The first time it happened, Scott had woken up from a dead sleep to a throbbing ache in his abdomen. He remembered scrunching in on himself under the covers, willing the pain to subside, until he reluctantly got to his feet. The pilot had popped a few aspirin, pulled a blanket taunt across his shivering shoulders, and spent the next two hours flipping through a book until sleep finally claimed him. Amidst the flurry of back-to-back missions and the familiar routine of family life, the event was quickly forgotten.
However, the reprieve was short-lived. A month later, the strange pain returned, stealing Scott away from his restful slumber. Again, he took medication to ease the discomfort and again, hours later, he collapsed onto his quilt and quickly drifted back to sleep.
It became a predictable, if frustrating, pattern that Scott couldn't seem to shake. By the forth occurrence, as he lay in a sheen of sweat, it occurred to him that this couldn't be normal. That maybe something was wrong. He instantly discarded the idea, chalking it up to stress, and padded downstairs, knowing full well that sleep would be beyond his reach until the pain medication took effect. He flipped on the TV and slipped a sweater over his shirt to suppress the chill. The eldest Tracy winced as another sharp pang rolled across his midsection.
"You're up too, huh? Can't sleep?" came a drowsy voice from the stairs. Scott leaned his head back against the couch cushion with a strained sigh.
"Something like that. Stomachache." Virgil descended the steps and took a seat next to him on the couch, instinctively reaching for the remote.
"And you chose to watch a documentary about fruit bats," the Thunderbird Two pilot observed with a grin. Scott managed a shrug.
"You can watch anything you want. I just needed a distraction."
"Yeah, you and me both." Virgil's words were heavy and his actions sluggish as he mechanically scrolled through channels. Scott frowned, even as his insides gave another painful lurch.
"Let me guess. Nightmare?" he ventured. His younger brother returned to the fruit bat special and tossed the remote to the side.
"You could say that. It was a dream. About Dad." Scott grimaced. He was no stranger to the warped, horrific nightmares that had plagued him for weeks after their dad's disappearance. Nightmares that had left him gasping for air and clutching his chest as his heart pounded against his ribcage in a ferocious cadence. Scott gave Virgil's shoulder an encouraging squeeze.
"You don't have to tell me about it, Virg."
"No, I—I mean, it wasn't like that. It was a good dream," Virgil said. His voice caught and he cleared his throat before continuing. "Dad came back. He was home. He was happy, Scott. And he was proud of us. But…" Scott noticed his brother's shoulders dip as he put his head in his hands.
"Virg," Scott began, but the pianist interrupted him with a weak laugh.
"I don't know why it bothered me so much. I mean, I never had nightmares after Dad disappeared. Not like you. I just sort of…stopped dreaming. This is the first dream I've had since, well, that day. And then I go and dream that everything's fine, that he's alive and safe." Another pause. Another intake of breath. "It made me believe that, for one moment, everything was back to normal again. That life made sense."
"And then you woke up," Scott finished. Virgil tilted his head in mute confirmation. The eldest gave his brother another light shake. "You know what Dad used to do when we were kids and couldn't get to sleep?" The younger Tracy smiled faintly.
"Hot chocolate. How could I forget?"
"Two cups, coming right up," Scott said. He ignored the persistent throbbing and eased himself up from the couch. Virgil caught the sleeve of Scott's sweatshirt as he passed, his eyes briefly flitting over his ragged form.
"You feeling okay, Scotty?"
"Just fine, Virg. Nothing chocolate can't fix." Virgil regarded him with one final look of concern before dropping the subject.
"If you say so, Scott."
The duo spent the next hour swapping jokes, poking fun at the documentary, and burning through more mugs of hot chocolate than either of them cared to admit. Scott flopped back into bed at four o'clock through a haze of exhaustion, as the pain in his belly dwindled into nothing once more.
The next two months went more or less the same. One bout every four weeks, prying him from sleep at some ungodly hour, each episode lasting longer than the last. He was thankful that the aspirin were enough to keep the worst at bay until he could drag himself back to bed.
The morning after a particularly difficult night, Scott trudged into the kitchen and opened the fridge with disinterest. He turned his attention to the boxes of cereal and oatmeal in the cabinet and sifted through his breakfast options with a sigh. Nothing sounded good. He decided he wasn't hungry and eventually poured himself a cup of orange juice, taking his place at the table. Gordon bounded into the kitchen and stretched his arms above his head.
"'Morning, Scott. How was the run?" he asked. Scott rubbed the side of the ceramic mug in his hands as he watched the aquanaut place a carton of eggs on the counter.
"I skipped it today. Kinda felt like sleeping in." It really wasn't a lie. He HAD felt like sleeping in, if only to gain back the hours he'd lost. Gordon shot him a wry grin.
"Well then, Sleeping Beauty, what'll it be? Scrambled eggs? Omelet? Might even throw some bacon on the side."
"Nah, I'm fine. I promised Brains that I'd look over some schematics for Thunderbird One today," Scott replied, rising from his chair. In all honesty, the thought of smelling fried food made his stomach roll. Gordon only shrugged.
"Let me know if you change your mind. Better make it quick, though—once the others get up, there won't be anything left."
"Especially where Alan and Virgil are involved," Scott added as he dumped his untouched cup of orange juice down the sink. "Have fun, Gordo."
Scott retreated into the hangar and approached the beautiful Thunderbird that continued to serve him so faithfully, the same way it served his father. He was about to pour over Brains' notes pertaining to his aircraft when he heard the wail of familiar sirens. The eldest Tracy reconvened in the living room with the rest of his brothers, two in particular who were busy stifling yawns.
"International Rescue, we have a situation," John said via hologram from his outpost in the sky. "A shipping vessel lost contact with the mainland ten minutes ago, and a storm is moving in. I've been trying to re-establish communication, but the line's dark. They could be in trouble."
"FAB, John. I'll take Thunderbird One and try to locate their position. Virgil, I'll need you in Thunderbird Two. Take Thunderbird Four with you. We might need the sub," Scott commanded. Orders given, the brothers dispersed to their respective vehicles.
Scott found the ship with little difficulty, thanks to the partial coordinates provided by John. The vessel ran on experimental solar-power and a malfunction was to blame for the stranded crew. The rescue was a straight-forward affair, but after Scott returned to Tracy Island, it was well past lunchtime. He should've felt hungry and thought about following his brothers into a kitchen for much-needed nourishment, but he dismissed the idea. It was close to dinnertime anyway, he reasoned, even though dinner consisted of him chewing a mouthful of pork chop and pushing his plate to the side. Virgil, ever watchful, took note of his lack of appetite and pulled him aside.
"Hey, is everything okay, Scott? You haven't really been yourself today. You're not coming down with something, are you?" The dark-haired sibling playfully tried to place his hand against his forehead but Scott pushed him away with a laugh.
"It's nothing, Virg. Really. I had a stomachache earlier, but it went away. No big deal," he replied. Virgil settled for placing his hand on Scott's shoulder instead and his amber eyes softened.
"We're getting closer to the anniversary of his…of Dad's…" Virgil pursed his lips and continued. "Of his disappearance."
"I know," Scott said softly. He wilted slightly under his brother's touch.
"Scott. If you need a break, we understand. We've had nonstop missions and countless false leads. If you're feeling overwhelmed, or stressed—"
"No, Virg, it's not that—"
"—then you have to tell us, Scotty. We're family. We can help."
Stress. Scott mulled the word over in his head. Maybe that it was it, the answer to all his unnatural symptoms. He suddenly felt weak as if he were a cracking wall of glass, waiting for the final push that would send him shattering. He opened his mouth to speak then closed it and tore his eyes away from Virgil's piercing gaze.
"Maybe you're right," he conceded. The grip tightened momentarily before Virgil let his hand drop.
"Come with me, tough guy. Let's get you something to help you sleep. A nice, dreamless sleep." That night, Scott slept soundly and let his thoughts drift into a blank, blessed void.
The weeks that followed were a seamless, gut-wrenching blur. As the weather worsened, the call volume increased, forcing the Tracys to respond to multiple rescues a day with only a handful of hours—sometimes only minutes—of rest in-between before John dispatched them to another corner of the world. And still Scott's appetite waned. He knew it was wrong, that he needed to replenish his strength for rescues ahead, but he just didn't feel hungry. So he grazed, eating just enough to get by, and sometimes his body repelled that simple act.
In the middle of such chaos, the dreaded anniversary arrived at Tracy Island. International Rescue activities ceased for the day and John descended from Thunderbird Five for a well-deserved break. Scott tried to console his siblings, even as his own pain returned, leeching itself across his abdomen in waves. The ache had never before occurred during the day or with such intensity. But, as he ruffled Alan's hair and prepared another round of hot chocolate, he refused to acknowledge the discomfort. It was Dad's day. A day to remember his life, his legacy, and pray for his safe homecoming.
Scott couldn't help but feel that he'd betrayed his father. Here he was, crumbling under the pressure, barely able to get through a meal without choking. This never would've happened under Dad's command. He would've known what to do. He would've been strong enough to fight it.
The eldest retreated into the kitchen and away from the drifting voices of his siblings from the adjoining room. He jumped slightly when he heard a familiar timbre behind him.
"Scott?"
"Oh, hey Virg," Scott replied quietly. He leaned against the counter and shivered as the cool surface met his skin. "Doing okay?"
"I could say the same thing about you," came the gentle response. Virgil leaned against the counter next to Scott and gave him an obnoxious nudge. "Rough day, huh?"
"You have no idea," Scott said. He could almost see the cracks in his glass wall widening and instinctively reached a hand to his stomach before he stopped himself. Dad. It was his day. He couldn't take that away from his brothers, not when they'd already lost so much already. The pilot plastered a smile on his face and returned the nudge in kind.
"Alan and Gordon seem to be taking it well. Better than I expected." Scott hadn't realized how mature they'd become. How strong. Virgil crossed his arms and offered him a lopsided grin.
"Better than us, that's for sure." He paused. "Look, Scotty, are you still having those stomachaches?"
"Depends. Are you still having those dreams?" Scott inquired. The pianist looked away for a brief moment and Scott's suspicions were concerned.
"Virgil—"
"They won't stop. It's always the same. He walks through that door, tells us that it's going to be okay, that he's back for good. And then the dream ends and I'm back to THIS." Virgil stopped himself and rubbed a hand across his face. "How did you get the nightmares to end? How did you do it?"
"I don't know. They just kinda went away on their own," Scott admitted. "But these dreams aren't such a bad thing. You get to see Dad again, the way we remember him. It's a blessing, Virgil. You can't treat it like a curse. Those nightmares I had…I wouldn't wish those on anybody." Virgil turned to his sibling's hunched form.
"Scotty. How long have these stomachaches been bothering you?"
"Well, I—"
Gordon and Alan entered the kitchen, oblivious to the conversation between the two and carried a board game to the table. They ushered the pair over, shaking the box for emphasis to make the pieces rattle.
"Hey guys, it's game time!" Alan said. The slight waver in his voice was the only indication of the sadness that welled underneath.
"I'll just watch," John chuckled as he sat on one of the barstools. "I finally got a chance to read without EOS looking up the e-book and ruining the ending."
"What about you, Scott? Wanna bet on it?" Gordon asked as he pulled the board from the box and set the pieces upon the table. "It's Trouble. One of your favorites." Scott winced at another flare of pain, but managed a grin.
"Sure thing, Gordo. What do you have in mind?"
The evening dragged by slowly as Scott fought the building ache in his gut. After the third game of Trouble and a series of two lost bets, he found an excuse to slip away to his room and half-fell onto his quilt with a groan. The pressure suddenly reached a new peak and he stumbled into the bathroom and threw up in the toilet, feeling pathetic and disgusting. His limbs trembled from the effort of supporting his weight beneath him. He retched again as the pain rose another notch.
Scott weakly curled up against the cool tiles and closed his eyes in silent agony. Tremors wracked his body as the outside chill combated the burning heat pooling in his core. The slightest movement triggered another bout of nausea that left him heaving into the toilet bowl. He sat, defeated, across from the sink with his knees pulled tightly against his chest.
Clawing, incessant pain. The pilot tilted his head against the wall and tried to ignore the taste of bile that coated his mouth. A knock at the door pulled him briefly from his misery.
"Hey, Scott. You in there?"
"Virgil." Scott wiped his mouth on his forearm as he slowly got to his feet. He opened the door and allowed his younger brother entry.
"Jeezus, Scott! What happened?" Virgil pressed a cool hand against Scott's cheek. Scott instantly broke contact and suppressed another shiver.
"I feel really sick, Virg. I—oh, God." Scott crumpled back onto the floor of the bathroom and emptied another string of bile into the water below. His body felt drained from the effort and he took a moment to lean his sweaty forehead against the toilet seat in despair.
"Hang in there, Scott. What's going on?" Virgil knelt beside him and felt Scott's forehead again, noting how his older brother didn't have the strength to pull away from the touch a second time. "You're burning up."
"My stomach hurts," the oldest Tracy mumbled lamely. He tensed in on himself. "It won't stop." He felt embarrassed that Virgil had to find him in this weakened state. "Can you get me something for the pain? Then I can sleep this off and—" A series of dry heaves left Scott gasping for air as the pianist put a hand encouragingly on the back of his older brother's neck. He closed his eyes, ashamed, as Virgil looked inside the toilet bowl.
"Scott, your fever hasn't broken and you've been throwing up a lot of bile. You're probably dehydrated. There's nothing I can give you that will help." Scott groaned into his forearm as a bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face and felt Virgil give his neck a comforting squeeze. "C'mon, on your feet, Scotty. We're taking you to a hospital."
Scott only nodded and leaned into Virgil for support as he helped hoist him off the bathroom floor. Their resident medic pressed the wastebasket into Scott's hands and received a silent nod of thanks in return. Once they reached the top of the stairs, Virgil addressed the remaining brothers and kept a hand on his older charge.
"Scotty's not feeling too well, guys. I'm gonna take him to the GDF military hospital."
"Is he gonna be okay?" Alan asked, bounding forward in concern. Scott felt too miserable to offer a response as he concentrated on descending the staircase without puking. Virgil came to his rescue with his customary laugh.
"Yeah, he'll be fine. Some stomach pain and nausea. We'd better have the experts check it out, though. Not much I can do for him in the infirmary."
"It's never a dull day with you around, Scotty," John chuckled. He glanced at the Alan and Gordon, coming to an unspoken agreement. "We're coming, too. I'll give Colonel Casey a call once we're in the air so she can clear Thunderbird Two for landing. Don't worry, we'll get you there in no time. A thirty minute trip, tops."
"Maybe less than that if Virg allows me at the controls," Gordon joked as the group collectively made their way to the hangar. Scott clutched the basket closer to his torso as his body threatened to betray him. His siblings guided him into the aircraft where he immediately collapsed into a spare seat and started dry heaving with great, shuddering gasps. The pain reached a crescendo and he vomited into the wastebasket, feeling small and pitiful in the eyes of his siblings.
"Let it out, Scott," Virgil said as he prepared the Thunderbird for launch. "I know you feel horrible now, but you'll feel better soon. Promise."
The dizzying takeoff made the nausea rise in the back of his throat and he surrendered a second time to his body's natural reaction to the fever. The smell alone almost made him gag and he gripped the wastebasket tighter.
"Need a hand?" Gordon said as pressed a cool cloth against Scott's burning forehead. A sigh of relief escaped his lips at the blessed touch.
"Thanks," Scott managed. He winced at the continued assault within his lower abdomen and fell silent.
"Colonel Casey, this is International Rescue. We have a member of our unit in need of treatment. Requesting permission to land at the medical base…" John's voice slipped into the background as other voices took over. Alan, asking him how he was feeling. Gordon, comforting him through the pain. The minutes passed slowly and each lift and fall of the flight vehicle forced him to close his eyes against the dizziness that followed.
"Almost there, Scott," Virgil remarked as the hospital came into view. The landing was almost as rough as the takeoff, but Scott was too exhausted to do anything more than sag against the restraints and pray for relief.
His brothers ushered him out of Thunderbird Two and into the hospital doors. John checked him in and completed the necessary paperwork as a nurse led him into a private room. The eldest took a seat on the bed and tucked his knees against his chest. He trembled violently as the heat he felt earlier slipped away and left him cold and hollow. Alan put a reassuring hand on his arm as the nurse draped two heated blankets over his weary form.
Scott felt a slight pinch as the nurse inserted a needle into his arm and attached the IV.
"This should ease the pain for now. You'll feel like you're floating," his attendant explained as she added the foreign substance into the IV drip. The effects were instant and, for the first time in hours, the unrelenting arc of fire in his belly vanished, leaving only a bad memory in its wake. Scott stretched his feet out contentedly as the drug worked its magic. Virgil chuckled.
"What'd I tell you? I knew they'd give you the good stuff."
"It's great," Scott slurred with a grin. "I haven't felt this good in a long time."
"Am I gonna have to videotape this for blackmail later?" Gordon snickered as Scott continued to revel in his newfound bliss. John soon joined them and regarded his older brother with a grin.
"Looks like someone's feeling better."
"You can say that again. Whatever they gave me is heaven."
Heaven, it seemed, ended far too soon. Twenty minutes later, the pain came back with such driving force that the weakened Tracy retched into his faithful wastebasket and curled in on himself again. The nurse gave him a second round of the painkiller and he returned to his happy, drug-induced world.
Scott complied with a CAT scan soon after and drifted in and out of a dreamy sleep. Alan and Gordon played cards in the corner while Virgil sat at Scott's bedside and spoke with him periodically when his brother regained consciousness. John, for his part, refused to be idle and paced in front of the foot of the bed with his hands in his pockets.
Finally, after what felt like hours of waiting, the doctor entered with the results of the CAT scan and addressed his patient with a curt nod.
"It's your gallbladder, son," the doctor began. "We found a sack surrounding the gallbladder that's most likely infected fluid, and a gallstone of decent size. We're going to have to remove it as soon as possible."
Scott blinked, uncomprehending. His gallbladder? The doctor seemed to sense his fear and smiled warmly.
"You can live without it, and the procedure is very straight-forward. But it does look like it's been infected for a very long time. When was your first attack?"
Attacks. So that was what they were. All those sleep-deprived nights, the reoccurring pain. Scott closed his eyes briefly as he recalled the events of the past year.
"About seven or eight months ago," he admitted, a little guiltily. The doctor nodded and passed no judgment, although Scott certainly blamed himself for the scare. If he'd realized it sooner, if he'd asked for help…
"What can you tell us about the surgery?" John asked. He'd ceased his pacing but tapped his fingers against the side of his jeans in random patterns.
"We'll be doing laparoscopic gallbladder surgery. We'll make some small incisions along the abdomen and pull out the gallbladder from a cut by the belly button," came the easy reply. "Recovery should take seven to ten days. I recommend waiting a month before preforming any strenuous activities. But, starting immediately after the surgery, you can return to your daily habits like normal. Most people think you have to restrict your diet, but you can eat whatever you like. Only a few patients report problems with digesting certain kinds of food."
"My appetite will return?" Scott said tentatively.
"Instantly," the doctor replied. "Loss of appetite is a common symptom."
The doctor spared a few more words to his inquiring brothers before leaving the room, promising to update Scott on his impending surgery within the next few hours. The pilot let his body fall limply into the soft sheets.
He wasn't weak or pathetic, after all. He'd been suffering from an infected gallbladder for months, self-medicating himself through the attacks. And his appetite—thank God, he'd be able to stomach food again. Virgil gave his shoulder a slight nudge.
"So, your gallbladder, huh?"
"I'm just glad it can be fixed," Scott said sleepily.
"You just gotta power through one surgery, then you're golden," Gordon added. "Try to fight the anesthesia. I wanna see how far you make it before you fall unconscious."
"Wanna bet on it?" Scott mumbled before he trailed off into sleep.
Four weeks later, Scott Tracy laced up his running shoes with a tremble of excitement. Only four small scars marred his chest from the surgery and—true to the doctor's word—his strength and appetite had returned almost immediately after the infected organ was removed. No longer would he anticipate his next sleepless night. He was free.
Virgil met him on the patio and stretched his arms skyward.
"So, I had that dream last night." Scott decided to play dumb as he descended the steps to the trail below.
"Oh, really? Which one?" He received a playful smack on the back of his head for his efforts.
"You know the one."
"And how was it?" Scott pressed. The duo began their run and reached the beginning of a trailhead that snaked into an easy three-mile loop back to the hangar.
"It was nice to see Dad. I think I'm starting to enjoy it," Virgil confessed. He gestured at the dirt worn path at their feet. "You do realize that we're going Virgil pace today. No sprinting. No mile repeats. No negative splits."
Scott laughed. "I won't push the pace, Virg. I'll be good. Scout's honor."
"Yeah, sure. Why don't I believe you?" the Thunderbird Two pilot replied. "C'mon, old man. Let's get you back in shape. There's this obstacle course run I've had my eye on for awhile. Crawling under barbed wire, jumping into mud pits, climbing up rope walls…"
"A regular day in boot camp. My kind of run."
"And did I mention the electric wires you have to cross?"
"Even better," Scott said with a grin. "Well then, what are we waiting for?" He started down the path while Virgil followed suit. Their banter continued deep into the jungle as they planned their next adventure.
Author's Note: Hey, fellow T-birds! I recently had my gallbladder removed and drew on my personal experience for the story. All of Scott's symptoms I described are completely accurate to what I went through. I went months thinking I just had a stomach bug of some kind and that I would eventually get over it...until the final attack was bad enough to land me in the emergency room over Christmas! (I did celebrate Christmas in the hospital-certainly a holiday I will never forget!) I'm glad it's over and, much like Scott, I'm looking forward to running again. Only about two more weeks to go until I can hit the trails. Can't wait! Hope you enjoyed the read. FAB!