Hello again everyone!

I promised you a sequel to "Abduction" and here it is! Once again, I'd like to encourage all of you who read this to review it, so that I may continue to strive toimprove myself as a writer.

A quick note for anyone who has not read my work before, this fic relies heavily on the events of "Abduction", so I highly recommend you read it before starting on this one.

Great to be back guys! Let me know what you think!

Love always, Boann xxx

The tropical island paradise that was Tracy Island was a vision Alan Tracy welcomed. After being abducted by his school professor, Peter Corper, Alan never thought he would see his home again. The thought of the hundreds of miles of ocean separating him from the memories and reminders of his ordeal brought hope of liberation from the endless, horrifying recollections that plagued his weary mind.

He just wanted things to go back to normal. Back to the way things were. His family had constantly reassured him that they would get there, but for Alan, it was a painfully slow progress.

When he and his family had arrived back home two days ago, they had all immediately been reminded of how long it was going to be before peace and tranquillity returned. A reminder that Alan had personally provided by collapsing on the patio steps, moments after their arrival.

Alan cringed at the memory. He had been so relieved to get back home; it was as if he could just let the walls restraining his emotions crumble. Immediately his father and brothers had been at his side, holding him as he sobbed uncontrollably. He had been aware of the Kiranos and Hackenbackers standing on the patio above, the expressions on their faces revealing their discomfort. Neither Fermat nor Tintin had come to console him. They had merely stood there as if uncertain of what to do.

By now, Tintin and Fermat had visited him in the sickbay, voicing their relief and concern. Alan was grateful, but there was apart of him that withdrew from his friends. He knew he wasn't ready to talk to them about his ordeal just yet. He didn't know if he ever would be. In fact, he hadn't really talked to anybody about it. He'd clung to his family for comfort, but had avoided conversation with the ever-successful plea for sleep.

In actual fact, he no longer had desires to sleep. He couldn't see the point of it anymore. Not with the nightmares that promised to disturb every attempt he made to attain a peaceful slumber. He was also growing restless. Gordon had joked that it was a good sign; that he was returning to his old self. But Alan didn't smile at his brother's jokes anymore. He hardly ever spoke or made any expression. Occasional nodding and murmurs seemed to satisfy those around him, and for Alan, it was more than enough.

Physically, he was doing better. Virgil had kept a constant eye on him and gradually his progress had improved. Apart from the occasional cough, the pain in his chest had grown tolerable and, although his arm was still bound to a sling, the physical therapy he did every morning with Virgil was helping his shoulder. Despite this, Virgil and his father were adamant that he needed to remain in the sickbay for the rest of the week. Alan wasn't bothered, because quite frankly he wouldn't know what to do with himself if he left the sickbay.

He was an empty shell. The only emotion he knew was fear.

"Hey, Alan, you with me?" a gentle voice brought him back to reality.

He looked up to see John at his bedside. He frowned. Only a moment ago, Scott had been there.

John noticed his expression. "It's ok. Scott just left to go and get some breakfast. It's my turn to stay with. Is that alright?"

Alan nodded. So long as he wasn't alone, it was alright.

John gave a small smile, placing a hand on his arm. "How was your night? Did you get much sleep at all?"

Alan gave a sigh. "I got a few hours," he murmured.

John nodded. "That's good. Do you want to talk about it at all?"

It was the one question guaranteed to be asked by everyone who came to sit with him. But each time, Alan just shook his head wearily and replied, "No."

He couldn't ignore the disappointment on John's face as his brother nodded, grimly.

"I brought you something to eat," said John, reaching over to the bedside table, where a small tray sat. On it was a plate of toast. Just one slice, cut into quarters. Just like when he was sick as a boy.

John put the tray on the side of the bed, between him and Alan. Once again, Alan shook his head. "I'm not hungry," he mumbled, looking at his hands to avoid another look of disappointment.

John leant closer to him. "Alan, we've been over this. You can't starve yourself. Your body won't take that kind of treatment. You can't punish yourself like that," he said, softly.

Alan so badly wanted to try, for his family. But the thought of food made him sick. "It's hard," Alan whimpered, forbidding the tears to come.

John held his hand and gave his a comforting squeeze. "I know," he soothed. "I know."

John rubbed the back of his neck, gently. "Tell you what. Just try and eat one quarter, then I'll be satisfied. Deal?" John appealed.

Alan brought his head up to face his brother's blue eyes. Eyes that were so like his own. He nodded, slowly.

The process was unsteady, but he managed to get one piece down. And John, true to his word, didn't ask anymore of him. Instead he set the tray back on the table and settled Alan in. Alan lay his head back against the pillows propped under his shoulders and focused on keeping what he had eaten in his stomach. His eyes began to droop when suddenly someone was at his other side, a hand on his arm.

"Alan, are you awake?" asked Virgil's voice, softly.

"Leave him be. He needs what rest he can get," John implored, softly.

"I'm awake," Alan spoke up, grateful for an excuse not to sleep, although he knew what awaited him in return.

Virgil stood to his left, smiling, warmly. "Hey, sprout. It's that time of day again," he said, jokingly cheerful.

Alan didn't return the smile. Physio. Great.