious. Not that Scott was going to tell anyone about that but it was still a good excuse.

"Is Scott being a hypocrite again?" John called.

Scott waved him off. "Stop eavesdropping on private conversations."

"I can't help it, it's an old habit." John's curious look became a wicked grin. "What if you needed rescuing?"

"From what? I'm sitting in a chair."

"Well, Brains might need rescuing from you."

Brains pushed his chair away from the desk and swung around to drop his holoprojector onto Ellis' workstation. Years of living with the Tracys had made him immune to their shenanigans. He stood up, wavering slightly in the face of a sudden headrush, but recovered.

"Final c-checks are done."

Ellis swiped her own readouts aside to give him her full attention. "It matches?"

"Yes."

John braced himself against the windowsill. "Then it works."

"Yes." Ellis knocked her glasses down her nose and pinched the bridge. When she glanced up, her eyes were bloodshot from emotion as much as exhaustion. "It works. Do you want to tell him or…?"

Scott already knew. He might not have understood the complicated science being thrown around the room but he knew his brother; knew that disbelieving light in John's eyes that only revealed itself when he was faced with something of great wonder that he'd been scared to believe in such as acceptance to NASA's cadet scheme or, more to the point, a vaccine to give every survivor immunity.

"Holy shit." Scott tipped back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head with a faintly hysterical laugh. "It works. You did it. You synthesised a vaccine."

John leant heavily against the wall. "We can save the rest of them. Everybody left out there, everyone who's still alive…"

"We can s-save them," Brains confirmed.

Silence settled for several minutes. Ellis propped her chin in her hands and stared at the holograms; every display lit up green; swirling DNA strands; the key to their future finally within reach. Brains took off his glasses again and massaged his temples with a tired but genuine smile. At the window, John turned to watch as Thunderbird Shadow returned from another rescue.

Scott let himself revel in the elation for a second longer, then rose to his feet. "It sounds like I've got several calls to make."


He made a detour via the attic room to find Gordon before the conference call.

After all, if it hadn't been for Gordon's quick-thinking to swipe the vial back at the GDF bunker, they would still be months away from a vaccine if not years. Ellis, Brains and John were geniuses – as were all those who had helped them – but it was Gordon's DNA which had been key to picking out which parts of the original vaccine actually worked.

Sure, Scott had been angry that his brother had gambled with his own life by taking it back at the Sanctuary, but that decision might very well have saved humanity and so he was determined that Gordon should be one of the first to know.

Thankfully, he didn't need to scale the entire flight of stairs – a mercy for his knee – but instead nearly collided with his brother in the corridor. Gordon was talking with a notably subdued Fuse, bumping their shoulders together in an attempt to coax a smile from their local demolitions expert.

"Oh, hey." Gordon turned to Fuse, eyes still wide with earnest empathy for whatever worry had their fellow survivor looking so out-of-sorts. "Um, are you going to be okay? Because I'm happy to hang out if you want a distraction. I'm good at those. Just ask Scotty, he'll tell you."

"He can be very distracting," Scott confirmed, partly amused but mostly just concerned. Fuse reminded him of a puppy that had yet to grow into its paws; clumsy and chaotic but well-meaning. "Has something happened?"

Fuse cleared his throat, although his voice remained rough. There was a glassiness to his eyes which suggested he had been on the verge of tears, but he fixed a weak smile on his face.

"Nah. Nothing happened. I'm alright." He clapped a hand to Gordon's shoulder. "Thanks, Gords. I'll catch ya later."

Scott watched as Fuse practically fled. "What was all that about?"

Gordon shoved his hands into his pockets, falling into step beside Scott as they headed downstairs.

"It was his sister's birthday today. They got separated early on in the apocalypse and although he wants to believe otherwise, he's pretty sure she's… you know. He doesn't think she made it."

"Shit," Scott muttered. It didn't take much to imagine their roles reversed; he'd come too close to losing Kayo on multiple occasions throughout the apocalypse.

Gordon winced. "Yeah, I know. Poor guy. She was the only family he had."

"And she hasn't shown up on any of the survival registers?"

"No."

"Aw, man."

Gordon twisted one of his bracelets as he murmured, "It doesn't look good, does it?"

"Not really," Scott admitted. "But I have some news that might cheer you up."

"Go on…"

"The vaccine works."

Gordon came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the hallway. For a moment, he said nothing but a series of complex emotions flashed across his face. Tentative hope crept into his eyes.

It hadn't been so long since he'd confessed to a secret fear that by taking the vaccine he'd ruined any chances of it being reproduced for others; that Ellis would be unable to replicate it from his blood samples; that more people would die because of his choices. Scott had spoken to him and knew that Virgil had tried to reassure him too, but the nagging anxiety hadn't gone away entirely.

Until now.

"It works?"

"I need to call a meeting. There's the logistical side to sort out which is going to be a complete nightmare – how the hell are we gonna manufacture it let alone distribute it, questions like that – but the vaccine itself? It works. We can give everyone immunity."

Gordon looked slightly shellshocked. "Holy shit."

"I know."

"Holy shit, Scott."

Scott let out a loud laugh and slung an arm around Gordon's shoulders.

"C'mon, I figured you'd want to sit in on this conference call. None of this would be possible without you."

Gordon shook his head with an incredulous chuckle. "I can't believe it works."

"Well, you'd better start believing it, bud," Scott said, warmed by a surge of utter pride for his little brother. "Because it's real and it's happening and we're about to save a whole bunch of people."

Gordon's grin could have rivalled the sun. "FAB, Scooter."


The next few days consisted of multiple calls from various sources. Ninety-five percent were related to the vaccine; the remaining five percent were regarding Thunderbird Four. EOS hadn't given up her search despite hitting multiple dead ends and leads that turned out to be nothing more than ghost stories: trails of data that had become so fractured in the breakdown of global servers that it was impossible to piece them together again even if you were the most advanced AI in history.

Her tenacity was matched by Gordon's determination. Their grudging alliance had developed into a genuine friendship, although neither of them would admit as much. It took weeks to identify Four's signal amongst the soup of data fragments and longer still to pin it down to a specific location.

Scott hadn't seen his brother so laser-focussed since Gordon had set his sights on Olympic gold. He'd had to drag the squid away from holoscreens on multiple occasions when the clock struck three-AM.

People had offered to help Gordon and EOS comb through the data but had been brushed aside; Gordon had since confessed to Scott that it was because he didn't want Virgil getting involved and accepting a hand from anyone else would raise suspicions. This was understandable; if Scott felt disconcerted – and perhaps a little disturbed too – by the knowledge that IR servers were still haunted by remnants of Two's systems, then it would be so much worse for Virgil. It was as if the Thunderbird were still calling out to them from beyond the grave, her voice lost in the sea of data.

But Four had finally been found.

Contact had been made with her current operators, safe in the hands of the same family Gordon had met in San Diego. They had made a home for themselves in a remote house stuck out on a lonely spot of the Oregon coastline and only used Four for supply runs or to use her systems to scan for potential threats in the area: rotters and bandits and every other risk posed by the new world.

They'd been out of radio range for months and it was only thanks to Thunderbird Five's powerful equipment that Gordon was able to reach them at all. They'd been delighted to hear from him and even more relieved to learn of the safe zone alliances. So, Scott added it to the ever-growing to-do-list in the conference room: collect Four and transport the family to the nearest safe zone.

He examined the region again now, surreptitiously summoning it from his own private holoprojector, hidden from view by the open maps stretched across the table.

The crucial issue was the matter of transporting Four. Without Two, they were very limited. The obvious choice was to take the sub back to Tracy Island, except that none of them were willing to split up again and Ellis and Brains wanted to oversee the vaccine manufacturing to ensure guidelines were properly followed.

Of course, they had yet to decide on where to manufacture the vaccine in the first place; there weren't many facilities left that hadn't suffered significant damage and/or were overrun by infected.

"There's an old factory about thirty klicks south-west of us," said a softly spoken man with a face that did not match his voice. His expression never changed save for the tiniest of flickers as if he had been carved from stone yet Scott had grown to like him. He seemed to be a reasonable guy and made sensible suggestions. "The GDF had a bunker close by. You could set up camp there at night."

"No," Scott cut in, unable to help himself.

It was more of a reflex than a conscious reply, an instinctive reaction to the idea of living underground again. He twisted his TB1 bracelet so that beads clacked under his fingertips, tugging himself back into the moment.

"We're done with bunkers. Nothing good ever comes from them."

There was a brief moment of awkward silence.

Penelope shot him a wry smile. "Maybe it's the lack of sunlight."

Her light-hearted tone broke the tension. Voices filled the silent comm links once again and Scott sank back in his chair, feeling the hard ridge of polished oak dig beneath his shoulder blade.

Radio chatter washed over him in an incomprehensible wave. He tried to pinpoint any single voice but found it impossible. Memories of months without sunlight pressed closer; he swore he could feel them like a physical weight on his upper back.

His private holoprojector lit up with a new message.

Do you need a break?

He glanced up. John was sat directly opposite him, eyes still glowing blue from the sent message. As their gazes met, he tilted his head slightly.

Scott sent him an unimpressed stare and typed back, I'm fine, stop scanning me, only to be immediately struck by a sudden surge of unidentifiable déjà vu. He scoured his memories but came up empty-handed, although it had the side-effect of distracting him from thoughts of bunkers. He slid two fingers under his bracelet to check his pulse which had returned to a regular rhythm.

His projector flashed with another message.

No bunkers.

Then, a second later:

I promised, remember?

If he were honest, then Scott had nearly forgotten that hushed conversation in the depths of a sleepless night in quarantine following their escape from the hivemind. Recollection trickled back to him. His hand hovered above the projector, then he dismissed the message, looking up to catch John's eye. His brother's tiny smile was proof that he'd translated the hidden meaning.

Thank you.

"Maybe we're being too…" Finn snapped his fingers as he searched for the word, causing the edges of his hologram to waver. "…specific. We're looking for a site that manufactured vaccines pre-Z-Day, but maybe we should look for a general research facility. We can always transfer equipment from other locations."

The electronic map reset itself according to the updated parameters. New flags popped up across its holographic surface rated from red to green depending on their suitability. Gordon leant forward and enlarged the marker positioned roughly midway along the Oregon coast, inland by approximately twenty kilometres. It was shaded amber: not ideal but not the worst location either.

"This one." Gordon tapped on the flag to reveal the details. "It's not World Health or GDF but it's still a research hub and it's new enough to have equipment we can salvage. It's only been active since 2058. And it had enhanced security because they were working on cures for contagious diseases, so it'll be easier to defend against bandits and rotters."

Silence descended as everyone leafed through the notes.

"It's workable," Ellis conceded.

"And we already have a base," Gordon continued. "The family who have Thunderbird Four want safe passage to the closest survival camp. We can drop 'em off and live in the house afterwards. It must have good defences if they've lived there for this long. It's a little way from the research hub, but we've got our ships back, so that's basically a hop, skip and a jump away in Shadow or One."

There was another lengthy pause. John's contacts flared bright blue as he activated several layers of holograms at once. To his left, Penelope flattened her hands against the table, a brief flicker of apprehension breaking through her mask as she contemplated the reality of leaving her home again.

"If we're doing this, then we all have to be in agreement," Scott said after a moment. He shot Gordon a warning look as his brother went to protest. "If you need some time to think about it, then we can take a break and have another discussion tomorrow."

"No." Penelope shook her head. "I don't need to think about it. I say let's go for it. You've got my vote, Gordon."

Kayo cracked her knuckles with a cat-like grin. "Oh, now I want to vote stay just to annoy him."

Gordon stared at her. "Why are you like this?"

"Have you ever seen your face when you're irritated? You should look in a mirror. It's hilarious."

"Guys." Scott suspected that the pair had forgotten they were in a conference call. It wouldn't be the first time that a meeting had descended into chaos. "Focus."

Kayo shrugged. "We've made as much progress as we can here."

"So," Finn ventured, "You're going to Oregon?"

"We're going to Oregon," Scott confirmed. He spun the little flag with his index finger. "But we've got a lot of prep work first. We need to transfer survivors from here to a safe location for a start."

Penelope nodded. "I'll contact my Great Aunt Sylvia."

The remaining points that he'd wanted to raise fled from his mind. He stared at the rotating flag, unable to comprehend the decision that had been made. It had been so long since he'd left the manor that in a strange way it was almost as if he'd forgotten there was an apocalypse going on. He couldn't recall the last time he'd seen a rotter in the flesh: probably their London expedition.

"Well then," mused a stern-faced woman from a GDF safe zone in Washington. "It's settled."

"Yeah," Virgil murmured, the first time he'd spoken in the past half-hour. He reached out and stilled the spinning hologram. When he glanced up, his eyes were worried. "I guess it is."


The GDF didn't have enough trucks to transport every survivor from the manor to the bunker, so had to borrow two. Scott offered to drive one while Parker drove the other and Kayo flew overhead for surveillance; scavenger activity had been unusually quiet over the past month and it was putting everyone on edge.

Scott wasn't sure how Alan talked his way into coming too. Penelope had joined Kayo in Shadow and Gordon had claimed the passenger seat beside Parker, loaded to the nines with weapons in case of an ambush. But Alan? He was not supposed to be there. Yet he climbed into the jeep, stashed a first-aid kit in the glovebox, and turned to face Scott with an expectant look.

Scott stared at him for a long minute. "Why are you here?"

"I'm coming too," Alan announced brightly. He clicked his seatbelt into place. "See? Ready to go."

"No."

"But-"

"No, Alan."

"I'm here as a medic. You know, in case anyone starts feeling sick or if you hit any of those potholes that look like moon craters and someone gets a concussion. Stuff like that."

"Al, I'm also a fully trained medic. So are Gordon and Kayo. Even Penny and Parker know the basics."

Alan's eyes widened into a crestfallen puppy look.

"So… you're saying that you don't need me? You don't want me around?"

Scott knocked his head back against his seat with a groan. "Don't do that."

"I'm not doing anything."

"Allie, I swear.

"No. It's fine. I get it. I'll just… go."

"Oh my god, kid. Why are you like this?"

Alan draped his arms across the sunlit dashboard.

"It's just… it's been so long since I left this place and honestly? I'm bored. Especially since Conrad left. Don't get me wrong, I'm very happy that he found his family, but did they really have to be in a bunker on the other side of the dang country?"

Scott flexed his hands around the steering wheel. Goddamn little brothers: who needed them? It would be a terrible decision to let Alan tag along and he knew it. He knew it. Except… It was just a simple drop off. It was basically a taxi service; Gordon had called him an apocalyptic uber driver that morning for a reason. What was the worst that could happen?

Oh, sweet Jesus. He'd totally just jinxed the entire trip, hadn't he?

"We're literally moving next week," he pointed out. "Isn't that enough excitement for you?"

Alan said nothing. He was still stretched over the dash so that the light turned his hair gold. There was a new dusting of freckles across his nose and a hint of sunburn on the back of his neck. It was already warm despite the early hour, so he'd shucked his jacket, revealing a glint of metal at his waistband where he'd hooked a blade through one of his beltloops.

He propped his chin in his hands and just looked at Scott with a hopeful, pleading gaze.

"You're exhausting," Scott told him.

Alan beamed. "Is that a yes?"

"I'm considering it."

"You know I love you, right?"

"I'm not falling for that old trick."

"But Scotty." Alan stuck out a hand and prodded his bicep, grinning as Scott raised a brow. "You've got a reputation to uphold, remember? I thought you said you were a cool dad."

"Really? You're pulling that card?"

"Yuh-huh."

"For God's sake."

"Come on. I'll be good. I won't do anything dumb and impulsive. I promise I'll listen to orders."

Scott met the resigned gaze of his reflection in the wing mirror. "Fine."

"Wait, really?"

"But you stay in the car at all times, clear?"

Alan nodded eagerly. "Got it. I won't move from this seat."

"Don't make me regret this."

"You won't, I swear."

"Hmm."

Their departure was predictably delayed. Some survivors such as Fuse and Isaiah had been at the manor since Penny and Kayo had first opened its gates and had come to view it as their home; in a time of such constant impermanence, goodbyes cost more than ever.

While he waited for people to finish boarding the GDF trucks, Scott propped himself against the steering wheel and studied the Thunderbirds through the dusty windscreen. Thunderbird Two's absence stung at any time but today the wound seemed rawer, reopened by the knowledge that she could have easily transported the survivors without a need for a driven convey. Technically, Thunderbird Three could have also, but flying a rocket in atmosphere was inadvisable.

Besides, it wouldn't be long before driving became a distant memory. Gasoline reserves were beginning to congeal and electric vehicles were impossible to charge without access to the grid; generators depleted too quickly to be a viable option. Scott had decided that he would miss it. Not that he had spent much time in cars in the immediate years pre-Z-Day, but there was a freedom at the wheel on open roads that he'd grown fond of since his return to Earth.

Alan jabbed at the radio, attempting to connect his music to play through the speakers. He wasn't used to older tech that Scott could recall from his own childhood and it was both amusing and frustrating to watch. He clamped an ancient aux cord between his teeth as he peered curiously at the socket. In the end, Scott took pity on him and connected it in a series of swift motions.

"Huh." Alan turned a wicked grin on him. "Your old age is showing."

Scott gave him a good-natured shove. "Shut up, brat."

In pre-apocalypse times, the bunker would only have been an hour-and-a-half's drive away. Post-Z-Day, this translated to three hours at the minimum. Their passengers in the backseat were a quiet, thoughtful bunch who said very little and didn't seem to mind the music. In many ways, Scott was reminded of their cross-country drive after their landfall in California, only the survivors made far better companions than the Hood ever had. He rolled his shoulders to shake off the memories.

The land spun past in unrolled reels of green, every shade from delicate jade to vivid emerald. If he had thought that nature had reclaimed the world on the drive from the shuttle launch site in December, then it had nothing on the foliage brought by May. Fields had outgrown their constraints. Wildflowers wove through the grass. Trees flung their branches in every direction without care.

Occasionally, artefacts peered through the vegetation; shy creatures which feared the light; scattered buildings leftover from a time when humans had owned the world. Warm brickwork soaked in patches of sunlight, sticking out from the sea of green. Presently, they passed a sloping field filled with bright red poppies, faces turned skyward and rustling in the breeze.

Alan rolled down the window, ducking his head into the rush of air. He held out a hand as if he could catch one of the passing flowers, but they had been freed to run wild and remained out of reach. Their petals flowed over one another to create a carpet that spread across the hills. He folded back into his seat and retrieved his sketchbook from under his discarded jacket, sliding down to prop his feet on the dash so that he could balance it on his legs.

"Virgil would love to paint this," he commented, stealing a glance at Scott. "Don't you think?"

"You're not as subtle as you think," Scott replied, guiding the car smoothly around a pothole.

He watched the poppies dance under the sun and marvelled at their beauty; maybe one day he'd see the colour red and it would mean something as simple as a field of flowers rather than violence.

Alan made a vague hmm noise under his breath.

"True," he conceded, smudging a line into a shadow with his thumb. It was something that Scott had noticed - none of Alan's drawings had been in colour since Z-Day. "But it's still… you know. He's let music back into his life. He should let art in too."

"Maybe he will once we reach the new place," Scott suggested. "It's another fresh start but this time we'll all be there. And we'll be working towards a goal that could save the world. That sounds like pretty good inspiration to me."

Alan wrinkled his nose, looking remarkably like his ten-year-old self.

"That's because you don't have an artistic bone in your body, Scotty."

"Hey!"

"Your stick figures look like they got mauled by Godzilla."

A hastily stifled snort came from the backseat.

Scott shook his head, feigning outrage. "God, the disrespect. It's shocking. Who raised you?"

"I dunno, some pilot dude. You should file a complaint with him."

"What have we said about calling me dude?"

Alan shot him an impish grin.

"Technically," he began, holding up a finger to emphasise his point, "I didn't call you dude. I described you as dude. Big difference."

"You're a little shit."

Alan openly sniggered. He didn't even try to think of a suitable retort, just returned to his drawing of the poppy field and surrounding landscape. He was in a loose tank top that he'd stolen from Gordon but had opted for jeans despite the late spring heat in case of a rotter attack and Scott noted the spilled paint down one leg with a burst of amusement.

He took a minute to really look at his kid; at the healthy tan that Alan had begun to develop; the way his hair had grown long enough to curl around his ears and the base of his neck again; new freckles darkening into visibility; biceps unmarred by nail marks; eyes bright and smile earnest; the ever-increasing collection of inked stars that had spilled over his Converse and onto the cuffs of his jeans.

God, Scott thought to himself privately, I am so proud of you, Allie.


Scott had met Sylvia Creighton-Ward only twice before.

On one of those occasions, he had been both distracted and mildly intoxicated not to mention a little loopy with jetlag and so the entire event had passed as a vague blur. The second time had been at his father's memorial service, an occasion which had also seemed to pass in an incoherent fog. He'd spent the entire day feeling as those some otherworldly force had taken over his body while he greeted people and gave a speech and so couldn't really recall her.

Now, stood at the grand entrance of the bunker, she struck an imposing figure not in stature but in general demeanour. She held herself perfectly poised, clothes immaculate and hair smoothed into a neat bob. There was a certain iciness to her smile that Penelope's greetings always lacked which spoke volumes as to how much longer she had been shaking up the UK's political landscape. Even in the apocalypse, she was a fantastic judge of which alliances would serve a greater purpose.

She swept forwards, pressing a kiss to Penelope's cheek. A thin line revealed itself between her brows as she frowned.

"You look dreadfully tired, Penelope."

Scott repressed a laugh at the exasperated expression that briefly flashed across Penny's face before she schooled her features into a pleasantly neutral smile.

"And you look as delightful as ever, Great Aunt Sylvia." She clutched Sylvia's hand; Scott tried not to notice the jarring contrast between ragged nails and a fresh manicure. "Thank you so much for agreeing to take in these people at such short notice."

"Nonsense, I wouldn't have it any other way."

Sylvia swept an arm aside and a series of cameras set into the concrete brow above the door registered the motion, triggering the opening of several other entrances into the bunker. Several residents – some in GDF military gear, others in civilian clothes – emerged to help carry luggage and supplies from the trucks. Scott helped the survivors out of the back of his own car and went to offer others a hand when someone called his name across the compound.

The voice was familiar but in the manner of a distant childhood memory, faded by time. Scott hadn't heard it in years, not even over phone calls. It had been diminished to cursive on birthday cards.

Shock physically yanked him to a halt in the centre of the path, earning several irritated grunts and growls from the GDF soldiers carrying crates as they shouldered past him. He turned around in a daze as if caught in a dream. He had known that the speaker was at Sylvia's bunker but somehow hadn't comprehended the possibility of actually stumbling into them.

"Mister Tracy," greeted the familiar voice, worn down to a deeper scratch than existed in Scott's memories but still filled with the warmth that came from watching someone grow up.

"Don't," Scott blurted out. "Don't call me that."

"My apologies," Kyrano said, a touch more softly. His eyes were gentle as he held out a hand for Scott to shake. "It's wonderful to see you again, Scott."

Scott took his hand slowly. He was a little confused by his own hesitance. Shock wavered on the verge of relief; even after all this time, a part of him still associated Kyrano with safety.

The man had not changed at all yet seemed entirely different. He had aged – the effects of grief and time were inescapable – but a sharpened sense of danger still laid tightly coiled beneath his skin and he bore the tiny scar just below his right cheekbone that had been sustained dragging Scott out of a scrap in his very early twenties.

It was strange, Scott considered, how you could know the intricate details of a person's life – the exact way Kyrano liked his coffee and how he had to take a sea sickness tablet before stepping foot on even the largest of ships – but could consider them to be practically a stranger at the same time.

"It's good to see you too, Kyrano."

There were so many questions on the tip of his tongue.

How have you been? Where have you been? Why did you never call? I needed you. I needed Lee too. Both of you left. I know it hurt to lose your friend but I lost my dad. I kind of hate you for that. I've missed you. Who are you these days?

He asked none of them. Kyrano's attention had been caught by something over his right shoulder. He turned to follow the man's gaze and was met by Kayo's accusatory stare. The deeply rooted betrayal in her eyes was not directed at him but at her father. She glanced away sharply, busying herself with the final few crates in the truck bed but Kyrano refused to let her go so easily.

"Tanusha."

"It's Kayo." She slammed the door. "You don't get to call me anything else."

Kyrano didn't flinch. It was impossible to tell his thoughts. His expression didn't even twitch. He reached for the crate, preventing Kayo from fleeing. As much as she was a fighter, this was one battle which she would run from until she collapsed from exhaustion.

"Kayo," Kyrano corrected himself. "How are you? You've been avoiding my calls."

"Since when are you interested in my life?" Kayo smacked his arm away and hauled the crate into her arms. "You left, remember? Twice."

"That isn't fair."

"What isn't fair is you ditching me over and over again and expecting me to be completely fine with it. That isn't fair."

"Look at the person you've grown into. You are incredible, Kayo. You didn't need me around."

Kayo slammed the crate onto the ground. Her gaze was overly bright with angry tears. She cuffed the back of her hand across her eyes, determined not to let the tears fall. Her voice was bitter, twisted with the pain that she had repressed ever since Kyrano had first announced his retirement.

"There is a big difference between simply needing someone and wanting them around."

She crossed her arms over her chest, jaw clenched as she forced herself to look him in the eyes.

"I wanted my father and you weren't there. You claim to be proud of me but it's worthless. Who I am is not a reflection on you. The only people who get to be proud are myself and my family. You gave up your claim to that title when you walked out."

Scott jolted as a hand landed on his shoulder. For once, Gordon didn't make fun of him. He was more concerned with the sight in front of them.

"Uh, is Kayo…?" he began.

Alan hopped down from the hood of a nearby truck. "Should we maybe, um, say something?"

Scott waved them off. "Go inside and check if anyone needs help. I'll be there in a minute."

Kayo's voice had risen to an actual shout. He repressed a wince as he headed across to join the pair.

"Everything okay?"

Kyrano didn't look away from Kayo. "Everything is fine."

Scott sort of wanted to sink into a black hole as he continued, "Uh, respectfully, I was actually asking Kayo."

Kayo paused. For some reason, his words had taken her aback. She leant against the truck and took a deep breath.

"I'm okay, Scott." She caught his searching look. "Really. Can you give us a minute?"

"Sure." He cast a final glance over Kyrano and was surprised to discover genuine distress in the man's eyes. "Just shout if you need anything. We're aiming to leave by four, so you've got an hour."

"Thanks." Kayo pushed herself away from the truck and caught Kyrano's arm. "Come with me. This should be a private conversation."


The place was a labyrinth which extended to oppressive depths. It blended the practicality of GDF bunkers with hints of the luxury seen in the Minnesota complex, although Scott didn't get a close look at the details. He helped to transport supplies inside as far as the elevator, situated at the end of a long passageway lit by phosphorescent strips along the baseboards.

The eerie green glow highlighted the chill which clung to every survival zone set below ground and he was grateful to escape back into the sun. Gordon and Alan accepted the offer to venture into the depths for lunch but he retreated to the trucks. The majority would remain here but one vehicle would return to the Creighton-Ward estate.

He clambered into the back of a pickup truck and propped his back against the cab. The metal was warmed by sunlight, soothing the unsettling cold that ached beneath his skin. He rubbed his hands over his arms with a faint shiver.

Something about the bunker had put him on edge, but he couldn't pinpoint exactly what. Not claustrophobic but… suffocating. If anything, it seemed to be the darkness which had raised his hackles and that was plain ridiculous. But he couldn't shake the thought of being strung out by fear, conscious in a void, searching for human connection but unable to find any distinctive markers.

He scrubbed his hands down his face. Jeez. What was going on with him at the moment? First he'd gained that weird ability to freeze rotters – which was sporadic and unreliable given they sometimes still tried to eat him – then he'd started having dreams which didn't seem to belong to him and now he was… what? Reverting to a scared five-year-old who couldn't sleep without a nightlight?

Yeah, no way in hell was he going to tell anyone about any of it. Not even the rotter thing. Although admittedly, Alan sort of knew about that one but he hadn't raised the subject since and Scott secretly hoped that he might've forgotten about it. A lot had happened that night, so it was plausible. Doubtful, but plausible.

He jolted out of his thoughts as movement slipped into his peripheral vision. Kayo vaulted over the side of the truck and landed lightly in the bed. She said nothing at first as she took a seat beside him, then tore open the package of sandwiches provided by Kyrano and offered him one.

Scott examined it: some inoffensive filling that had the slightly off-putting chemical tang of replicated produce. He was too hungry to care, not to mention that he'd eaten far worse in the past, so took a bite. At his side, Kayo picked at her half and stole a glance at him through her sunglasses.

"I think I'm going to stay here for a while longer," she said tentatively. "Just a couple more hours. Is that okay?"

He knocked their shoulders together. "Take as long as you need."

"I'll be back this evening. I just need to talk through some stuff with my father."

"Kayo. It's fine. Seriously, if you want to spend the night and fly back tomorrow, that's cool."

"No, no, I'll be back tonight. But I… I don't know." She chewed on the ragged edge of her thumbnail, peering at him over the rim of her sunglasses. "I have a question."

He tore the crust off his sandwich. "Shoot."

"How would you feel about my father possibly coming with us?"

He lowered his sandwich. "Like… to the States?"

"No, to Jupiter." Kayo's eyeroll was probably detectable from Space. "Obviously to Oregon." Her gaze flickered back to the dusty footprints that littered the truck bed. "We've been talking and… Anyway. Thoughts?"

"Kayo." Scott gently nudged her knee with his own. "That is absolutely okay. We'd all be very happy to have Kyrano with us. So, if that's something you want? Go for it. I've got your back and I know the others have too."

She knocked her head against the cab of the truck behind them.

"I just… I don't know. It's weird. I feel weird. I don't know how I'm supposed to feel? And I'm sorry by the way because I get this is a shitty topic for you. I've got the chance to reconnect with my father. I should jump at that, right?"

"He chose to leave, Kayo. He knew it would hurt you."

"But he's alive."

"He still hurt you." Scott let the silence settle for a few seconds before continuing. "Look, it's your decision, Kay, but either way… We'll support you."

"Okay, that's enough. Too many emotions. Disgusting."

"Get outta here. Let me eat my lunch in peace."

Kayo arched a brow. "Y'know, technically that was my lunch."

"Go!"


The drive back was quieter. Scott was relegated to the passenger seat while Parker took the wheel and the others crowded into the backseat, Gordon squashed between Penelope and Alan. Penelope spent much of the journey staring out of the window, cheek pressed against the glass to feel the sun's warmth on her skin as she watched the passing landscape without truly seeing it.

Seeing her blood relatives had always unsettled her even pre-Z-Day and the impact was greater nowadays. It was understandable; Scott had also been incredibly conscious of the disparity between their lifestyles. Lady Sylvia had been dressed in a pristine jumpsuit with a gold-buckled belt; meanwhile, Penelope's jacket was covered in fabric patches which had been stitched on to hide the worst areas of wear and tear and Scott's jeans were threadbare at the knees.

There was something horrifically beautiful about the world these days. It had been overtaken by Mother Nature and she had reclaimed her planet without mercy. What appeared to be colossal shrubs or overgrown hedgerows were actually abandoned vehicles that had been consumed by vegetation.

Houses were ghosts amongst branches; ivy snaked from windows, eerily similar to how the parasite bled from the infected in its natural form. Their car crept through empty towns like a trespasser; their creations still stood but it felt as if the humans themselves had never existed.

Neither of them talked much. Occasional conversations petered out swiftly, usually interrupted by the appearance of rotters although they were travelling too fast for the creatures to catch them. The stench of rot had returned with the hot weather, forcing them to keep windows rolled up when passing urban areas; it was a relief to speed into the heart of the countryside again.

It had been an early start and sleep tugged at the edges of Scott's vision. He blinked it away and stared obstinately at the scenery, determined not to let himself drift off. There was no real reason for him to stay awake but the idea made him feel guilty for reasons he refused to acknowledge.

He propped his elbow against the door, head leant on the window so that the wind through the tiny gap at the top tousled the tips of his hair. To his right, Parker drummed his hands against the wheel to some unknown beat, shoulders relaxed but eyes alert as he scanned the road ahead.

Penelope was still lost in her thoughts although she had tilted against Gordon's side, allowing him to wrap an arm around her. Gordon himself was working his way through a Rubick's cube – not to solve it but simply to occupy his hands – whilst sharing earphones with Alan who was watching the world go past, sketchbook temporarily abandoned. His frown melted into recognition as he bolted upright so sharply that he yanked out Gordon's earbud, gripping Parker's headrest as he called for him to brake.

It was testament to Parker's skill and experience as a driver that he didn't instinctively lurch the wheel sideways, up and over the lip of the curb. Instead, he brought the car to a gentle stop at the side of the road where he cut the engine and looked to be considering the merits of throttling Alan.

"Jeezus," Scott muttered, rubbing his temple where he'd smacked his head against the window. He twisted to throw Alan an accusatory look but the kid was already clambering out of the car, elbowing Gordon in his haste.

"I hate him," Gordon wheezed, trying to catch his breath. "I hate him so much. Can we put him up for adoption? Please?"

Scott threw open his own door and stumbled into a run after Alan. Gordon let out another curse and followed, closely tailed by Parker and Penelope.

The road was on a winding incline that wrapped around the hills. On one side was a sheer cliff face but on the other was a relatively steep slope that led down to a valley. The base of this slope was covered in foliage and a thicket of tall trees.

Scott came to an abrupt halt. It took a minute to consolidate his thoughts with reality because the first comparison which struck him was the brachiosaurus scene from the original Jurassic Park trilogy – goddammit, Alan had definitely made him watch too many dinosaur movies.

"Scott," Alan called over his shoulder, sort of hissing his name in an attempt to be quiet. "C'mere!"

The head that appeared over the treetops wasn't any type of herbivorous reptile. It was a gentle, long-nosed creature with large, round eyes and a pair of tufted horns. It huffed hot air as it reached for another mouthful of leaves.

Scott slid down the slope in a very ungraceful manner to get a closer look. Alan seized his arm to steady him. The giraffe dipped its head for another bite, unconcerned by their presence. Alan's grin was electric, matched by Gordon's breathless smile as he joined them.

"Oh my god," Gordon whispered.

"I know," Alan murmured, rooting his hands in the grass to keep from falling as Parker made a fairly clumsy descent and landed at his side. "Where d'you think she came from?"

"There was a conservation centre around here," Penelope explained. "They must have released all the animals to give them a chance at survival when the infected took over."

"Blimey," Parker coughed, ducking his head as the giraffe nosed at his hat. "It's, uh, it's safe, is it?"

"They're herbivores," Gordon confirmed. He sank heavily onto the bank and stared up at the animal with a wide, awed grin as if someone had just proven the existence of magic. "So, yes. Safe."

Scott rose cautiously to his feet and held up a hand. The giraffe jolted back, then returned, sniffing to determine whether he could be trusted. It nuzzled his palm and he stifled a laugh at the sensation of velvety whiskers. It munched on a mouthful of fresh leaves, content to let him pet it.

"Hey, Allie? Come here. Hold your hand up, like this, see?"

Alan sucked in a delighted breath as he flattened his hand against the giraffe's nose. He took a step closer, fuelled by bravery when the animal didn't move away, tracing the patterned fur.

"Huh." He ran his hand up to just below the giraffe's horns. "I thought she would be soft. But she feels kinda coarse? Sort of like a horse, you know?"

Gordon looked ready to launch into orbit from excited energy.

"This is officially the coolest thing ever," he declared, laughing as the giraffe nuzzled his hair. "I wish we'd brought Virg with us. He'd love this."

Scott stepped aside to give Penelope room to pet the giraffe. There was a childlike wonder in her eyes. She let out an honest-to-God giggle when the giraffe pushed its nose into her palm. Parker watched, clearly apprehensive, and she reached back to pull him close.

"She won't hurt you."

Parker made a vague, disbelieving sound deep in his throat but obligingly held up his hand. Penelope guided his arm until he brushed his fingertips against the giraffe's head.

"Bloody 'ell."

Alan bounced on his heels. "Right?"

Gordon stepped back to prop an arm on Scott's shoulder. "Hey… We don't have to be back at any specific time, do we?"

"We can stay for a while," Scott confirmed, unable to keep himself from grinning as Gordon gave a gleeful whoop and hauled him close enough to pat the giraffe again.

Sometimes, if he could bring himself to forget everything – the scars on his skin and the bodies below ground - the apocalypse didn't seem quite so bad.


Scott had expected that he would find it difficult to leave the Creighton-Ward manor. In reality, he found it a variation of relief that blended sadness with gratitude. It had become ghostly since the survivors had left; empty like a shipwreck hull that lacked the soul which had once kept it afloat.

He flew Four's family to the Sanctuary – not the closest safe zone by any means but Gordon had pleaded with him, going as far as bringing out the puppy eyes for which Scott was still an absolute sucker and so had caved almost instantly – and returned to investigate the house while Kayo and Parker checked its defences and the others were still unpacking Three's cargo bay.

The property was a classic beach house structure; wooden bones bleached white by sea salt and paint bubbled from sunshine to give it a vintage, almost rustic feel. It was tucked halfway up a cliff that would inevitably be lost to erosion but had managed to outlast human civilisation. With three floors and an attic room, it boasted views across the rocky bay below.

A narrow flight of steps carved led down to the beach, an expanse of smooth sand sheltered between rising cliffs. Pebbles had been battered into smooth ovals by angry surf that held only a tiny slither of the sea's insatiable appetite. Fierce waves broke along the horizon and powerful currents gnawed at the struts of the tiny dock that protruded into the water.

It was just similar enough to their island villa to be a comfort whilst being different enough to not evoke overwhelming homesickness. It had very clearly been a family home as well as a survival house for the past year; rainbow ink still marked the baseboards in an upstairs bedroom and there was glitter engrained into the grooves of the kitchen tiles.

There was something reassuring in proof that life and love had persisted in the face of constant adversity. Gordon had been right to choose the family to be Four's guardians, although Scott had struggled to hide his laughter upon hearing his brother's discovery of stickers on the sub's controls.

There were only four bedrooms but they had spent so long living in each other's pockets that it didn't bother anyone. Rediscovered privacy was a luxury that Scott had sorely missed.

They had to closely ration running water and lights as the generator was a weak animal that guzzled fuel and weaned very little sunlight from the solar panels stapled to the roof, but the defences were sound and there was an open patch of grassland just beyond the gates which they commissioned into a landing pad for the Thunderbirds.

Three's nosecone rose above the treetops like a sentinel. She reflected the glow of the setting sun as the sky bled into the sea and looked for all the world as if she had been set alight. Shadow and One were hidden from view by the band of trees that wound around the slope but Four could be glimpsed waiting patiently at her mooring at the end of the dock.

A pleasant peace clung to the place so that even the rugged cliffs seemed tender. They lit candles in the lounge – a carpeted space with large windows overlooking the ocean and a colossal, L-shaped sofa covered in rugs and aesthetically placed cushions – and made a midnight picnic out of perishable supplies. The newest addition – or return, technically – to their family loitered at the periphery but didn't leave altogether. Considering Kyrano's history, Scott counted that as progress.

They took two days to settle in before setting up shop at the research facility. GDF operatives had already salvaged what they could from other labs so it was in a vague working order. Brains and Virgil worked together to kickstart electrical equipment and rigged up a new grid to power old security systems while Grandma, John and Ellis focussed on organising the scientific side of the manufacturing process.

It was a long, gruelling week of never-ending work but by the weekend they were on track, possibly even ahead of schedule. The aim was to have the process automated within two months although that was pushing their limits and Virgil had already had to drag Brains away from computer screens twice in twenty-four hours to keep him from working through the night.

In the meantime, relations between safe zones had finally settled into something stronger than a mere truce but still too tentative to be described as friendship. Finn swung by the house – mostly to show off the beautifully crafted jet that he'd recovered from a reclaimed airbase – and dropped off a crate of drinks as a thank you from the GDF… and an excuse to hang out with them for a while.

Being pleasantly buzzed on a beach at sunset was a blast from the past. Scott permitted Alan a few sips, knowing fully well that Gordon was going to sneak the kid an entire bottle but too content to bring himself to care. It wasn't as if legal drinking limits existed anymore.

The sun had nearly slipped below the horizon when he stumbled onto the dock. It was possible that he'd had a few too many units, still unused to his lower tolerance. The temperature was dropping quickly now that dusk had enveloped the clear sky and there was a cool breeze sweeping off the sea, but he couldn't feel the chill. Sea salt had dried in his hair and the strands felt uncomfortably sticky and stiff as he ran his fingers through them, dropping heavily to sit on the end of the dock.

"Hi," he announced, dunking his feet in the water. Thunderbird Four bobbed a few feet away with a seagull balanced on her dorsal fin and he sort of wanted to laugh at the sight. "You're over here."

Brains blinked at him owlishly.

"So I am," he replied with a subtle hint of amusement in his voice.

Scott flopped backwards, propping himself up on his elbows. The sky spiralled away above him in streaks of amethyst and deepening navy.

"But we're all the way over there," he complained.

"Yes," Brains agreed slowly. "I can s-see that."

"Then why are you here?"

There was no immediate answer. Scott dropped fully onto his back and closed his eyes, honing his senses to listen to the underlying music of the world. Damn, he was really drunk, wasn't he?

Waves splashed against the underside of the dock; a breeze whistled; a cacophony of seagulls called to one another as they flew inland on silent wings to roost for the night. They looked like tiny ghosts, pale against the darkening sky. His shirt clung to his spine despite his attempts to wriggle free of it, glued by sea salt thanks to Gordon's earlier decision to splash him.

Brains still didn't say anything but didn't get up to leave either. He sat quietly, examining the line between the sea and the sky, gaze occasionally drifting to Thunderbird Four. His hands were folded together in his lap but there was no tension in his shoulders. He hadn't partaken in the drinks and so was feeling the chilled air of oncoming night more sharply than those artificially warmed by alcohol.

"Do you ever…" Scott began, pausing to gather his thoughts as his words slurred into a mess.

He wiped the back of his hand across his face. There was a tiny splinter in the pad of his right thumb and the tingling pain registered as an afterthought. He sort of wished that he'd brought his drink with him but he didn't think Brains would like that kinda thing and he'd missed his friend for too many months to risk losing any more time with him.

"Do I ever…?" Brains prompted.

There was undeniable fondness in his voice this time. He turned to look at Scott.

"Huh?"

"You had a- a question?"

"I- Oh. Yes. Yeah." Scott glanced over at Thunderbird Four. "Do you ever think about what could have been?"

Surprise flickered behind Brains' glasses. "Well, I'm h-hardly the philosophical type."

"No, no, I mean…" Scott laced his hands behind his head with a sigh. "I don't know. You invented all these awesome things to make the future a better place and now it's like… ruined?"

Brains considered.

"Ruined isn't the word I'd use," he said after a moment. "Disrupted perhaps, but n-not ruined."

"But there's radiation and stuff," Scott declared grandly, complete with jazz hands. His head knocked against the decking with a painful thud. "Aw, crap."

"Disrupted," Brains repeated. "We s-still have time to fix it."

He drew a sharp little breath as if he'd been about to say something else, but his attention became captured by whoever was approaching them. Scott didn't need to have memorised the differences between his family's footsteps to know who it was; he could figure it out from the unguarded softness in Brains' expression as he smiled.

"Hi, Virg." Scott tipped his head back to glimpse Virgil's raised brows. For some reason, the sight made him snigger. He reached up to prod the tiny scar when his brother crouched down. "Frowny."

"Oh, boy," Virgil whistled, catching Scott's hand midair. "That's enough drinking for you tonight. You're not going to like yourself very much in the morning."

"Hey," Scott protested. He prodded Virgil's knee accusingly with his free hand. "I'm doing a lot better at liking myself!"

"That's…" Virgil exchanged a highly amused look with Brains. "That's not really what I meant but I'm very happy to hear it. So, what are you doing all the way over here, Scooter?"

Scott scrambled to sit upright which involved catching his balance against Virgil's arm as his head seemed to swim, swirling like the waves beneath his feet.

"I was keeping Brains company."

Brains surreptitiously shook his head.

Virgil brushed his hand across Brains' shoulder. "Sorry. It's the Big Brother in him. He sees anyone sitting alone and it activates his instincts."

"I am right here."

"Good point. How about you head back to the beach now, Scotty? I'll, uh, keep Brains company."

Brains looked to be on the verge of laughter. He removed his glasses, pinched the bridge of his nose, took a steadying breath then slid them back on again.

"I can't go back to the beach," Scott confessed in a conspiratorial whisper.

Virgil bit back a laugh. "Why not?"

"Because Mari is there and I'll probably say something stupid." He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes and listed against Virgil's side. "She's pretty, Virg."

Virgil exchanged another look with Brains.

"I'll wait here?" Brains suggested, trying to repress a smile. He tilted his head to look up at Virgil and the fading light soaked the lines of his face in shadow, highlighting the warmth in his eyes.

"Thanks. I'll be back soon." Virgil ducked to press a chaste kiss to Brains' cheek, then turned back to Scott with a weary sense of resignation. "C'mon, Scooter. On your feet. There you go, that's better- Okay, no, not the place for hugs. Scotty, you're going to make us fall in the sea. Scott. Oh my god."

"M'not a child. I can walk by myself."

"Uh huh." Virgil looped an arm around him. "Of course you can. How about I stay close just in case? Just until we get you upstairs and in a bed, okay?"

"I don't need a bed."

"Whatever you say."

"I'm not tired."

"Sure."

The climb up the flight of steps to the house seemed to take forever but was over in the blink of an eye all at once.

"Hey, hey, Virg. Guess what?"

"What?"

"What?"

"No, you're the one who asked me."

"Oh, yeah. I guess I did. I can't remember what I was saying… Wait. Wait. Did I-? Did I just gatecrash your night with Brains?"

"It's okay."

"Aw, man. I'm sorry, Vee."

"It's okay," Virgil repeated in that same blend of gentle amusement and fondness as he guided Scott into taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

He tugged a clean tee out of the drawer and held it out in an exchange for Scott's damp shirt. The new t-shirt was soft and dry, the same light blue as the bedsheets. Scott flopped onto his back and gave a questioning murmur when Virgil encouraged him to lie on his side instead.

"You gonna be okay if I go back downstairs for a while?"

Scott flapped a hand at him. "Yuh-huh."

"Are you sure?"

"Yep." He lifted his head from the pillows. "Hey, you're happier here, right?"

Virgil didn't seem surprised by the sudden subject change. "Yeah, I'm happy."

"Good. That's good. Because I am too."

Virgil remained silent for a minute. He was leant against the doorjamb, bathed in shadows too dark to make out his expression.

"Go to sleep, Scott," he said softly, smile audible in his voice. "See you in the morning."


Scott awoke to the greasy, dry-mouthed existence of a hangover.

He crawled out of the tangled bedsheets and dropped unceremoniously to his knees in front of the en-suite toilet where he rested his forehead against blissfully cool ceramic and waited for the sledgehammer behind his eyes to ease up. There was a pool of spilled water steadily leaking through the left leg of his PJ pants but he couldn't bring himself to care. He swallowed nauseous saliva with another groan.

"Wow." John's sarcasm was contradicted by the gentle weight of his hand between Scott's shoulder blades. "You look worse than some of the infected."

Scott mumbled something spiteful past his wrist, then flipped him the bird just to really drive the sentiment home. John's loud laugh triggered a new wave of nausea and he doubled over the toilet again, silently cursing his past self for drinking so much.

"Here."

He squinted up at John past the sunlight streaming through the window. "Huh?"

"Take it."

"Is that Advil?"

John dropped two into Scott's palm and turned to the faucet to fill a glass with water.

"You can thank Finn for thinking ahead." He held out the glass and propped himself against the wall to observe as Scott drained the water. "Sleep it off for a couple of hours. You won't be the only one; Gordon's still dead to the world and Kayo seriously regrets daring Parker to a drinking contest."

"I want to carve out my brain until it stops hurting."

"Clearly the hangover isn't too bad if you're still your unnecessarily dramatic self."

"Dramatic? Me?"

John gripped his arms and hauled him off the floor. "Go back to bed."

The next time he woke he was significantly more alive. He still had a headache but it had diminished and his mouth no longer felt as if he'd swallowed sawdust. The most pressing priority was the gnawing hunger in his stomach, so he staggered downstairs on the hunt for food.

The kitchen wasn't empty. Alan had his sketches spread across the table and was working on a new page, a pen in one hand and a half-eaten slice of toast in the other. Music played at a low volume from his phone and he drummed his heels to the beat as he took another bite of toast. Honey dripped onto his knuckles and he licked it off before it could dribble onto the paper.

"Use a cloth," Scott sighed, wringing a damp sponge in the sink and tossing it at Alan's head.

Alan shot him an offended look but stuffed the rest of the toast into his mouth and wiped his hands before throwing it back. He was clearly itching to make a comment about Scott's appearance but chose pity instead and returned to his artwork. It was in colour for the first time in months.

"You're using colours again?" Scott queried, propping his hip against the counter as he swiped a spoonful of honey onto a slice of bread – God bless Finn for bringing fresh supplies – and folded it in half to form a makeshift sandwich. "That's new."

Alan muted the music.

"I'm trying it out, seeing how it feels, you know? I've been sketching and Theo's been filling in the colours, but now I can sort of… see it again? It's like I've been seeing the world in greyscale without even realising it but now the saturation's been dialled up again and I'm trying to capture it on paper. It's like… life's so dang cool, right? I mean, it sucks a lot too, but it's just… cool."

Scott stared at him uncomprehendingly. The words met the resistance of his hangover and bounced off again. He was aware that Alan was saying things but he was too tired to comprehend them. Hey, the kid was a weird little nerd – it was difficult to keep up with his rambles on the best of days.

"Okay," Scott replied eventually for lack of anything better to say. "Sounds great. Have you seen Penny?"

Alan tucked the pen behind his ear and reached for a new colour. "Um, I think she's on the balcony?"

"Cool. Thanks."

"Why though?"

"No reason."

A quick tousle of Alan's hair on his way past sufficiently distracted him from asking questions. Scott headed upstairs and tracked down Penelope, curled into a curved deckchair on the balcony to soak up the sun with a wide-brimmed floppy hat to shade her eyes. She was alone, which was a mercy given what he was about to ask her.

He took a seat on the edge of her chair. "Penny."

"Scott."

"You're a woman."

"An astute observation."

"So, hypothetically, if someone were to, uh, ask you out, would you want a proper date? And what constitutes a proper date? Because it's the apocalypse, so dinner at some fancy restaurant isn't an option and I don't actually know what else- Anyway. It's all hypothetical."

Penelope knocked the brim of her hat higher to study his face.

"Are you asking me to help you plan a date?"

"Oh, Christ. I already regret this."

"No, no, no." She caught his wrist as he made to stand. "Sorry, darling. I didn't mean to tease. But really? Is that what you're asking?"

He scratched the back of his neck. "I mean… I guess?"

Penelope let out a high-pitched squeak at a frequency that should only have been audible to dogs. Finch was on the beach, so Scott couldn't test this hypothesis, but seriously.

He buried his head in his hands with a groan.

"Yes! I will absolutely help." Penelope clapped her hands with another delighted giggle. "Oh, this is so exciting!"

"Don't go overboard."

"I would never."

"You definitely would. Just don't make it too… No Hallmark crap, okay? I don't even know if Mari likes the whole…" He gestured vaguely, physically cringing as he ground out, "…romantic stuff."

"She does," Penelope confirmed sunnily with all the confidence of someone who knew this to be a fact. She pushed herself out of the curve of the chair and tucked her legs beneath her to sit at Scott's side. "Trust me. Besides, a little romance has never hurt anyone. Oh, I have so many ideas!"

"Penelope."

She swatted his elbow. "Wipe that frown off your face. Honestly, when have I ever led you astray?"

Scott could recall two charity auctions and a Tracy Industries Festive Gala which he could refer to as examples off the top of his head. He was fairly certain that John still held a grudge about all three events. It had been raised as blackmail material at least twice in the years since.

Penelope patted him on the back. "Don't worry. I have the perfect plan."


Scott had been on more than his fair share of dates. Admittedly, the majority of these had occurred before IR and TI responsibilities had consumed his life and so it had been a while, but that wasn't the point. This date was different and not just because it was the apocalypse. There were higher stakes; he actually wanted it to go somewhere. There was an idea of permanence floating around.

But the most the crucial difference was that he was nervous; brutally undeniable anxiety; excess energy fizzing under his skin; sweaty palms; an awkward cough stuck in his throat.

He had no excuses. It was ridiculous. He knew it was ridiculous. It was only Marisa. But then again, it was Marisa. Goddamn, he was a mess. The crux of the evening was so simple; he liked her and she liked him. There was no reason to freak out. So, of course, he continued to freak out. Hey, maybe Mari would find it endearing. Not the adjective he'd prefer but it was better than other options.

It was possible that Penelope was a genius. Actually, Scott would be willing to vouch for this as a straight-up fact even if she had hauled him aside earlier in the day and jabbed a finger in his face as she demanded that he tell her every detail afterwards.

So.

The date was, uh-

It was a success.

Penelope was immensely smug about this and claimed all credit. To be fair, it was well-deserved. Scott had planned humiliatingly little of the evening. Marisa had already called him out on the fact that he hadn't cooked the dinner, a conversation which had gone something like this:

"So… who cooked this?"

"It's great, right?"

"Which is exactly how I know you weren't the one to cook it."

"I could have."

"Scott, honey. You're a terrible chef. I've heard the stories of exploding microwaves, remember?"

"…Kyrano cooked it."

"And there's the truth."

Predictably, his family were insufferable. He made the grave mistake of kissing Marisa on the beach, believing that no one was around, only to hear a chorus of whoops and wolf whistles from the dock. Scott flipped them off. Gordon let out another whistle and John promptly shoved him into the sea.

It took twenty-four hours for Jasmin to give her own variation of the shovel talk. She waited until everyone else was gathered around their impromptu campfire on the beach before pouncing.

Scott was in the process of struggling into a hoodie – which he already knew Mari would steal off him by the end of the night – and had somehow become tangled in the fabric. He finally tugged it over his head and glimpsed Jasmin with a startled yelp, jolting backwards and smacking his elbow against the wall. He cradled his wounded arm to his chest, trying to appear unruffled.

"You've been spending too much time around Kayo," he said breathlessly, heart still pounding at a rate of knots. "I didn't hear you walk in."

Jasmin stepped into the room and folded her arms. When he didn't immediately look up, she cleared her throat and gave a meaningful cough for good measure.

"Sorry." He gave up on his quest for shoes – heck, it was only the beach – and gave her his full attention. "What's up?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Is Mari your girlfriend now?"

"Uh…" Momentarily blindsided, Scott gave a nervous chuckle. "Yes. I guess she is."

"You guess?"

"Yes," he amended. "She's my girlfriend." God that felt weird to say. "Are you okay with that?"

Jasmin's cold stare melted into something warmer.

"What? Yes, obviously. You're so much better than Nick. He was a total asshole. I mean, talk about an upgrade – from a sleazebag colleague to the Commander of International Rescue."

"Thanks," Scott replied dryly.

Jasmin held up a finger to demand silence.

"However. I need you to know that Marisa likes you. As in, she likes you a lot. With all the gross feelings. And she annoys the hell outta me at times but she's a really great person and she deserves someone who appreciates just how awesome she is. And I think you get that. But just in case you don't, let me make something very clear – if you hurt my sister, I will stab you. Repeatedly."

There was a brief silence.

"Jazz," Scott said fondly, "If I ever hurt her in any way, I'd ask you to stab me."

"I'm not kidding."

"Oh, I know."

"Don't make fun of me."

"I'm not!" He held up his hands in surrender. "Honest!"

Jasmin glared at him for ten more seconds before dropping the pretence. She wandered over to the chest of drawers in the corner of the room and examined the glossy guitar balanced on top.

"You should bring this to the beach."

Scott let out a bemused laugh. "Why?"

"Because I want to learn. You could teach me."

"I'll think about it."

"Really?"

"Not tonight."

"Tomorrow?"

"Ask me in the morning and find out."

The sky was bright with cotton-candy pink clouds and dabs of gold as the sun sank lower. The tide was out and the exposed sand flats reflected the light to transform the landscape into something magical. The air tasted of salt and woodsmoke from the campfire. A low thrum of mosquitoes underlaid the croons of seabirds and distant waves.

Laughter accompanied indignant cries as Gordon released a grasshopper down the back of Virgil's shirt and was tackled into the wet sand for his troubles. Grandma turned a blind eye to the chaos. Lee outright encouraged it. Kyrano and Parker observed with secretive smiles. So much for responsible adults, Scott thought to himself wryly, grinning at the sound of Gordon's squawks.

It had dawned on him at some point over the past couple of months that even if they couldn't save the world, this life wasn't so bad. It was certainly worth living, perhaps even worth cherishing. The thing about working for something better was that you had to be content with what you already had, just in case you failed and it was all you were left with. And honestly? He could live with this.

"You make her happy, you know?" Jasmin piped up out of the blue. She was a few paces behind him on the steps, hair tied up with a pretty pink bow that Penelope had gifted her back at the manor.

Scott paused to let her catch up with him. "I do?"

He hadn't intended for it to sound like a question; it was fairly obvious that he made Mari happy. But the nervous, self-deprecating voice at the back of his head whispered insecurities – how could he possibly be enough to make anyone happy? – despite his attempts to squash it.

Jasmin nodded. "You make a lot of people happy."

"Huh."

"C'mon." She grabbed his wrist and tugged him into a clumsy run. "We're missing out on the chaos!"