Virgil's eyes strained as he stared out over the churning ocean. The choppy surface was just a few meters below him, slate grey and uninviting. Rain beat down in a thunderous curtain around him, but he was mostly sheltered by his ship. He squinted through the downpour, desperate for a flash of color. The sea had already coughed up one miracle today; now he was praying for a second.

"Can you see him?"

The sound of his father's voice was still a shock. Despite Gordon's story, part of Virgil hadn't quite believed Dad was alive until he'd seen the impossibly familiar face through the window of the dry tube.

Now, with a hastily applied pressure bandage over his gunshot wound and an IV in his arm, Dad was at the controls of Thunderbird 2 while Virgil crouched at the edge of its open pod bay doors, waiting and hoping.

"Not yet," he answered his father through his comm.

Come on, Scott.

The rest of his family was barely audible over the roar of rain crashing into waves. All Virgil could make out were urgent voices, strained silences. He had to trust that Gordon and Alan were handling things on their end though. He had to.

A bright yellow capsule surfaced with a splash all but lost to the raging elements.

Virgil stared at it, failing for a long beat to register what he was seeing. It was what he'd been waiting for, desperate for, but the part of him that had been so thoroughly destroyed by false hope hadn't been willing to let him expect it.

But there it was, a drop of sunny yellow in a hostile sea.

Shaking off his shock, Virgil snatched a magnetic cable and dove from the ship. He didn't need to, really. He could've launched the cable instead, let it lock onto the dry tube with its magnetic guidance system. It would perhaps have been the more efficient, sensible thing to do. But instinct had taken over, and he didn't fight it.

He ignored the icy bite of the water as he pushed himself in two powerful strokes to the side of the dry tube, trailing the cable behind him. He resisted the urge to hoist himself up and peek through the window. The longer he dawdled, the longer John spent trapped in a tube. So Virgil clamped the cable into place, grabbed hold of the side of the emergency capsule, and triggered the mechanism that started to haul it up to Thunderbird 2.

As the dry tube was lifted from the surface of the water, Virgil was suddenly grateful for his impulsive dive. His added weight stabilized the tube on its dangling ascent. John had already been tossed around enough; he didn't need to be battered like a piñata by the fierce wind.

The trip seemed to drag on interminably, but then at last they were being pulled into the belly of Thunderbird 2, the pod doors closing beneath them. The sounds of the storm that had been assaulting Virgil's eardrums were smothered into a muted rumbling, leaving a ringing quiet behind.

He didn't take time to appreciate the silence.

The moment they were on a stable surface, he rose to his knees and ran urgent fingers over the seam of the dry tube until he found the trigger to open it. The lid popped up, and Virgil gasped.

John was there. He was real and there and just inches from Virgil. And he looked like a corpse in a metal coffin.

It had been nearly two months since John's disappearance. The frantic messages from Gordon and Alan had made it clear those months had not been kind to him, that they had left him in far worse shape than they'd found him. But somehow, Virgil had still been expecting to see the brother he'd lost, the reserved but vibrant astronaut who had rolled his eyes when Alan teased him about ghosts.

This was not that man.

"John?" The name came out of him as a breathless gasp, a frightened plea.

Bloodshot blue-green eyes cracked open, and Virgil started breathing again.

"Dad, punch it!" he yelled, unable to tear his gaze away to look back at the passage to the cockpit.

"Hang on! Thunderbird 4, do you have him?"

Virgil frowned. But then he remembered, and guilt flashed through him. Scott.

"We've got him!" Alan's voice sounded shaky over the comm. "Gordon got to him in time; he's in the hyperbaric chamber."

"Does he need the hospital?" Dad asked.

"No, we can handle him down here." That was Gordon's voice this time. "Go, Dad."

Dad took Gordon at his word. Virgil rocked slightly as Thunderbird 2 exploded into motion, and he returned his attention to John. He scooped his twin out of the dry tube and stood with far too little effort. John was at least twenty pounds lighter than he should've been, and Virgil could hear the wet, labored rattle of his breathing.

"Is he all right?" Dad's voice asked as Virgil hurried towards the small medical bay onboard.

Virgil didn't have an answer for him.

"You can let me out of here, you know."

"Shut up, Scott."

Alan blinked at Gordon, startled. His brother didn't look at him or Scott, just stared out through Thunderbird 4's windshield at the murky sea beyond.

Gordon was known to give everyone attitude, but he wasn't big on open disrespect. He was also rarely dismissive, for he knew well what it was like to be dismissed himself. So the hard edge to his tone was unfamiliar, alien. So was his stony expression. Unfamiliar, but maybe not unexpected.

For the hundred thousandth time, Alan found himself thinking back to that terrible night when he'd almost lost a second brother. He and Gordon had never talked about it, never so much as acknowledged after the fact that it'd happened at all, but that night at sea still haunted Alan.

Well, perhaps not just the night itself. What haunted him most was the knowledge that he'd almost been too late, and the nagging fear that next time, he might be. He didn't think those fears would ever go away. It didn't seem so out of the realm of possibility that Gordon might harbor similar fears, especially after what they'd been through today.

Alan unbuckled himself from the copilot seat, nudging Gordon's shoulder with his own as he clambered out of the cockpit and into the cabin. The hyperbaric chamber, folded out from its usual place in the bulkhead, took up most of the space. Scott, who had been stripped of his soaked uniform, looked like some kind of scientific specimen preserved under glass. A lifeless relic displayed for bored kids to peer at, a faded memory not yet wholly lost.

Doing his best to shake off those thoughts, Alan plunked himself down on the floor beside Scott's head and drew his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them.

"You almost drowned, Scott," he said, and his voice sounded almost as strange as Gordon's. "You're staying in the chamber."

Unbidden, memories of the previous hour rushed through his mind.

The explosion that had freed John from the sub had damaged the reserve oxygen tank built into Scott's suit, letting the already limited supply of air bubble out to be replaced by frigid seawater. And Gordon and Alan had been so damn far away. Thunderbird 4 was by no means a slow ship, but the water had seemed to turn to molasses around them. Alan still felt jittery from the useless, agonizing energy that had coursed through his body as he willed them to go faster, knowing they couldn't.

Scott's body had been limp and motionless when Gordon dragged him aboard. It had taken just seconds to rouse him, but each of those seconds had been utter hell.

Never again in his life had Alan wanted to face the possibility of losing another brother to the sea. Never had he wanted Gordon to do the same.

Something about his expression must have conveyed at least some of what he was feeling, because Scott didn't argue. He just slumped back against the contoured gel bed of the hyperbaric chamber, letting out a heavy breath. He closed his eyes, and Alan felt the need to look away from the raw vulnerability that overtook his expression for a flash of an instant.

"You saw them."

It took a moment for Alan to realize Scott was talking to him.

"What?" he asked.

"John and Dad. You saw them."

Alan couldn't help shivering slightly.

Yes, he'd seen John. He'd seen the blood, old and new, that stained the clothes he hadn't been wearing when he disappeared. He'd seen the way John struggled to focus on him, the way it was sheer, flat, disbelief that had transformed his features when he first recognized Alan, not relief.

And then he'd seen Dad. He'd seen Dad waist deep in water that was stained pink as it rose around him. He'd seen the new lines on his father's face, the new slump in his shoulders. He'd seen the tears that gathered in Dad's eyes when he spotted his youngest son.

"Yeah," was all he said.

It was going to be a long ride to the hospital. They'd had to wait with Thunderbird 1 and the captured submarine until the GDF arrived to take over. The delay had taken only twenty minutes, but it felt like an eternity. Alan suspected their trip back to the mainland would be just as painful, even with the tow line from Thunderbird 1 granting them extra speed.

Scott was silent for a moment. His eyes were open again, but they stared sightlessly at the top of the chamber.

"Do you think they'll-?"

"Alan, I need you up here."

Alan frowned but followed Gordon's summons, joining his brother in the cramped cockpit of Thunderbird 4. As he sat in the copilot seat, Gordon tapped a command into the computer.

"What do you need?" Alan asked him. Gordon's expression was grim and set, his knuckles whitening as they returned to the controls of his beloved submarine.

"I needed Scott not to finish asking that question."

With the speed of Thunderbird 2 at his disposal, Dad had chosen quality over distance and flown to London, to the hospital where International Rescue had dropped off more than a few people over the years. It was there the remaining Tracy boys arrived by taxi of all things, after having been forced to leave Thunderbird 4 docked in the Thames. Having been released at last from the pressurized confines of the hyperbaric chamber, Scott led the charge to the familiar emergency department, his two youngest brothers close at his back.

It was hard to say which of them looked the worst. Alan and Gordon were both sporting bloodstains on their drying blue uniforms, blond hair spiked with salt and sticking in all directions. And Scott…Scott had gotten dressed in a hurry with limited options. On his list of immediate concerns though, their appearance didn't even rank. So he ignored the startled expression of the young man at the desk as they approached.

"Jefferson and John Tracy," Scott said, trying to use his CEO voice to regain some illusion of control over anything at all. "They should've been brought here about an hour ago."

"Y-yes, of course." The man tapped something into the screen before him. "Your brother told us to expect you."

Virgil had probably left out the fact that they'd be showing up looking like they'd just lost a fight with a sea monster.

Within moments, an older woman in a pantsuit was striding towards them. She apologized with polite firmness when the three young men immediately started pelting her with questions, telling them she wasn't a medical professional, and didn't have any news about their family. Instead, she was there to show them to "somewhere they could wait more comfortably."

Scott realized with an unpleasant lurch that they were being handled. He'd always hated that, hated the fact that it often came with the territory of being rich and running a business. He was the only one among his siblings old enough to remember what it had been like before their father got quite so famous and wealthy, the only one who knew how to miss it.

Before he could lose his tenuous grip on his control and tell her to cut the crap though, the woman - Sharon - stopped them in front of a closed door.

"You can wait with your brother in here. Someone will come to notify you when there's-"

None of them bothered to listen to whatever else she had to say. Alan was already pulling the door open, and Gordon shoved him through it to expedite the process. Scott was less than a second behind them.

"Virgil!"

There were plenty of comfortable-looking chairs in the private waiting room, but Virgil was standing, his arms dangling at his sides. His dark hair was disheveled, but it was nothing compared to the rest of him. In all the chaos, he must not have had time to change out of the suit he'd worn to John's funeral. He'd lost the jacket, and the shirt that had once been white was now stiff with salt and stained an unmistakable rusty red.

His eyes were shadowed and haunted as they fixed blankly on a point halfway up the wall. He didn't even look at his brothers as they rushed into the room, but he clearly noted their entrance.

"They wouldn't let me stay with them," he said, his voice dull.

Despite the instinctive wave of dread that crashed through him, the sight of his brother forced Scott to take a deep breath, doing his level best to center himself. This was one situation in which he could actually do with being handled a little, but they couldn't all fall apart. Virgil was normally the person who did the handling, but he didn't appear to be up to the task at the moment.

Scott took a slower step forward, waving at Gordon and Alan to keep quiet when he could see they were about to start pelting Virgil with questions. He drew closer, putting a hand on Virgil's shoulder.

"Hey," he said gently.

"Dad's in surgery," Virgil said, still not looking at him. "He was still bleeding, but he was conscious. They think he's gonna be fine."

"That's great," Scott said.

It was. It was a miracle the likes of which he hadn't let himself hope for in years.

But celebration was impossible. Unthinkable. And they all knew it.

Taking a deep breath, Scott tightened his fingers on Virgil's shoulder.

"Is John…?"

"He was alive when we got here."

Scott tried not to flinch at the use of the past tense.

"But I don't…on the way here, he…" Virgil pulled in a long breath, exhaling it in a ragged woosh a moment later. "I, uh. I had to intubate him, because his breathing was...uh, not. I think- his lung. All the fluid, I think it might have collapsed, so I- I…"

Scott felt the shudder that rippled through him.

"I did everything I could."

"Of course you did," Scott said at once, and he wished his voice had come out steadier. "Of course you did, Virgil; no one else could've done more."

Now, it was Scott's turn. He used his grip on Virgil to steer him to one of the padded seats, easing him down into it. Virgil seemed to resist automatically, but then he all but collapsed into the chair. He slumped forward, dropping his head into his palms. Scott sat down beside him, wrapping an arm around his broad shoulders. He looked around at the others.

"They're strong," he said. "Both of them."

Virgil said nothing, but Scott hadn't expected him to. He got quiet when he got scared, when he felt helpless. Alan and Gordon were just as silent, both of them pale as ghosts. Alan had a streak of blood across one cheek. Scott knew the blood wasn't his, but suddenly he couldn't stand the sight of it.

He stood and crossed the room to his youngest brother, wiping at the spot with his thumb. It was the kind of thing that would normally have had Alan squirming away with a complaint that he wasn't a baby, and for Scott to stop mothering him. This time though, Alan just stood still, his eyes as shadowed as Virgil's.

Once the blood was gone, Scott sat him beside Virgil, and did the same with Gordon. He couldn't quite make himself join them though. The best he could do was stop himself from pacing, since he knew it would only increase his brothers' anxiety. As it was, the waiting was a special kind of hell.

It was Gordon who spoke first.

"I made the wrong call." His eyes were haunted with guilt. "I forced him into that dry tube. He didn't want to go; he wanted to wait for us. If I hadn't-"

"Don't," Alan said before Scott could. "Don't do that to us. It's done."

Gordon scowled, and Scott could sense an argument brewing. Not because anyone was at fault, but because this whole ordeal had been the most trying situation they'd ever faced, and they could only be pushed so far.

Scott had never been the best at diffusing tension. He was usually one of the ones that had to be diffused. But there was still someone who had always been able to manage them, someone who should've been called hours ago anyway.

"We've got to call Grandma," he said. "And Kayo. They should be here."

"Shit, the funeral," said Gordon, straightening with an alarmed look. "They all still think-"

"I'll take care of it," Scott said, standing. He crossed to the corner and lifted his wrist, punching in the command to call Kayo. There was a beeping noise from somewhere above him, and he looked up just in time to see one of the ceiling panels shift aside and his foster sister drop to the floor beside him. He blinked at her.

"I'm almost not sure I want to know, but what were you doing in the ceiling?" Gordon asked, sounding more like his usual self than he had since finding Dad.

"Recon," Kayo answered, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "My drone mission ended a while ago, and EOS called me. I've been trying to keep an eye on John and your dad."

"And?" said Alan.

Kayo took a breath. No one who didn't know her well would've seen the way she shook just slightly.

"Your dad is out of surgery; he's going to be fine." It was only confirmation of what Virgil had already told him, but it felt like something monumental. A shiver seemed to go around the room. "We should be allowed to see him soon," Kayo added.

She paused and took a deep breath. Scott wrapped an arm around her, and she leaned into him.

"I couldn't get to where John was," she said, undeserved shame in her voice at the perceived failure. "They've got a special area for cases of immune systems as compromised as John's, and it has restricted access and its own air supply. I'm sorry."

"It's all right," Scott told her, squeezing her shoulders.

"And, hey…" Alan spoke up, managing a small, tired smile that made him look both older and younger than the baby brother Scott was used to. "It's amazing news about Dad."

It really was. And it needed to be shared.

Letting go of Kayo, Scott retreated to the corner again to make the call.

It wasn't the hardest conversation he'd ever had, but it was up there. Because even though the news was amazing, it was also overwhelming, staggering, and it came with what Scott was fairly certain would turn out to be a horrific tale. Grandma was one of the strongest people he knew, but there were just some things no one was equipped to handle.

It helped when Lady Penelope stepped in. She was just as shaken, but she remained as calm as she always did under pressure. She promised to have Parker fly her and Grandma to the hospital, and then she told them to look after each other as she signed off.

The silence that fell in the wake of the call was stifling. Scott looked around at his family. Alan was sitting on the edge of his chair, elbows braced on his knees, head bowed and face ashen. Gordon had drawn his feet up onto his seat and was hugging his knees to his chest, chin resting on them as he stared at nothing. Virgil was slumped back against the wall and had his head tilted, staring with an empty gaze at one of the lighting panels in the ceiling.

Scott tried to think of something to say to them, but the words eluded him. He fought the feeling of being right back in that icy ocean, choking on the water that had nearly swallowed him whole.

Before they could wait much longer, the door opened. They all looked up as one, to see Sharon standing in the doorway. This time, she was accompanied by a younger woman in dark grey scrubs.

"This is Dr. O'Brien," Sharon said. "She's been treating your father."

That was when she seemed to notice Kayo. She looked at her a bit askance, but said nothing as Dr. O'Brien stepped forward. Her eyes traveled over Alan and Gordon's stained uniforms, Virgil's battered formalwear, and Kayo's sleek flightsuit. But she didn't make a single comment, and thus gained a significant boost in Scott's esteem.

"I'll start by saying that your father is going to be fine," she said with a small smile. They'd heard it already, but there was still something reassuring about getting the words from a medical professional. "We took care of the gunshot to his leg. The bone reconstruction went well, and with a little rest and physical therapy, he should recover full function in his leg. Aside from that, he was chronically exhausted and undernourished, but there were no other significant physical symptoms. He should be waking up from his anesthesia any minute now, and I'm sure you'll all want to see him."

That was something of an understatement. Those who hadn't already been standing were on their feet in an instant, and they hurried for the door in a disorganized rush. Instead of stepping aside to let them pass though, Dr. O'Brien raised a hand.

"I understand your brother was also brought in," she said, and just like that she had their undivided focus again. "I was able to get an update from one of John's doctors before I came to see you."

Suddenly, Scott couldn't breathe. He was both desperate for her next words, and terrified of them.

"They've got John stabilized," the doctor went on. "They're managing his symptoms, and they're trying to isolate the specific strain of bacteria making him sick so that they can give him a more targeted antibiotic than the one they've got him on now, which will help to speed his recovery."

Silence followed her words as they all tried to think through the implications of what she'd just told them. Scott was still barely breathing.

"So…he's not going to die?"

Dr. O'Brien gave Gordon a gentle look.

"No," she told him. "He's got a long recovery ahead of him, but he's not going to die. Not today, not tomorrow, and hopefully not for a very long time."

Jeff had done his best to fight the doctors when they tried to sedate him, not wanting to be out of commission until all of his children were safe and accounted for. But despite Virgil's efforts, he'd been losing blood steadily for over an hour, and it took its toll. When he'd started slipping in and out of awareness, he'd known the battle was lost.

There was little respite to be found in unconsciousness, but it came for him anyway.

He didn't know how much time passed before it loosened its hold on him. It was reluctant to let him go entirely, keeping him distant and fuzzy, promising him respite from the dull pain awaiting in his leg. He could hear the faint sounds of life in the faraway realm of the conscious. There were low, calm voices, footsteps, quiet hums and beeps and buzzing of equipment. None of it registered as important, enough to pull him further into the real, painful world.

But then there were louder footsteps, closer ones. They stopped though, and Jeff lost interest, starting to drift again.

"Dad?"

And there it was, something capable of drawing Jeff from the drunken stupor of his sleep.

His eyelids felt heavy as lead, but he forced them open, persisting even when painful brightness stabbed into his unsuspecting pupils. He blinked the pain away and looked to the side, gaze settling on - Scott.

Words got lost somewhere between Jeff's brain and his mouth, so he just looked, taking in the sight of the son he'd missed so much. Scott was frozen, his eyes wide and expression stricken. He was, for reasons unknown, dressed in flip-flops, sweatpants six inches too short for him, and an eye-wateringly yellow t-shirt with TB4 emblazoned on it.

There were still so many damn clouds in Jeff's head, and he could do little but watch as Scott's legs seemed to lose the ability to support him. That was when he noticed the second person who had come into the room.

Kayo caught Scott by the arms, murmuring something to him as she propped him up. Eyes drawn to her, Jeff felt a complicated stab of pride and sadness as he took stock of how much she'd grown and matured since he saw her last. But then she was guiding Scott closer to the bed, and Jeff refocused on his son as the young man all but collapsed onto the side of the mattress.

It took more effort than he would've liked, but Jeff lifted a heavy hand and settled it over Scott's, fingers curling around his shaking ones.

The gesture seemed to break something in Scott, to snap some final tether of control. He slumped forward, collapsing against Jeff as the shaking spread to his whole body.

Jeff was instantly transported back to a thousand other moments, from the first time Scott was placed in his arms, a squalling, wriggling miracle, to the time he'd taken a curb wrong and gone vaulting over the handlebars of his bicycle to a bone-breaking landing, to the first time they'd lost someone on a rescue. Just as he had each and every one of those times, Jeff pulled Scott in close and held him tight, murmuring comforting nonsense in his ear, promising him that he was there.

One of the aches he'd been carrying in his chest since the day he was captured lessened just a little. He closed his eyes, treasuring the hard-earned moment.

When he felt Scott's shudders beginning to ease, Jeff looked up to Kayo, who was watching the scene with eyes that were brighter than usual. He gave her a smile, infused with warmth and gratitude and a thousand other things impossible to shape with words. He freed an arm from Scott and reached out to her. She hurried to the other side of his bed, settling herself down with far more grace than Scott had.

Jeff took her warm hand and squeezed it, and she nodded at him. He'd give her a proper hug later, but for now, he knew they'd already exchanged everything they needed to.

"The others?" he asked her, his voice coming out as a cracked rasp.

"Virgil, Gordon, and Alan were apparently a biohazard, so they're getting cleaned up," she told him, passing him a plastic cup of water as she did. "They'll be here soon. John…" She smiled, and relief hit Jeff hard enough to knock the wind out of him. "He's still not in great shape, but he's stable."

Although his throat was parched, Jeff couldn't take a drink yet. He pressed his face into Scott's shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut again as he struggled to hold himself together and keep breathing at the same time.

One, two, three, four, five; that was how many seconds he allowed himself to hide against Scott before pulling back. This was his first chance at being a good father to all of his children in far too long a time, and he didn't intend to squander it by breaking down when they still needed him.

He cleared his throat, and its ache reminded him of the water Kayo had given him. He took a sip, and Scott sat up to make the task easier for him, but made no move to leave his side. Jeff took the opportunity to survey him more carefully.

"And you?" he asked his son, remembering the chaos of those last few moments at the rescue site. Remembering the fear that had stabbed into his gut as he realized what Scott was planning to do, and again when the half-baked plan went dangerously wrong. "How're you doing, Scotty?"

"I'm fine, Dad," Scott dismissed, his voice edged with something almost…dark. "It was nothing."

Something about the way he said it triggered Jeff's parental instincts, but before he could say anything, Scott continued speaking.

"We've been working with Colonel Casey and the GDF since you've been gone," he said. Jeff already knew this from talking to John, but Scott still didn't give him the chance to interrupt. "We handed the whole situation over to her, including the man who attacked Alan during the rescue. The GDF was able to catch up with the sub, and everyone onboard is in custody now. Colonel Casey said she'd send a team down to investigate the facility, although they'll have to drain it first. But it - everything's being handled. So you don't have to - I should be helping them, I don't need to be sitting around here-"

Some kind of nervous energy seemed to have overtaken him, and he straightened his spine, rising to his feet as if to leave.

"Woah, hey," Jeff protested, grabbing his son's wrist before he could pull away entirely. He shot a mystified glance at Kayo, before returning his focus to Scott. "You belong here. I trust Colonel Casey to take care of things for now."

Especially now that he knew the submarine had been secured. Barrett had to be on it, which meant any revenge plans he might have been harboring would be impossible to act on. Jeff's family was safe.

Scott's expression pinched, but he didn't try to pull away. Before anyone could say another word, three new people appeared in the doorway, and all eyes turned to them. Some generous soul had found scrubs for Virgil, Gordon, and Alan, and they looked like a team of nervous interns with only the faintest idea of what they were supposed to be doing there.

Jeff felt a tired smile break out over his face as he surveyed them. They were pale and exhausted and shell-shocked, and they were the most wonderful sight he'd beheld in two years. He watched them as they filed in silently, emotion welling in his chest. He couldn't forget that one of their number was missing, but this, here, was so much more than he'd ever hoped to have again.

Swallowing past the lump in this throat, he let his smile widen.

"It's good to see you boys," he told them.

Alan let out a hiccuping laugh, and dropped down onto the bed beside Scott. Jeff folded him into the embrace they hadn't had time for down in that hellish facility, holding him tight. He looked at the rest of his boys over Alan's shoulder, watching as Gordon leaned into Virgil's side, and Virgil placed a hand on Scott's shoulder.

It was an imperfect reunion, full of holes and raw edges and things left unsaid. But Jeff would take it, and be glad.

Once enough hugs had been exchanged and everyone's eyes were mostly dry again, Jeff knew it was time to provide the explanations the boys and Kayo were all desperate for. He guided them through the same story he'd given John weeks ago, watching as storm clouds descended over their expressions. He was surprised and impressed to find out they'd already suspected Barrett, that Scott and Virgil had even confronted him.

He couldn't say he was thrilled to hear about that particular incident. The thought of Barrett anywhere near his other children was enough to make his blood simmer and his stomach turn. But he didn't dwell on it. Rather, he moved on to an explanation of what had happened to John.

Tried to, at least.

Jeff had always been a firm proponent of owning your mistakes, of not being ashamed of them so long as they were taken as learning opportunities. Jeff had done his best to teach by example in that regard.

But sitting there in that hospital bed, looking around at the family he'd raised, these remarkable individuals who had always looked up to him, viewed him as a role model, a hero, he found the words sticking in his tight throat.

How was he supposed to tell them he was responsible for their brother's torture, for the fact that they'd been mourning him for two months?

But he owed them the truth, no matter how painfully it would cost him. So he gave it to them.

"It's not your fault," Kayo was the first to say once he'd finally gotten the admission out.

"Of course not," Alan chimed in before she could go on. "You couldn't let that guy hurt all those people. John knew that."

Jeff focused on his youngest. Alan still looked weary and drawn, older than a boy his age had any right to look. He'd grown, Jeff could see that, in more ways than one. And here he was, offering his father absolution.

The wave of emotion that crashed through him was blindsiding, and he found he couldn't say anything at all. His throat seemed to have swollen shut, and his eyes burned. His eyes darted away from Alan's face, and he saw the same lack of blame in Gordon's face, in Scott's.

In a day of miracles, this was a precious one.

There was plenty Jeff had missed as well, and his kids took it upon themselves to fill him in. This turned out to be a bit of a chaotic affair, what with there being five of them all trying to tell what they felt were the most important parts of their story. It was the kind of organized chaos Jeff had gotten used to long ago, and the kind he hadn't realized he'd been missing so desperately. He didn't even try to impose order on the situation, just sat back and tried to let it sink in that he really was back with his family.

Kayo vanished at some point, and Jeff was told that she was probably hiding in John's ceiling. While the revelation sent a pang through him at the thought of John, isolated from visitors in his fragile, uncertain state, it also brought a small smile to his face.

As he listened to his sons, Jeff became more and more convinced that they were leaving out a number of details. He didn't have any particular foundation for his belief, other than the fact that he knew these young men better than anyone else in the world, and his instincts were telling him so.

But he didn't interrupt, didn't call them to task. They had the certainty of time now. Jeff would have the chance to sit with them all, one on one, after they'd had time to process and react. He would have the chance to get to know them again, to talk everything through with them individually, to tease out their hurts and burdens and fears. Until then, he would let them tell everything as they needed to.

They'd arrayed themselves in a tight cluster on and around the bed, and Alan and Gordon were in the middle of a good-natured argument Jeff was struggling to keep up with when there was a knock on the door. They all looked up to see a doctor entering the room. This woman was older than Dr. O'Brien, who'd already stopped in to check on Jeff. Her grey-streaked hair was braided back from her dark face, and she carried a tablet in the crook of her arm.

"I'm Dr. Sorenson. You're John Tracy's family, yes?" she asked, glancing down at her tablet.

The focus in the room sharpened palpably, and Jeff sat up as best he could.

"That's us," he said, although he suspected she was already certain of the answer. "I'm his father."

"You have a very strong son, Mr. Tracy," the woman told him with a smile.

Didn't Jeff know it.

"How is he?" he asked.

"Recovering. We were able to identify the specific bacteria making him sick, and he's responding well to the targeted antibiotic. The infection should clear up within a few days. Now, there's been some damage to his lungs, and his body and immune system have been weakened. He's going to feel pretty crappy for a while, and I'll want to keep him here for at least a week, but I see no reason not to expect a full recovery."

She gave them all another smile, pausing to allow them to ask whatever questions they might have. Jeff had plenty. He wanted to ask about the effects of the other things John had been through, about compromised immune systems and psychological trauma and where they were supposed to go from here. But the boys were all still listening intently, and he didn't want to give them any more unnecessary burdens.

"Can he have visitors?" he asked instead.

"So long as precautions are taken to minimize the amount of germs carried into his room, absolutely. We've kept him sedated, but we're weaning him off of that now. It might be a while before he wakes up, but it would do him good to have some friendly faces there when he does."

Jeff nodded, wishing Dr. O'Brien hadn't expressly forbidden him from leaving his bed until she gave him clearance to. He'd have to see about getting himself moved to John's room.

"Did I hear that one of you was the person who provided first aid on the way here?" Dr. Sorenson asked, looking between Virgil and Scott. Virgil lifted a hand, his expression twisting a little, and she focused on him. "You probably saved his life. There's a good chance he would've suffocated without that breathing tube."

The words seemed to hit Virgil like a physical blow. He flinched, shaking his head.

"They saved his life," he said, waving at his brothers. "I just got him here."

Looking more closely at his middle son, Jeff frowned. Virgil had been the quietest among the small group since their arrival, and there was something about the set of his shoulders, the shadows in his eyes, that suggested John wasn't the only one facing a long road to recovery.

"Go," Jeff said to his sons. "Sit with John. I'll come join you when I can."

The indecision was clear in their faces. They wanted to see their brother, but they didn't want to stop seeing Jeff. He gave them a warm smile.

"It's all right," he insisted. "He needs you more now. I'll feel better knowing he's got you with him."

That did it. With a few last glances over their shoulders at him, the boys trooped out of the room. Jeff watched them go, feeling just the slightest bit of relief at the chance to compose himself without them looking to him for strength and support.

He leaned back against his pillows, exhaustion pressing down on him like a blanket. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept, really slept, unburdened by the fear of what he might wake up to.

Despite the thoughts and emotions still whirling through him, he'd almost drifted into a light doze when he was lifted from it by the sound of a voice growing louder.

"He's just in here." That was all the warning Jeff got before the clouded glass door to his room was sliding open.

"Oh." The familiar voice was uncharacteristically faint, stunned.

The air rushed out of Jeff's lungs. Just like that, he might as well have been ten years old again.

"Mom?" He heard his voice crack, but he didn't care.

She'd been staring at him in shocked silence, but now she crossed the room in three strides, reaching out. Jeff sat up to meet her, and then he was in his mother's arms. He clutched at her, suddenly desperate for the strength, the support, the peace she'd been a source of his whole life.

He didn't even realize he'd started crying until he felt her hand stroking through his hair, heard the soothing whisper of her voice in his ear. This time, he didn't fight the oncoming tide. This time, he didn't have to be the parent, didn't have to be the strong one. There were still a hundred things to be dealt with, a thousand worries on his mind, but there, in the embrace that held a lifetime of comfort and safety, Jeff finally let himself fall apart.

A/N: Again, sorry for the slow update! I had a very busy semester and then several long weeks of writer's block. But I would never abandon our boys, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter! We're nearing the end now, but there are still at least two chapters to go :)