Author's note: Many thanks to Quiller and Lynn for being my betas for this story. Thanks especially to Quiller for all the encouragement and straight-talking, and to Lynn for spookily reading my mind.
Talking Cure – Chapter 1: Scott
"Okay, Scott, so when you thought Virgil had been killed by the falling steelwork, how did you feel?"
Silence. Scott shifted position and the leather chair creaked beneath him.
"Concerned? Shocked? Scared?"
Scott looked out of the window, down at his impeccably shiny shoes and at a small potted plant on the table. Scared, oh boy, had he been scared.
"Shocked, yeh, shocked," said Scott.
"Today is going to be a good day, I can feel it," remarked Virgil in a cheerful tone. Scott glanced down at Thunderbird 1's vid comm and smiled indulgently at his brother.
"What are you on and can I have some?" he replied.
"Oh come on, Scott. Visibility is excellent and the winds are calm both en-route and at the rescue site. It's a perfect flying day."
Scott looked out of Thunderbird 1's cockpit window where the 'perfect day' was speeding passed a lot faster than outside Thunderbird 2's cockpit.
"You've got a point; however, some of us are concentrating on how to get 30 people out of collapsed silos in some remote part of Nebraska where the total number of available emergency workers is either one or zero depending on whether or not it's Bingo night at the local church"
Virgil laughed at that. "Don't worry. You usually come up with a great plan about 30 seconds before I land."
"Your confidence in me is reassuring, Virg, but, if I'm going to make sure your day ends as well as it has started, you'd better shut up and let me confirm a couple of things with John." Scott glanced down at the vid comm again to check Virgil's reaction. Virgil grinned and then pulled a serious face. His tone of voice changed from cheery to professionally serious.
"FAB. Thunderbird 2's ETA at rescue site is 20.9 minutes. Gordon and Alan are in the pod prepping the Mole and the Fire Truck. Thunderbird 2 out."
Scott chuckled as the screen went blank. Virgil had the ability to wind him up and show his faith in him all at the same time. Well, he'd had plenty of practice over the years and it was something Scott had begun to rely on. What Virgil had said was true: it was going to be a good day.
"Before that point in time, had you ever considered that Virgil, or any of your brothers, could die in a rescue?"
Had he ever considered it? How could he have not considered it? He had to rescue victims but he wanted to protect his brothers, too. What if Gordon's wretched yellow tin can got smashed under some sea junk or John made the wrong decision twenty feet underground or Alan let his enthusiasm overtake his common sense? But Virgil dying? He couldn't hold that thought for longer than a nanosecond. Virgil couldn't die, he just couldn't.
"We couldn't go out on rescues if we entertained the possibility that one of us might die. You couldn't be an effective rescuer," said Scott.
"Has that happy, sunshiny day been knocked out of you yet?" enquired Scott with a smirk as Virgil walked towards him mopping his brow.
"We've got to talk to Brains about the heat our vehicles give out when they're pushed to the maximum," replied Virgil, still sweating. "The Domo might stop a wall from falling on you but when it's at full power and you're standing next to it in 90 degree heat it's enough to make you want to stop and grab a cool beer."
Scott nodded. Virgil may have turned his hard work into a joke but Scott could see that he was close to heat exhaustion from pulling people out of the collapsed building as Gordon used the Domo to hold the shaky steel from shifting anymore.
"We'll discuss it with Brains later. Let's wrap this up. Gordon's on his way back."
"Okay, I'll just make sure Alan's finished."
Virgil turned back towards the rescue scene and Scott watched Gordon powering the Domo towards the pod. Suddenly, there was an almighty crash causing dust to swirl around Scott. He looked over his shoulder and shock hit him like a speeding train. A corner of one of the remaining silos had disintegrated right at the spot where Virgil had been walking. There was no way he could have survived that. Virgil was dead.
"Do you, your brothers or father ever discuss the emotional effects of rescues? The emergency services have post-traumatic stress counsellors in place and available if and when their employees need them. Does International Rescue have anything set up like that?"
Scott had just about had enough of all this but he couldn't bail yet. It had been a difficult few months, as hard a time as International Rescue had ever had. Natural disasters, terrorists and plain carelessness had kept them continually busy and Scott, as Field Commander and pilot of Thunderbird 1, had been to virtually every rescue. He had become exhausted and strung out but had kept it to himself. Pointlessly, as it turned out, as Virgil had soon identified the problem and had followed him around, like a sheep, trying to help him in some way. Worse than that, his father had caught on to his state of health. Jeff's gentle hints of a vacation had been ignored by Scott and the situation had got to a point where Jeff had told Scott in no uncertain terms that he either got professional help or he was out of International Rescue indefinitely.
That was why Scott was now in the Brisbane office of Dr. Harold Powell, a psychologist of some note and, more importantly, the father of an Australian International Rescue agent and a respected friend of Jeff's. He could be relied upon to help and not compromise the anonymity of International Rescue.
Scott very rarely felt the urge to run away from something unpleasant but right now the only thing that kept him glued to the leather chair was the thought of never piloting Thunderbird 1 again. He considered Dr. Powell's question. The only therapists that he had regular access to were Grandma, Kyrano and Tin Tin and usually they were enough.
He and his brothers never discussed the emotional effects of rescues but they supported each other in different ways. A couple of months ago he'd spent a lot of time with Alan working on Thunderbird 3's radiant cooling fan. A malfunction during a routine swap with John on Thunderbird 5 had shaken Alan's faith in the space rocket. Scott had spent many hours working through the problem alongside Alan and Brains, as much to rebuild his baby brother's confidence as to help technically. Similarly, Gordon had taken Virgil on several fishing trips over the course of a particular week when, after a bad rescue, Virgil had wavered in his enthusiasm for International Rescue and had needed the laid-back calmness of Gordon to convince him that he was on the right track. And how many times had Virgil passed Scott a large Scotch and just sat next to him in the lounge, his companionable silence somehow providing Scott with the support and strength he needed to deal with another day?
They helped each other all the time but with actions not words.
"We usually find it more helpful to discuss the technical issues related to a rescue," Scott told Doctor Powell quietly.
Alan didn't have time to shout a warning. At the same time as he saw Virgil walking towards him, head down, deep in thought, he also saw the edge of the silo above Virgil wobbling dangerously. With lightening reactions honed over many years of driving cars way too fast, Alan leapt forward and dragged Virgil away from the falling steel panels. There was a yelp of pain; a crash of steel hitting dirt and Alan found himself in an untidy heap on the ground along with a very much alive Virgil.
"'Thank you' would have been fine; you didn't have to hug me." Alan grinned into Virgil's face, centimetres from his own. A stunned Virgil came to his senses and leapt away from Alan at speed. He gave another squeak of pain and sat on the ground surveying first the wreckage where he had just been walking and then the huge gash in his leg that had just started to bleed.
Alan moved over and looked at Virgil's leg. "Oh Grandma's going to love you," he said, tentatively pulling at the ripped uniform to get a better look at the injury. He could see Virgil biting back another expression of pain. "Stay there. I'll go get the med kit from the pod."
"How did you feel when you found out Virgil was actually alive? Relieved, ecstatic or angry with him for scaring you?"
Scott looked around again. The sky was still clear outside the window, his shoes were still shiny and the potted plant had not moved. Then, for the first time, he made direct eye contact with Dr. Powell.
"All of the above," he stated with just the hint of wry humour.
"I think a few more sessions might be useful. Same time next week?" asked Dr. Powell with his usual calm expression.
Scott got to his feet, nodding dully.
THE END