Undecided

Jeff sighed, and folded up his phone. He rubbed his temples, and sat down in one of the waiting room chairs. The police... they seem sure they've got the whole lot.

It had been an interesting call. He'd spoken with Kerry Larson, the detective in charge of the investigation.

"Yes, Mr. Tracy, I'm sure we have them all," she'd said, brushing her brown hair back self-consciously. "The audio files that your company sent were really helpful." She had cocked her head at him. "I assume you've heard it?"

"Yes, I have. My technicians sent me a copy so I could decide whether or not to have it forwarded." A clumsy lie, in Jeff's estimation, but not bad for one he'd made on the spot.

"I expected so. A couple of the perps were being stubborn, especially about the third incident, but when they heard the file and Mickey talking, they realized they didn't have a prayer." She had shaken her head. "They are pretty busy pointing fingers at each other, and a couple of them are cooperating in hopes of leniency." She'd smiled and said, "Yes, we've broken this ring, Mr. Tracy, for good and all."

"Will Alan have to testify?"

Detective Larson had sighed. "It depends on whether or not we can get all of them to plead guilty to their attack on Alan. If not, then, yes, the District Attorney will probably want him on the stand. He may even want him to testify about the third incident, seeing as he was there when Mickey said what he did."

"I see," Jeff had replied thoughtfully. "Any time frame on that?"

"Sorry, sir, I don't have one. You might want to talk to the D.A. about it."

She'd thanked him again for the recordings, then Jeff had ended the call. Now he had some decisions to think over again, ones that he'd thought he'd already made. I'd better call Scott and see if he's gotten confirmation on my flight plan.

The number was on his speed dial, and the call was put through quickly, despite the distance. It wasn't Scott who answered, however, but John. "Hello, John."

"Hey, Dad." John said, wiping his mouth hurriedly. Jeff tried to calculate what time it was at home, and came up with breakfast time the next day.

"Better not be getting jam all over my computer," Jeff warned. Then he smiled wearily. "I sent a flight plan to Scott not long ago; I wanted a confirmation on it."

"Ah, let me look," John said, turning toward the computer. "And for the record, I'm not eating jam."

"Butter then," Jeff said mildly, sitting down in a different chair than the one he'd been occupying earlier.

"My fingers are clean," John retorted without looking at the vidphone. "Ah, here it is." His eyes narrowed. "It's not confirmed yet, Dad."

"What the hell is taking so long?" Jeff said, leaning forward, his brows knit with irritation.

John shook his head. "I'm not sure. Could be the weather system on the west coast. Looks pretty strong. You may want to change a few details and resubmit."

Jeff sighed and leaned back. "All right, all right. I'll check the weather a little closer and change my flight altitude. How are things at home?"

"Pretty good. Do you have any more news about Alan?"

"He's doing okay. Not happy about coming home, but that's to be expected." Jeff rubbed one temple again with his free hand. The headache that had threatened was beginning to come on full strength. "The police are confident they have the whole gang. I have to call the District Attorney to see if Alan will have to come back to testify and when."

John frowned at this news. "So you may have to bring Alan back to Pittsfield?"

"Depends on if any of them plead not guilty, and if they need his testimony about the boy who was beaten up before he was." Jeff closed his eyes and leaned his head back.

"Hmm." John's non-committal sound was followed by a long pause, one that made Jeff sit up and glance at his phone. When he did, he noticed that John had been joined by Scott and Virgil.

"Okay, boys. What is it?"

"Uh..." Scott stammered. He glanced at his brothers. "We... ahh... John, you tell him. He listens to you."

John rolled his eyes then faced his father squarely. "Dad, we don't think you should bring Alan home."

"What do you think? Did he listen?" Jason asked.

"I don't know," Dom said with a rueful shrug. "But I tried my best." The boys had gathered once again in Alan's room, and Dom had recounted his conversation with Jeff.

"I appreciate it, Dom," Alan said wearily. "But I don't think he'll listen. My dad's stubborn like that."

"Like y-you are," Fermat said bluntly.

"I don't get it from anybody strange." Alan laid his head back against the pillow. "Guys? I'm kinda tired..."

"Right." Zave looked at his watch. "We'd better go. I'm late for practice as it is."

"Hey, I hope Coach cuts you some slack," Alan said, suddenly concerned.

"He'll have to," Xavion said glumly. "There's not gonna be much of the track team left after last night."

"Make sure you stop to say goodbye before you leave, Pinky." Jason held out a fist.

"I will," Alan promised, touching Jason's fist with his own. The other boys approached the bed, gently repeating the gesture with Alan, then turning away to leave. All except Fermat, who sat next to Alan and murmured farewells as the small group filed out.

Before the door could close all the way, a set of long fingers grasped the edge and opened it some more. It was followed by the thin face of Brains, who peered inside. Fermat motioned for his father to come in.

"H-H-How are you, A-Alan?" the scientist said as he approached the bed, unconsciously pushing his thin brown hair back. He looked the boy over with a critical eye. "Do you f-f-feel as bad as you l-look?"

Alan smiled a little. "I wouldn't know. I haven't looked at myself... been too scared. But right now I'm just sore." He gestured toward Brains's collar. "How are you? I saw what happened. Looked like a hairy moment there."

"It w-was," Brains said, trying to stick a finger into the collar again now that it had been brought to his attention. "But I'm l-like you: j-just sore." He smiled. "W-Wait until Dr. Hatoshi sees y-you!"

Alan sighed. "At least I won't have to lie to her this time." He closed his eyes. "I hear you're letting Fermat stay."

"Y-Yes, I am," Brains said, taking a chair next to his son. He put a lanky ankle on the opposite knee, and grasped the horizontal calf loosely with two hands. His trouser leg pulled up, showing a pair of white crew socks and the double-knotted laces of his black shoes. "I feel that Wh-Wharton's been g-good for F-Fermat so far this y-y-y... this s-semester. He's g-gotten a lot of c-confidence." He turned slightly to smile at his son, who looked down with a sheepish smile.

"Th-Thanks, Dad," Fermat murmured. He looked at Alan, then glanced over at his father. "D-Dad? C-Could you say something to M-M-Mr. Tracy? M-Maybe try and t-talk him into letting Alan st-stay?"

"I d-don't know, son," Brains said, frowning slightly. "It m-might not be a g-good idea."

"Once he hears about you leaving Fermat here, he'll want to know why," Alan said.

"A-And I will g-give him my r-r-r... I 'll tell him wh-why," Brains told him. "B-But what's good for F-Fermat might not n-necessarily be g-good for you, Alan. Y-You're the son of a v-very high profile m-man. The fact that the news h-has reported where you are m-may be a d-danger in itself to you." He shook his head as much as the collar would let him. "There are p-people who w-would love to get their hands on s-some of your father's m-money and see k-k-k... abducting you as an easy way to d-do it."

Alan looked as thoughtful as his bruised face would allow. "I never thought of it that way, Brains. I just thought that catching Pierce and his pals would take care of things."

"In a way, it d-does. But there are st-still security issues. F-Fermat, as special as he is, isn't the s-son of a p-public figure," Brains added. "I f-feel that I c-can leave him here and tr-trust him to keep s-safe." He turned slightly to fix a baleful eye on his son. "If h-however, he gets into tr-trouble, he'll be b-back on the island so f-f-f... so qu-qu-qu... at the speed of light. Un-Understood?"

"Y-Yes, sir!" Fermat said with a grin and a sharp salute.

"All right, John," Jeff said wearily. "Lay out your arguments."

John frowned; Scott and Virgil exchanged concerned looks. "Are you okay, Dad? I mean, we can discuss this later," John said.

"I am tired; I have a headache the size of Mount Everest coming on, and I'm that close to losing what tatters of my temper are left." Jeff put his forefinger and thumb up, a half-inch of space between their tips. "I've already had one person try and convince me to let Alan stay. So please tell me your reasons now and quickly before I become any more disagreeable."

John squashed his first reaction, which was to terminate the call with a, "We'll talk later, Dad". He knew that his father's temper would flare because he hadn't obeyed, and as a result, anything he or his siblings said about the matter would be summarily taken out and shot.

"All right, Dad. Our feelings are these; one, Alan's been having a pretty good year so far, despite everything that's happened. He hasn't been calling home once or twice a day to whine about leaving Wharton." John paused to put out one finger, then a second. "Two, he's found a niche there at Wharton with track and his friends and all. It would be hard for him to start over at a new school, even this early in the year." A third finger joined the other two. "Three, this is his chance to be his own person, to do his own thing, to find out what his own thing is. We all had that chance; it's not fair that he doesn't have the same opportunity." John put out a fourth finger. "Four, who is going to home educate him if he doesn't go to another school? None of us really have the time, and even a satellite program requires input from someone live and on site." He took a deep breath, and unfolded his thumb. "Five... we figure we'd all want to kill him after a few weeks."

Jeff, who had been listening carefully, nodded, a quick jerky motion. "Anything more?"

John glanced up at his brothers. Scott shook his head, but Virgil leaned over John's shoulder. "Dad, if there's a possibility that Alan's still threatened... well, that trumps all of our arguments. None of us want to leave him there if he's going be in danger."

"Understood," Jeff said curtly. "I'll make the changes to my flight plan and upload it soon. Let me know as soon as it's confirmed. Jeff out." He jabbed at the cut off button, and folded the phone up with a sharp snap. "God... this headache. This is a hospital; I should be able to get something for it..."

Back in Jeff's office, John looked up at his brothers. "Well, that could have gone better," he commented ruefully.

"Wonder who else talked to him about Alan," Scott mused.

"I'm glad someone did." Virgil sighed. "At least now he knows where we stand. From here on out, it's up to Alan."

"I think Alan is ready for discharge," said the doctor, a pretty intern whose name tag read "Tavia Black". "He's passed every one of the neuro checks; the pain is under control; the swelling is beginning to diminish." She glanced down at the data pad in her hand, then back up. "Do you have a plastic surgeon in mind, or would you like us to make a referral locally?"

"I'll take care of the plastic surgeon, Dr. Black," Jeff said from his seat on the bed near Alan's feet.

"All right. We'll have his records available when they're needed." She smiled at Jeff. "I know you're anxious to get him home so I'll get the discharge paperwork underway."

"Thank you, Doctor," Jeff said, smiling slightly. She nodded and left father and son together. Alan was picking at the supper that the hospital had provided, and avoiding his father's eyes. Jeff, whose headache had faded to a dull throbbing thanks to a small dose of pain reliever Dr. Black had provided, watched his son closely. Between them, the silence stretched long and wide, until Jeff cleared his throat. "Alan? Aren't you hungry?"

Alan shook his head gingerly. "Not really." He pushed the bedside table away and leaned back, closing his eyes. "So, when are we leaving?"

"Not until morning. There's a storm front on the west coast that could make flying tricky. Besides, I need at least a good eight hours in the sack before I fly anywhere."

Alan seemed to digest this news, then asked, "What will we do once I'm discharged? Will you take me back to campus?"

Jeff looked down, his fingers twirling the plain band that he wore on his left hand. "I was thinking of taking you and Fermat back to the hotel with us. We can spend the night there and pack up your things in the morning."

This suggestion seemed to depress Alan further. "Does that mean Brains has changed his mind about letting Fermat stay?"

Jeff blinked, and blinked again. "What did you say?"

Alan sighed, and finally trained his eyes on his father's face. "I asked if Brains has changed his mind about letting Fermat stay at Wharton."

"That's what I thought you said." Jeff frowned, his fingers still absently turning the ring around and around.

"Brains didn't tell you?"

"No, he didn't." The scientist and his son had taken the rental car and gone back to campus. Fermat wanted to introduce his father to Mr. Feng, and to A.J., who would be out of classes. Brains had promised to return whenever Jeff called. "I guess I'll have to ask him about that. I was under the impression that he was pulling Fermat out, too."

Alan closed his eyes again. "Dad, don't make him take Fermat out."

Jeff sat up, surprised. "Alan, I can't make him do anything he doesn't want to do when it comes to his son. I don't have control over his family life like that. Hell, if he wanted to move off the island, I couldn't stop him. And he knows this, Alan." Jeff's face twisted into a rueful look. "I am going to ask him why, and suggest that Fermat might be better off at home, but I can't tell him what to do."

"Don't even suggest it, then," Alan said, shifting his shoulders a little for comfort.

"Why not?"

The teen opened his eyes to scrutinize his father's face, then closed them once again. "Never mind, Dad. Just... don't."

A quick, sharp response rose to Jeff's lips, but he stopped it before he could utter it, pressing his lips into a thin, disapproving line. A small voice in him seemed to ask, "Do you really want to know why Alan thinks you would interfere?" to which the answer was a reluctant, "No". He shook his head, and the silence descended once more. Finally, Jeff could stand it no longer. "I'm going to give Brains a call. Maybe by the time he's able to get here, Dr. Black will have the paperwork ready." He rose from the bed and headed for the door. "I'll be back soon, Alan."

"Okay."

Jeff stopped at the door and glanced back. Alan still had his eyes closed, and looked like he might be dropping off to sleep. I know I'm doing what's right for him, Jeff told himself as he left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

"How's the f-f-food, son?" Brains asked, raising his voice to be heard over the clamor of the pizza buffet.

"G-Great, Dad!" Fermat, his cheek smeared with pizza sauce, grinned at his father. They had gone back to campus, and Fermat had introduced Brains to his teacher-coach, and to his roommate.

"Fermat is a very integral part of our team, Professor," Mr. Feng had said with a smile. "I'm glad you're allowing him to stay. With this last blow to the school's image, we've lost a couple more team members."

"Wh-Who?" Fermat had asked, suddenly concerned.

"Timothy Delello and Joseph Morgan," Mr. Feng had replied sadly. "We'll be short-handed on the underclassmen side until we can find another player. Fortunately, I do have a couple of people who took the test but whose scores weren't quite as high as our first team. I'll be offering them a spot."

"I h-hope they take advantage of the o-o-o... it," Brains had said. "Thanks for ch-choosing F-Fermat. I know he's e-e-e... thinks it's f-fun."

"We're glad to have him, Professor. And he's not too shabby in class, either."

In Fermat's room, A.J. had been curious. "How'd you hurt your neck, Professor?"

"I, uh, s-slipped in the t-tub," Brains had replied, trying to loosen the collar again.

"Wow. Fermat falls out of bed and you slip in the tub," A.J. had said, shaking his head. "I guess they're right when they most accidents happen in the home."

Fermat had laughed. "N-No matter how it l-looks, we're not usually this a-a-a... danger-prone."

He had also, in a whispered suggestion, asked if they could take A.J. to dinner with them, but Brains had balked at the idea. The scientist knew, from earlier conversations, that the younger boy was the son of his attorney, and he did feel some obligation there. But he also wanted some one-on-one time with Fermat, a commodity rarer than hens' teeth when both were at home. So he had put aside his sense of obligation for the moment, and took his son to one of the pizza buffets-game room establishments.

"You r-ready for some p-pinball?" he asked, grinning. "Think you can t-take the old m-man?"

"S-Sure, Dad," Fermat said smugly. "P-Prepare for defeat."

They were in the middle of a fierce competition when Brains felt his phone vibrate. It was his turn and he was plying the flippers, sending the score higher and higher. A few people had begun to notice and were standing around, watching, making encouraging sounds over the noise of the room. The phone, tucked away in his shirt pocket, vibrated again; he scowled and ignored it a second time, keeping his rhythm going. When it shook his pocket for a third time, he huffed out a breath and let the ball drain. "Y-Your turn, son," he said as he shook his head. Fermat looked up at him with concern, but his face cleared when he saw his father's long fingers draw the phone from its resting place. "Phone c-call. I'll b-b-b... return soon, son."

Fermat nodded, then put his next ball in play. Brains strode from the game room to the slightly quieter restaurant. "H-Hello, Mr. Tracy."

"Hello, Brains," Jeff replied. He paused, listening to the background bells and whistles and asked, "Did I catch you at a bad time?"

"Uh, y-yeah, sort of," Brains replied, squashing an urge to tell his employer what he wanted to hear. "We're h-having d-d-d... we're eating."

"Oh." Jeff sounded surprised... which he was. His chief engineer tended to bend over backwards to help; this blunt statement was a definite change in Brains's usual response. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Brains, but the doctor is just about ready to discharge Alan. Could you please pick us up once you're finished with your meal?"

Brains closed his eyes briefly and sighed. "Y-Yes, Mr. Tracy. You c-c-c... we'll be there in h-half an hour."

"Good. Thanks, Brains. I appreciate it."

"Y-You're welcome. G-Goodbye." Brains cut off the connection, and folded up his phone. He sat quietly for a minute, thinking, then made a decision. He nodded, tucked the phone back in his shirt pocket and returned to his son. He had to make up a lot of points to catch Fermat.

Getting Alan out of the hospital proved to be trickier than Jeff anticipated. The press was still nosing around, and there were more of them now. The news that reclusive Jeff Tracy was there, visiting his son, had gotten about. They finally had to use one of the loading docks at the back of the building, and for once, Jeff was glad of the small, rather nondescript car he'd had to take in Springfield.

"Let's get back to the hotel," Jeff said. "The boys can stay with us tonight."

"I'll t-take you and A-Alan back to the h-h-h... where we're st-staying," Brains said. "B-But Fermat has to be back to c-campus by c-curfew."

Jeff frowned at this, but seeing as Brains hadn't said anything official to him, he decided not to press the issue with the boys in the car. They pulled into the parking lot of the hotel. The press was waiting for them there, too, at both the front and rear entrances. "Hm," he said, "I'd like to get in there without pictures being taken."

"Try c-calling the concierge and have them u-unlock the p-pool entrance," Brains suggested. "I'll p-park over in this c-corner while you d-do."

"Good idea, Brains," Jeff said gratefully, as he pulled out his phone. "That should work nicely."

And it did. Brains pulled up to the outer gate leading to the pool, where the concierge waited for them. They bundled Alan through the opening, which quickly closed behind them. Father and son skirted the covered pool, and disappeared inside the building, the hotel employee on their heels. Brains sighed, and glanced back at Fermat. "R-Ready to go b-back, son?"

Fermat echoed the sigh. "Y-Yeah, Dad. I'm r-ready."

The remains of his room service meal lay on the tray, and Jeff finished off his drink. He glanced at his watch; Brains still hadn't returned yet, and he wondered what was holding the man up. I've got a few questions to ask him.

Though Jeff had offered to order a meal for him, Alan had politely turned him down. He was now lying on one of the double beds in his father's room while Jeff, wanting to give his son some space and quiet, had taken to the suite's living area to eat his meal.

Despite the warming feel of whiskey in his system, the quiet of the room, and the relief knowing that his son was nearby, he was restless. He glanced at his phone, thinking about who he could call, but realized it wasn't conversation that he wanted. Turning on the television, he surfed the channels for a while. A local news report caught his attention; it detailed the arrests made and had interviews with the pertinent local officials, but as soon Alan's name was mentioned, he turned the television off in disgust. He glanced at his watch again, muttering, "Where is he?"

He got up to pace the floor, stopping to peer out through the curtains of his room. The news crews were still there, looking for some sign of him, and he shook his head. Behind him, there was a rustling noise; he turned to see Brains enter. "Brains," he said curtly, nodding once.

"M-Mr. Tracy," Brains returned, closing the door behind him and making sure it was locked. They stood looking at one another for a moment, then Brains rubbed his hands together and blew on them. "G-Getting c-cold out there. N-Not used to it."

"Comes from living where we do," Jeff said, turning fully from the window. He put both hands on the back of an easy chair, leaning on it. Taking a deep breath, he said, "I hear you're leaving Fermat here."

Brains looked a bit startled, then he nodded. "I th-think Wharton's been g-g-g... has helped h-him, despite what's h-happened." He slid out of his jacket, and draped it over a chair. "B-Besides, I wouldn't b-be able to t-teach him and w-work at the same time. He's far too a-a-a... ahead of his p-peers and I'd h-have a hard time f-finding a g-good satellite learning p-p-p-program for him." Ducking into the tiny corner kitchenette, he started the electric kettle and looked for the complimentary teabags. "I m-met Mr. F-Feng, who is Fermat's p-pre-engineering teacher and quiz t-team coach. I'm impressed." He turned from the little cupboards, leaning on the counter, the cup and teabag in his hand. "It's n-not the same for me as it is for y-you, J-Jeff. Fermat isn't the s-son of a r-rich public f-figure, as Alan is. His wh-whereabouts are all over the n-news now; it might be dangerous to l-l-l... allow him to r-remain." He paused, then added, "But..."

Jeff, who has been nodding in agreement, raised an eyebrow. "But what?"

Brains shifted his feet a little, nervously. When the kettle whistled, he took the time to fill his cup and turn the machine off before proceeding. "But h-has this been an issue with your o-other sons? Have they b-been in a position where their n-names have been in the m-media and their whereabouts known?" He paused to dunk his teabag up and down a bit. "The a-answer is y-yes. Virgil and his f-football, G-Gordon and his swimming a-awards... as I r-recall, they were all in the n-news at one time or another. Y-You may n-not have b-been as wealthy as you a-are n-now, but you were st-still a public f-f-f... well-known." He got a spoon from the little utensil drawer and pressed his tea bag out with it, then added a packet of sugar. "Only y-you can decide if it's m-more of an issue with A-Alan than it was with your older s-sons. But I think A-Alan will see it as unfair to him." Brains sipped his tea, and watched his employer.

Jeff's shoulders went up and down with a quiet, resigned sigh. "Thanks, Brains. You've given me a lot to think about, and a different perspective on the situation." He came out from behind the chair and flung himself down into it. Brains moved into the living area and sat on the sofa to his right, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. "What are your plans?" Jeff asked. "Beyond leaving Fermat here, of course."

"I'd like to st-stay until the w-weekend, and see F-Fermat compete... if that's okay with y-you," Brains said. "I'd fly back c-commercial as far as New Z-Zealand..."

"Of course you can stay, Brains," Jeff replied, waving a dismissive hand. "I understand how you feel. Hell, I'd like to see Fermat compete myself. And as for flying back, there's still time to make those arrangements." He yawned, and stretched. "I think I'm going to hit the hay. My body's still screwed up from the time change, but that nap earlier has sort of worn off."

Brains nodded. "G-Goodnight, Jeff. Sleep well."

"You, too, Hiram. See you in the morning." With that, Jeff stood and went off into his room. Brains watched him go, sipping his tea and wondering if his words had really done anything at all.

The day was hot, and he found himself standing in the sun, looking down the length of the driveway back to the farmhouse. It wasn't a short distance by any means; the house sat well back from the road. Someone tugged on his hand; he glanced down to see a blond-haired, blue-eyed child of about six looking back up at him. Alan? John? he thought, somehow not recognizing the face.

"Are you ready?" The voice was unmistakable; he turned to find his beautiful wife, Lucille, standing next to him. The wind blew blonde tendrils of hair back and away from her face; her blue eyes sparkled even as she squinted in the strong sunlight. "Are you ready?" she asked again.

He couldn't answer her, because she wasn't talking to him. She was talking to the boy, who was sitting on a small, red bicycle. He recognized it as one that had been the beginner bike for each and every one of the boys... until Alan had tried to copy some of Gordon's friends and their BMX moves and wrecked it. The gash had bled like crazy; it had been too ragged to glue and required ten stitches.

"I'm ready," said the boy, in a voice Jeff couldn't quite place. Scott? Or maybe Virgil?

"Then let's go." Lucille put her hand on the back of the bicycle seat as the boy pedaled down the smooth macadam, wobbling precariously from time to time. They gathered speed, until Lucille was nearly running. Then suddenly, she let go, and the boy was riding the bike on his own, well-balanced, moving quickly toward the house. She whooped with delight. "Keep pedaling! Look forward! Keep going!"

The boy raised an arm to give her a quick wave, wobbled, then grabbed the handlebar again. Lucille turned, brushing her hands together, and walked back to where he was standing. "It's hard to let them go," she said as she approached. "But it's gotta be done." Looking full into his face, she reached up to touch his cheek and said, "You know that, don't you, Jeff."

With a gasp, Jeff sat up in bed, covered in sweat, breathing hard. If he had called her name, he couldn't remember, but he could have sworn his cheek tingled where she'd touched him. He brought his ragged breathing under control, then pulled back the warm, damp covers and headed for the bathroom.

That was some dream! he thought as he splashed his face with cold water. I think I vaguely remember something like that happening, but I was the one pushing the boy – I think it was Gordon – along. Not Lucy. Scrubbing his face dry with a towel, he looked at himself in the mirror. "Are you trying to tell me something, Lucy?" he murmured. "Or just reminding me of something that I should already be considering?" The mirror had no answers, so he shut off the light and went back into the bedroom.

"Dad?" Alan's voice was soft and slurred a bit. "Are you okay?"

"Hey, there, Alan," Jeff said. He sat on the edge of Alan's bed, in the sliver of moonlight that had found its way between the curtains. "Didn't mean to wake you, son. Go back to sleep."

"Don't know if I can," the teen responded. "Things... hurt."

"You need some pain reliever?" Jeff tried to remember the instructions he'd been given and if it was time for Alan to take some more medicine.

"Yeah. If it's okay."

"I'll check." Jeff got up, turned the bedside light on low and checked his watch. "I think it's about time. I'll get you what you need. Just lie back." When he came out of the bathroom with a cup of water and Alan's pills, he found his son had disobeyed orders and was sitting up cross legged on the bed. "Alan, I told you to lie back."

"I needed to sit up," the boy said. "Can't take the medicine lying down."

Jeff sighed and handed over water and pills. "Go easy." Alan nodded and obeyed this time. When he was done, he handed the glass back to Jeff. "Want some more water?"

Alan tried to shake his head, but winced and said, "No, thanks," instead. He gazed at Jeff for a long moment, a quizzical look on his face, then asked, "What were you dreaming about? I could hear you sort of talking in your sleep."

Jeff's eyes widened. "I was? What was I saying?"

"Sounded like, 'Go, go, go'," Alan explained, frowning a little.

Jeff snorted a laugh. "I wasn't saying that in my dream, but... well... it makes sense." He reached up to brush Alan's hair away from his face. "Alan, I want to ask you a very important question, and I want you to think about it carefully before you respond."

"Okay." Alan kept his mien serious, and his eyes on his father's face.

"You know I came here to take you out of Wharton, to take you home so you'd be safe." Jeff paused, clearing his throat a little. "I thought – and still think – it's the right thing to do, for a number of reasons. But, as I've been reminded more than once, I should be considering what you want, too. So, I'm asking – with all things considered – what would your choice be? To stay – and possibly be in danger again – or to go home, and be protected. Because, when you boil it all down, that is my reason for taking you home: your personal safety."

Alan was quiet for a long, long moment, and Jeff waited patiently for his son to speak.

"I'd stay. I have all sorts of reasons for wanting to stay: my friends, track... even classes, believe it or not." Jeff snorted again at that, and Alan chuckled, too. Then he sobered. "I understand the risks involved, and though I'd love to be home and going out on rescues..." here Jeff raised an eyebrow, "I need the freedom to learn who I am and what I can do." Alan looked down for a moment, then raised his eyes to meet his father's. "Besides, if there's one thing I learned this year, it's that no place is truly safe... not even home."

Alan's last comment hit Jeff like an arrow to the heart. He had hoped, he had prayed, that his boys – all his boys – were getting over the traumatic invasion of last spring. But here, here was a sign that it still haunted them, even as it haunted him. He took in a deep breath, and fought to keep it from shaking as he let it out. He was only partly successful. Then he swallowed, hard, and nodded slowly.

"All right, Alan. You've made your point. You can stay."

Suddenly Alan reached out and pulled Jeff to him. "Thanks, Dad," he whispered. "I love you."

Jeff gingerly put his arms around his son's bruised torso and squeezed gently. "I love you, too, son. I love you very much."