John and Tin-tin cornered Jeff at his desk, although metaphorically in John's case. The case put forwards was an argument they had already had, but this time they had come prepared with all the answers to Jeff's put-downs.

Jeff didn't want Alan to have to deal with being so far away from his family with Virgil still recovering, so there was no way the youngest would be sent up to Thunderbird Five. No one had asked Alan's view since he would have just added another layer of argument which they didn't need. Jeff had said no, and that would be final no matter how much the young astronaut might have bitched about it. So John had an alternative offer.

"No. Absolutely not."

""Dad, be reasonable; this is the best answer at the moment."

"No." Jeff glanced between the video call with his son, and the young woman standing in front of his desk. "Tin-Tin, you know I admire you greatly and will never question your skills, but you aren't trained for Five."

"I've completed the anti-grav training, and I am proficient with the simulator programs for Five in all emergency protocols that Brains could think of. I have also logged more space hours than either Gordon or Virgil, and am only three days short of Scott's running total." Tin-Tin stated calmly. "I'm also far less emotional than Alan. There is no reason why I can't man Five for at least a week or two."

"I'm not saying you aren't capable, but it's dangerous. The calls are not an easy thing to deal with – John will tell you that – and it can really get to you being so isolated when there's someone relying on you." Jeff sat down heavily in his office chair. "I am responsible for everyone's welfare here, and I don't want to throw you into outer space without any prior training to living in such conditions!"

"We've thought that through too, Dad." John didn't really get annoyed or exasperated with people, but there was a little edge to his voice that said he would quite like his father to trust their judgement. "I'm going to stay on call, just down here. If something really nasty comes through and Tin-Tin really doesn't feel comfortable in handling it she can relay it down to me. It's the system I already have with Alan and it's worked well with him. And if all else fails I can be back up there in just a few hours."

"It's not just a question of-"

"And Tin-Tin is fluent in, what was it, five?"

"Seven." Tin-Tin said with a proud smirk.

"Seven languages. That's more than enough and the translation software will do the rest. The meteor detection and destruction system has never failed me, and we will all stay in constant contact."

"If Alan can do it I certainly can." The woman added.

Jeff pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm really not doubting your abilities here, I just…what would your father say if something happened to you up there?! I'd have sent you into a space station all on your own with no proper training and no back-up. That doesn't come across well no matter how you look at it."

"I'm an adult, I can make my own decisions and my father respects that. I'm not asking to do anything more than you already have your own children do." Tin-Tin glanced at John and he nodded encouragingly, seeing that she was more than holding her own. "I've already made my mind up in this and you won't change it. Virgil needs his family, all his family, with him at the moment. It would be selfish of me to not do something that could help, and here is something I could do."

"Tin-Tin…"

"She can do it, Dad." John said quietly. "It was her idea and we've talked it over extensively and I really think she can do it. Yeah, some of the calls can be really really tough, but as I said, those can be routed down and I'll take over. The isolation isn't as bad as everyone always thinks since so many people are calling in and there's the option of keeping an open line to the island."

"I've done more dangerous things in the name of International Rescue. I think nearly flying into the sun is the most memorable occasion, but the rescues over the past few months have certainly had their moments. If I can take part in dangerous missions, sitting up in a space station will be nothing."

"You two are impossible." Jeff had to laugh, shaking his head. "It's hardly just sitting around in a space station-"

"No, it really is." John said with a grin. He could already see that his father was caving. Jeff wanted him home nearly as much as Virgil did and as much as he would protest, this idea would work so it made sense that he should take the option. "Dad, there's no argument here and you know it. Tin-Tin is capable, willing and she's done far more than this in the past few months with even less training. Remember Budapest? If she can fly Two home she can certainly man a glorified telephone."

It was true. Having had to step up to fill the empty position on the team, Tin-Tin had gone through serious on-the-job training – manning the pod equipment, co-ordinating rescues and, yes, on one memorable occasion flying Thunderbird Two home. She had climbed down mine shafts, run through burning buildings, tackled earthquakes, tornadoes and hurricanes. She had gone through a lot in four months, but come out the other side stronger.

Alan was certainly more than a little frightened of her.

"…Fine." The Tracy patriarch sat back in his chair and observed the two in front of him. "But as a trial only. Three days and then we'll review the situation, yes?"

"But-"

"Three days, Tin-Tin, and then if it's working we'll discuss what can happen longer term."

John grinned. "Any way we can make this a surprise? I'd love to see Virgil's face if I just appeared here and he had no idea."

"If you can think of a way to secretly launch a rocket and then land it again less than four hundred feet away from the med-bay, sure. It can be a surprise."

MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWM

John liaised with Brains.

The scientist had promised that he would let Virgil attempt to move around a bit more, and that meant removing the catheter. In turn, Virgil had demanded at least some sort of anaesthetic for that – Brains was a dear family friend, but there were some things that you just didn't want to have to be awake for, friends or not. It wasn't a procedure that required anaesthesia, but the pilot wasn't taking no for an answer. Just…not happening.

But that meant that there was a window in which Thunderbird Three could take off where Virgil was under and wouldn't notice a thing. Landing was a trickier matter, but Brains made sure to start the pilot on some physio exercises the moment the anaesthetic wore off so he was fast asleep when the rocket returned. Although he did wake up he was groggy enough to believe that it was Thunderbird One, and not Three that he had heard.

Virgil had dozed off again. He was tired, his chest was sore thanks to the exercises Brains was making him do and as much as he desperately wanted to be able to leave the med-bay the thought of trying to walk was exhausting.

He was disturbed out of his hazy dreams by the door swishing open and soft footsteps. Whoever it was sat down in the chair next to him, but he was hardly in the mood to converse. It was still looming in his mind that at some point soon he needed to find the energy to try leaving the bed that had been his prison for the past few weeks, and that was a tiring thought in itself.

Nope, his visitor wasn't leaving. Half cracking open an eye he spied a mop of blonde hair and closed his eyes again.

"Go 'way Alan, 'm sleeping…"

"Actually, the pipsqueak's watching TV; I'm the more handsome of the astronaut's in this family."

Virgil's eyes shot open at the voice. "John?!" There was no way. It couldn't be possible…

"Well, aren't you looking simply dreadful?"

"John?!" Seriously, there was no way John could be there. He was on Five, he was always on Five. There was no way...For a long moment Virgil wondered if he was still asleep, he couldn't accept what his eyes were trying to tell him. "What…how…?"

"Teleportation. It's top secret but I've been working on it for some time." John saw the completely lost expression on his younger brother' face and dropped the joking. "Hey, it's okay, I am actually here."

"Oh God, Johnny!"

John wasn't really a hugging person. He wasn't fond of physical contact and was always that brother that shook hands with family members when greeting them.

However, Virgil ignored the unspoken rule of 'don't hug John'.

"Hey kiddo."

"Oh for God's sake! Don't you call me that too! Alan is the only one we are allowed to call that!"

"Currently even I could beat the crap out of you, I'm calling you what I want." It had been a long time since John had had that particular mop of brown hair tucked under his chin or arms around his waist. He didn't do hugging and Virgil had reliably been a pat-on-the-back type of guy since leaving his teenage years so it was very much a blast from the past to have his younger brother actually being a younger brother again. Virgil was their dependable one. Strongest, calmest, not technically the leader, but the one they relied on to get the job done.

Even Scott seemed to forget their middle brother was actually one of the younger ones. Because that was how it worked; Alan and Gordon were the young ones, the babies of the group, and somehow Virgil had ended up on the same level as Scott and John. John found himself with the unusual thought that actually, yes, Virgil was still his little brother.

"Right, I think you've broken the 'no hugs' rule for long enough. I'm glad to see you aren't dead and all, but off."

Virgil laughed and did as was asked. "How the hell are you even here? I'm pretty sure I would have noticed Three."

"Well obviously you didn't. You were out when she went up and asleep when we touched down. Apparently Brains told you it was One you had heard and you actually believed him!"

"Oh give me a break – I'm hardly at my best right now."

John sat back in his chair, surveying his younger brother. "Yeah about that; how are you feeling now?"

"Asides from a bullet wound to the lower back, some serious rib fractures, titanium rib replacements, and an absolutely superb case of PTSD? Breezy. Never been better."

"Titanium replacements? Scott mentioned something about that, but I was more concerned with everything else you had going on."

Virgil looked quite amused. "Bottom right of my rib cage, where the bullet went in, they had to replace two or three ribs. Apparently they splintered and the army medics thought it best to just remove the mess and put in titanium instead."

"That's going to be fun going through airport scanners. And PTSD?"

"Brains thinks so. I don't know – I don't understand the condition enough to know if he's right or not."

John smiled sympathetically. "I'd say it's not unrealistic to suspect it. Since you had so much fun stuck in a cave and all." The words were light and joking, but there was something in his eyes that said so much more about how he really felt seeing his brother in such a state. Virgil had made so much progress over the past few weeks, but in the end he was still in a hospital bed, pale, withdrawn and talking far too cheerfully about injuries that should have killed him. John had heard that false cheerfulness before, usually in people who were so overwhelmed they had no choice but to button it all down and laugh over it.

Yeah, PTSD was going to be something they were all going to keep a very close eye out for. And not just in Virgil – the space monitor was still concerned about how often Scott mentioned being unable to sleep due to nightmares, and Alan had tiptoed around every conversation concerning Virgil's recovery. The whole family had been badly affected.

But for the short term at least John was probably a world expert in drawing people's attention away from the bad things and getting them to focus on something else. It wasn't a cure, it wasn't a certainty, but in the moment it worked.

"Hey, I threatened to drag you over to the piano again, didn't I?"

Virgil grinned, and it was a smile that really reached his eyes. "You did. You also threatened to try and play a duet."

"Time to make good on that threat?"

"Uh…I haven't stood up for nearly a month. I think we might need Brains to give the go ahead."

"Wheelchair!"

"I don't want to use a wheelchair!"

John's infectious grin gave way to seriousness for a moment. "Give me a mo'." He leant over and grabbed the tablet with all of the medical data from the end of the bed. "Have you got any IV lines or anything left?"

"No, I'm off of everything except oral antibiotics. Why?"

"Just making sure if I bust you out of here I won't accidently kill you in the process." The space monitor was quickly scanning through the recent readouts on the tablet. "So according to this it's just sore ribs and being careful not to pull the entry wound?"

"Yeah, 'just' sore ribs."

The sarcasm went over John's head. "This does still say you're underweight though, lots of various deficiencies, although those are improving. Grandma's going to have a field day feeding you up."

"She's already trying! I could only manage half the bowl of soup she made yesterday and you'd have thought I'd kicked her favourite puppy."

"You're the one known for going back for fourths at dinner. Now come on; medical records say you aren't going to fall to pieces, so are we going or what?"

Virgil grinned.

MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMW

Jeff had joined Alan in the main living area to watch some reruns of Firefly when they heard the music. There were some dud notes and it was very stilted, but it was still very obviously the Charlie Brown theme. When Jeff muted the TV in disbelief it became clear it was the Charlie Brown theme with added laughter.

"At what point did you look at the bass hand during your practice?"

"Not all of us are virtuosos!"

There was a bad chord and then the music stopped momentarily.

"Oh for God's sake! Swap! I'll do the bass!"

It started again, smoother and sounding much more like it should.

Jeff left the couch and slowly made his way over to the large sliding doors that separated them from the area with the piano. No one had dared touch the instrument – a sort of unspoken curse hanging over its lid. It was Virgil's piano. And without him it shouldn't be played.

And now there was music coming from the room again.

The door was very slightly slid open – which was why they could hear it over the TV – so Jeff peered through the small gap, unwilling to intrude.

John couldn't play very well any more. As a child he had been excellent – maybe if he'd kept it up he would have been on par with his younger brother – but astronomy and computers and stars had dragged him away from the music and he hadn't looked back except in brief moments of nostalgia.

Nearly four months had left Virgil rusty, but probably only to his own ears. Given that he wasn't about to attempt the Flight of the Bumblebee any time soon he still sounded as good as ever on the simpler tunes. Certainly when playing alongside his brother who, as stated, really couldn't play well any more.

"You're hopeless." Virgil finally gave up, shaking his head with a laugh. He automatically reached over for one of the heavier books that rested on the top of the piano, then froze with a gasp, his hand flying to his side.

"Are you alright?!"

"Ribs. Ribs don't like moving." He slowly moved his arm back down, so that he wasn't over-stretching the damaged muscles. "Damn that hurts!"

John looked like he expected his brother to spontaneously combust in front of him. "Are you sure you're alright?! You haven't re-broken something, or pulled something or, or…something?"

"Pretty sure." Virgil had gone pale, but was already grinning again. "Oh my God, you're worse than Scott! I just over-stretched, I do it all the time. Come on, you've broken your ribs before, you know what it's like!"

"Breaking your ribs because you fell off your bike is very different to having a bullet go through half of them."

"It's not half of them." He tentatively rotated his shoulder a few times, then rested his fingers on the keys again. "See? It's feeling better already."

"Are you this stubborn on rescues? Do you routinely snap bones and then not tell us because you're 'feeling better already'?"

Virgil shot his brother an amused look. "I won't deny hiding injuries, but I can't say I've ever snapped something and not told anyone." He started playing softly, a quiet, repetitive refrain.

"You've flown home with a fractured wrist before now."

"Yes, and once I'd landed I told Brains."

"You're impossible." John nudged the younger man with his shoulder, only gently but in an echo of their usual rougher manner. "You know, sometimes I wonder why the hell you didn't just build yourself an Ironman suit and blast your way out of that place."

"Lack of palladium. I had all the plans ready and everything, but you know what? Those bastard terrorists just refused to give me any palladium. I mean, it was a perfectly reasonable request and all, but nope. Gutted." Virgil's voice was deadpan, but he cracked a moment later when he played the opening chords to I am Ironman.

"Whilst I don't doubt that you probably could make an Ironman suit, I'd really rather you didn't." Jeff finally pushed the sliding door open a little more, announcing his presence. "We've got enough problems trying to get Scott to fly at a decent speed."

Both his sons looked at him like children caught with their hands in the cookie jar. The fact that they'd busted Virgil out of the med-bay without Brains's permission was enough to land them both in hot water. Virgil was still only in his pyjamas – shorts and an old t-shirt given that they lived in a tropical climate and all – and he probably should have had another layer than just the fleece John had thrown over his shoulders.

"Um…"

Jeff levelled the both of them with his very best stern glare – the one he'd learnt in the airforce and perfected in NASA.

"It was his idea!" Virgil threw the blame.

"I come all the way down from outer orbit for you and the first thing you do is tattle-tale?!"

"I'm the invalid, there's no way I'd have escaped without help! You're up to your neck in this!"

"You're both in trouble as far as I'm concerned. Virgil, as good as it is to see you out of bed – and damn son, it is good to see you out of bed! – you should have talked it all through with Brains first! You can't just break out of the med-bay with your injuries."

Virgil looked shamefaced, but it was obviously an act when he started playing The Great Escape theme tune, which made John snort with laughter. Jeff rounded on the space monitor.

"And you are the responsible one! I'd expect this from Gordon maybe, but not from you!"

John's poker face was legendary and he turned it up to the maximum. "Expert research says that music is soothing, calming, promotes uninterrupted sleep and can help combat depression and PTSD symptoms. So really I'm being a responsible older brother by helping with Virgil's mental health. The other option was to bring the piano to him – but the med-bay is slightly too small for a baby-grand."

There was simply no way Jeff could pretend to be angry. To have Virgil looking so genuinely happy was worth any inconvenience to his medical plans. The young man's eyes were lit up again, his smile real and there was actual animation in his movements. Since waking up he had been slow and careful about everything he did, trying to do everything possible to avoid the inevitable pain that came with the smallest activity.

Yet the lure of the piano had allowed him to face that pain enough to actually leave the med-bay entirely and get himself to another room. And he wasn't letting it restrict him. Jeff had seen the aborted attempt to reach the music book, and said a lot that that hadn't stopped Virgil from continuing to play.

"We've missed music in this household." The Tracy patriarch said with a smile. "It's good to hear the piano again."

Virgil looked down at the keys, their black and white pattern so familiar that they were almost an extension of his fingers. "I've missed music too. I don't think I've ever been so long without playing since I started learning."

"It doesn't sound like you're out of practice."

The young man smiled slightly. "Trust me, I really am."

"Can you still play Bowie's Starman?" Alan had popped his head around the edge of the door, having over-heard the conversation but waiting for a moment to join in without interrupting.

"I think so? Give me a moment to find the chord."

It only took him a single attempt to put the song in the right key; he might have been out of practice playing but his perfect pitch was intuitive as always.

The piano stool wasn't big enough for three of them – it was hardly enough for both John and Virgil to squeeze onto together – so Alan dragged over another chair to sit on the pianist's other side. Only a few bars in and Scott appeared, then Grandma, and finally Gordon dripping water all over the carpet. Music calling the family together.

It was Alan who couldn't resist first; joining in with the lyrics when they reached the chorus, but Gordon had the voice for the song type and quickly took over from his younger brother to belt out the words. For all that everyone accused him of being useless at anything musical (he tried valiantly at the guitar, but could still only manage about three chords) he had just the right tone and quality to his voice for rock.

By the second verse Scott had booted John off the other side of the piano stool and joined in up the top octave with the harmony. As opposed to the space monitor he could still play pretty well.

Jeff took a step back from the main group around the piano, standing to the side so that he could just quietly observe his sons. It was so rare to have all of his boys together at any one time – in fact it hadn't really happened since Thunderbird Five had been finished – that he was simply enjoying watching them interact.

For a very long moment as the music washed around him he could imagine that everything was exactly back to how it should have been.

MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMW

Things weren't back to normal in any way, shape or form.

Brains had been furious – again – at Virgil's blatant disregard for his health, but took it out on John this time as the main instigator. If nothing else Virgil was so exhausted by the time they got him back to the med-bay he was in no state for a lecture on the fundamentals of not reinjuring himself.

All he could reliably manage was falling asleep before his head hit the pillow.

Someone was outside the cell, talking loudly. It was Dari though; he couldn't speak Dari no matter how hard he tried to find a common base with the languages he was familiar with.

Robbie wasn't there.

That was…wrong. Robbie should have been there but he found himself alone in the in the tiny space. Sat in the dark, listening to a language he didn't understand and trying to control his breathing against the rising panic.

Everything hurt.

It wasn't an exaggeration or sweeping statement – everything really did hurt and he couldn't remember why. Had there been another beating? Possibly. It certainly felt like it could have been the case – his chest hurt as he tried to breathe, and every heartbeat sent a roll of pain through his head. Muscles that he couldn't recall using were aching like he'd run a marathon, tendons pulled and tender in his elbows and knees.

And they were outside the cell again, talking away in a language they knew he couldn't use, planning God-knows-what to do to him next.

Fear. It was like a poison in his veins. Painfully familiar and a constant companion, it clawed it's way up his throat. A scream trying to make itself heard, but emerging as a sob that echoed around the rocky walls; fear at its most base and primal.

Virgil was woken by his own voice, although he had no idea what he might have said.

For a long moment he lay still as his brain ran through the usual checklist to work out whether or not he was still dreaming. It wasn't working very well; it had been second nature since being taken, trying to remind himself of the difference between reality and dream but now he was struggling to remember the order in which to run his list, and what each component meant.

What was he lying on? Soft. He was lying on something soft. Did that mean he was awake now? Or had that been a dream? He remembered Tracy Island, but was that part of a dream, or was he still going to wake up on cold, hard gravel?

Was he in pain? Yes. Simply put, yes. That told him nothing.

…

3) …

…

He couldn't remember what point three was. Or even how many points he had.

The room was dark. Everything hurt.

The fear was still there, biting and deep and irrational. That dream-like sense of something's coming to get you. The room wasn't safe; it was too dark, too still and the sense that someone, something was out there in the shadows was too strong to ignore. He wasn't one to let a dream get to him usually, but this...This he couldn't tell. Was he still dreaming or was he awake and the danger was real?

He could still hear muttering coming from the darkness; soft and sinister. He was far too confused and disorientated to try and work out if there was a more logical explanation as to what he could hear. His mind said voices, so he heard voices.

The tiled floor was so cold as to be misinterpreted as painful under his bare feet. Everything was aching – muscles feeling overworked and his head pounding as he tried to pull himself to standing.

He wasn't safe here.

The med-bay door wasn't locked – it was Gordon they normally locked in, Virgil was only a flight risk when under John's influence it seemed – and it slide open with a soft hiss.

The house at night was lit with low level emergency lighting, soft red strips that ran along the joins between wall and floor so that if a call came in in the middle of the night people would be able to see as they ran to the main rooms. However, it also lent an eerie glow to the corridors, a deep crimson coming up from the floor.

Virgil was struggling. He couldn't work out where he was or where he was going. The walls felt like they were closing in on him. Or maybe falling? Were they even walls or still the rough stone of the caves? The floor was so cold under his feet and he hurt. The thumping headache was making his vision swim so it was a jarring shock when his shoulder hit the wall, throwing his balance off.

Had they heard that?

Got to get away.

The red light was confusing him, making shapes and shadows loom larger than life. Rock formations turned into house plants, bookshelves turned into armed men. Which were real? Which way round was it?

The young man fell against the wall again, and stayed there a moment, his head resting against the smooth surface. It was difficult to breathe – his chest was so tight – and his legs weren't going to be able to hold his weight much longer. The cool plane of the wall was soothing against his aching head and helped to slightly clear his mind so that he could focus on his surroundings a little.

Corridor. Floor tiles. Smooth painted walls.

The nightmarish landscape began to fall away somewhat as reality bled in. Virgil still wasn't sure where he was but the fierce panic was dying down to a dull fear. He shouldn't be out here; enough awareness had crept in to tell him that he shouldn't be here, wherever 'here' was. He should be…Room? Bed? Cell? Somewhere else.

He hurt.

There were still voices, but different now. A gentle murmur from down the corridor that didn't elicit the same fear response as what he had heard earlier. Virgil tried to push away from the wall, not with any real intent to go anywhere, but to at least start moving again. The new voices were indistinguishable but in his confused state he knew that they meant safety.

One hand had to stay braced against the wall as he tried to continue on with every muscle in his legs screaming at him. The world was swimming, making even less sense of an already confusing place. The red light didn't help one bit; even if the distorted shadows were looking less threatening things still weren't right.

The floor felt like it was tipping under his feet and for a brief moment his over-tired brain tried to place ice into the equation as it tried to match the cold and the unsteady sensation. It was nauseating when added with the headache and unfocussed vision.

Virgil's hand, using the wall as support, ran out of wall and his fingers found the edge of a door frame. He stood there for a moment, trying to find his balance in a world that insisted in spinning around him in a blur of red and darkness and disquieting noises that made no sense.

He didn't know he had fallen until his knees hit the cold tiles with a crunch.

The voices were louder, closer, and then slowly the incomprehensible babble separated out into understandable words. His name. Someone was saying his name, but he had nothing left in him to try and respond.

It wasn't necessary to try though. There was a hand on his back for a moment, a gentle question being asked that he couldn't hope to try and answer and then strong hands under his arms, carefully lifting him back to his feet. He just went with it, not questioning or resisting.

Given that it was nearly three in the morning the last thing Scott and John had expected to interrupt their Family Guy marathon was their younger brother suddenly collapsing in the corridor outside the living room. They weren't the types to panic in such a situation, but they were certainly taken aback.

"Virgil?" Scott had been the first one up to investigate the noise outside so was the first to reach where Virgil was slumped on the floor, curling over his knees. "Virg? What the hell are you doing out here?!" He didn't get a reply so reached out to rest his hand on his brother's back. "Hey, Virgil? Can you hear me?" There wasn't much by way of an answer, although given that Virgil was still holding his posture he probably wasn't unconscious.

"What the hell?" John was at the doorway, looking shocked.

"No idea, but he's running a temperature." Scott lifted his hand from his brother's back where the heat from Virgil's body had been radiating. "God knows why he's here, but he needs to be in bed and we need to get Brains."

"We can't drag him all the way back down to the med-bay." John was the one who kept a level head in a crisis and was already assessing the situation. "Let's get him onto the sofa to begin with, and then think about calling Brains in if he doesn't come round."

All of the Tracy brothers were well versed in the physics involved in moving a body, and it was much easier given that Virgil wasn't fully unconscious, so wasn't a dead weight. They got him onto the sofa, and whilst Scott ran to fetch some blankets, John used some pillows to raise Virgil's feet. The middle brother was mumbling something, but not quite making sense. Something about voices and shadows.

"What the hell were you doing, you dumbass?" John brushed back the sweaty hair from Virgil's face and was half-heartedly batted away. Scott had been right – their middle brother was running what felt like quite a temperature. Technically they should have called Brains in straight away, but it was three in the morning and if they could bring it back down themselves then they didn't need to wake the scientist so obscenely early. If it got worse or hadn't gone back down in an hour or so then they could start to call in the cavalry.

"Has he said anything?" Scott came back in with an armful of duvets – his own, John's and Virgil's.

"Nothing that made sense. But that's just business as usual really. You're right about his temperature though – he's not going to need a blanket."

"They're for us. I've turned the air-con on in here so it's gonna get pretty chilly in a few minutes." Sure enough they could already hear the unit beginning to rumble quietly and a moment later the breeze of cold air began to circulate.

It was about five minutes or so – and a general ambient temperature drop of a considerable amount – before Virgil stirred again, opening his eyes to look confused but lucid.

"…The hell?"

"Oh, sleeping beauty awakens." Scott grinned teasingly. He leant over to rest his hand on his younger brother's forehead, only to be batted away. "How are you feeling?"

"Confused. Why am I in the living room? And why is it so cold?!" Virgil had to use the back of the sofa to pull himself upright. He then raised a hand up to his head with a groan.

"Answer my question first, because 'confused' isn't an answer and you know it. What hurts?"

That drew a soft laugh from the middle Tracy. "Do you want the list in alphabetical order or anatomical?" He shifted enough so that he was sitting properly, then groaned again as the sudden movement drew a rush of blood into to his head, making the pain increase dramatically. "Okay…that. That's pretty bad."

"Virge?" John immediately had his hand on his brother's back as the younger man leant forwards, cradling his head. "How bad is bad?"

"Pretty damn bad."

"Whereabouts?"

"Front of my head…don't worry…this is normal…"

"How is this –"

"Urgh, Scott, feeling sick…" Virgil had certainly gone a rather horrible colour.

"Do we need to get Brains?" John was looking frantic.

It was Scott who answered, looking sympathetic, but calmer than John felt he should. "No; I know what's wrong. You're rarely here to see this Johnny, but this is classic Dehydrated Virgil." He was backed up by another groan from his middle brother. "This is what I have to deal with when Mr Muscles over-exerts himself on a rescue and forgets to drink."

"Oh…" It was true; this was the side of things John wasn't really aware of. His brothers only informed him of actual injures – day to day problems like dehydration, sunburn, heatstroke and the like weren't usually mentioned unless they turned serious, which was very rare. "So…glass of water then? And painkillers?"

"Bucket first." Virgil grunted.

"Bucket?"

Scott was already over by the doors that led outside to the pool. "Standard routine; once he feels sick that's it until he actually is. Then we get fluids into him." He vanished out into the darkness for a moment, leaving John to rub comforting circles across their hunched up brother's shoulders.

"So this isn't unusual?"

"Not as common as Scott makes out. But not unusual."

"Is this what made you pass out?"

"I passed out?"

"You sure did!" Scott cheerfully dropped the bucket usually kept by the pool down in front of the patient. "But we'll discuss that in a minute. Sort yourself out first."

John didn't do people throwing up. He was a sympathetic vomiter and it was best for all parties concerned that he was out the room if someone was going to be sick. To this end he left to grab his tablet from his own room and dig into the digital files from the med-bay. He'd left the device charging so it took a moment for it to boot up and let him into the system files. It was then easy work navigating to where he wanted since he already had all the camera locations saved.

When he returned to the living room some ten minutes later Virgil was a much healthier colour and the bucket had vanished.

"Feeling better?"

The middle brother glanced up and nodded sheepishly. "Yeah, yeah, sorry."

"Not your fault. How's the headache?"

"Much better." Virgil was still holding his head in his hands, but now it looked more like he was just tired rather than in pain. He indicated with a thumb towards a half full pint glass next to him. "Scott's got me some water so now it's just a case of rehydrating and working out what the hell happened."

"Well, I think I can answer that." John sat down next to him, tablet on his knees. "I pulled the video files from the med-bay." He shrugged when Virgil shot him a nasty look. "Hey, how else were we going to know? Look, this may answer your questions."

The video wasn't brilliant, since it had been shot in the dark, but it was clear enough even with the sound turned off. Virgil was silent as he watched the image of himself on screen. It was quite obvious that he had been having a nightmare – and if asked he could have said as much – but what he hadn't realised was that he had been crying during it. Not just a few tears but serious, stuck-in-a-nightmare-and-can't-get-out honest to God crying.

"Oh Christ…"

"Hey, it's an unconscious reaction, you can't help it."

Virgil ran a tired hand over his face. "Yeah, yeah, I know." He laughed bitterly. "I don't even remember what I was dreaming about!"

"I think we could all guess what you were dreaming about."

"Yeah; that time Alan tried to make cookies like Mum used to and almost burnt the kitchen down."

"See, I was going to say when Gordon got the spray nozzles from One and Three mixed up and turned Thunderbird Four purple."

They both laughed at that. Yes, it was very obvious what he'd actually been dreaming about, but it didn't need saying. Virgil dumped the tablet back on his brother's lap.

"Well, anyway, at least we know how I dehydrated now. How long was I like that for?"

"About three hours."

The middle brother whistled through his teeth. "I rather think the headache should have been worse." He rubbed a hand across his eyes – now understanding why they felt so dry and scratchy. "Do you think this will happen again?"

"It may do. I'd be surprised if it didn't."

"Surprised if what didn't?" Scott re-entered the room, sans bucket, and slumped back down on Virgil's other side. John wordlessly handed him the tablet. "Oh."

"It's getting to the point where I'm a principle candidate for One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest." Virgil sighed.

"Nah, you haven't started talking to the walls yet." Scott sounded distracted as he went through the video clips. "Well, this explains some things then. Not the fever though, or the random sleep-walking trick you pulled."

"I think that was just exhaustion and dehydration combined. I don't think I'm still feverish." He batted away his older brother as John's hand immediately went to his forehead to confirm what he had said. "And we can turn the air-con off now; it's freezing in here!"

Even with the air-con off the room had chilled down to an uncomfortable level, so the three brothers ended up wrapped up in the duvets Scott had brought in. Virgil insisted that they switched over from Family Guy – which he hated – to some old episodes of Doctor Who; the ultimate feel-good fix.

"Maybe we should get you a service dog." Scott suggested half-way through an episode. "You know, one of those ones trained to wake you up from a nightmare, or bring you out of a flash-back. A PTSD dog."

"Well, that would work fantastically on rescues."

"I'd be worried if you were having a nightmare on a rescue. You need to be awake on a rescue."

"You know what I mean. And besides, Grandma's allergic."

"No shame in admitting you need some help though."

"I don't want to need help." The words should have been angry and bitter, but instead came out soft and tired as Virgil slumped down against the back of the sofa. "I just want a good night's sleep and not to have to worry about hurting myself when picking up a damn coffee mug!"

John nudged the middle Tracy with his elbow. "You're getting there; these things take time."

"I've spent time. I'm done with waiting. I hate being the invalid that everyone is tip-toeing around, I just want…I want to be me again."

Scott smiled sadly. "You know that's not going to happen."

"But-"

"Remember when Mum died? It's like that. An event so huge that it's going to scar no matter what. Doesn't mean you won't come out stronger, but you won't be able to see the world in the same way again."

"You're no good at comforting. I hope you realise that. 'Hey, you've gone through a traumatising event, let me remind you of another traumatising event to try and make you feel better!' Great plan."

"Look, it's this or I start quoting films at you."

Virgil smiled slightly, and allowed his brother an opening. Scott did love a good quote. "Fine. I wish none of this had ever happened."

"So do all who live to see such times!" Scott was beaming even if his Sir Ian Mckellen impression was way off. It was quite a heartfelt quote from the Fellowship of the Ring, but the way he was laughing spoilt it somewhat. "But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us."

"And you call me a nerd." John muttered.

"I'm quoting high-class literature, you speak Elven and Klingon."

"And Dothraki."

"That's new." Virgil was sounding sleepy again. "Have I missed a new season?"

"No, I just re-read the books."

The conversation jumped back and forth, between their various shared interests and passions – the TV now completely ignored. It was a familiar conversation about familiar things and it felt safe. Certainly safe enough for Virgil to slowly drop out of the conversation, listening to his brother's argue over superheroes and fantasy worlds.

He fell asleep to dragons, kryptonite, dark lords and rebel bases. The fantasy and surreal chasing away the very real horrors that still lurked in his mind just as they had done since he was young. With his head tipped onto Scott's shoulder and his knee knocking against John's it was the safest the middle Tracy had felt in a long time

There were no more nightmares that night.