Jeff wakes up feeling foggy, which he has come to expect, but feeling more like himself than he has in a long time. He's aware that he's in the infirmary this time, finally at the stage where he doesn't wake up in a full blown panic, convinced that he is still in the Hoods clutches. He stays still and inhales for a moment before he even opens his eyes, letting the smell of the infirmary bring a sense of peace. These past few days, the smell of antiseptic and recycled air has been instrumental in distracting him from the aches and pains of his experience.
Normally, the smell coupled with the sense of utter boredom that accompanies his current residence is enough to drive him crazy, but he has learnt to appreciate every little thing. He is just so happy to be back on the island, his island, that everything that once drove him crazy is now a source of happiness and contentment. His sons constant chattering brings fondness instead of mild frustration, his mother's burnt cooking is more than welcome, and almost every bad memory from his experience is easily driven away by the company he has so missed the past few months.
Thinking of his mother and sons brings a niggle of concern, his mind zeroing in on Virgil. His half asleep brain doesn't seem to fully comprehend this sudden intrusion, but the feeling is enough to make him open his eyes. The overhead lights have been completely turned off, but Jeff still has to blink his eyes against the assorted dimmed lamps around the room. Turning his head, he sees the son on his mind in the chair next to him, completely engrossed in something on a data pad in hands. A frown immediately finds its way onto Jeff's face, the concern intensifying.
Virgil looks terrible. His eyes look hollow with the lighting in the room coupled with the bags under his eyes, his face is pale, and his hair looks clean but is unstyled. This in itself is alarming, because Virgil is always very particular about his hair. Rumpled hoodie, rumpled sweatpants…the person in front of him is a far cry from the sturdy young man that Jeff remembers. How long has he looked like this?
Mind working in overdrive, Jeff is already thinking back to the last few days since his rescue. Everyone has been crowded around his bed ever since he's been back, which has been a welcome situation, but he's just now realizing that while everyone has rotated around, Virgil has been a constant hovering presence almost the entire time. What also clicks for Jeff is that Virgil hasn't properly spoken to him beyond their first meeting, when his son had gone white and thrown his shaking arms around him, right before he launched straight into medic mode. He hasn't seemed to leave it since then, all their conversations centering around his health.
Concern feeds into guilt. Admittedly, he has been spending the past few days basking in everyone's company and trying to shake off an experience that while not traumatic was still an ordeal. Regardless, its hitting him now that he's been so busy listening to Alan and Gordons stories, reassuring John and Scott that he's fine and is proud of them for holding down the fort in his absence, and getting comfort from his mother, that he hadn't even realized that Virgil has studiously been avoiding him this entire time. Jeff hadn't even sought out his middle child, as overwhelmed with emotion and doped up on paid meds he's been. He hadn't registered that Virgil was always there, but in the background, or checking his monitors and stats and asking him medical questions, but avoiding eye contact and staying distant.
Something in his breathing must have shifted, because Virgil immediately looks up from his data pad, eyes wide and concerned. Getting a better look at his son's face sends a stab of something through his stomach; he looks like he's the one who was held captive for months.
"Dad? You okay?"
Jeff knows the question is completely warranted but it still sends a flash of frustration through him.
Virgil doesn't wait for an answer, but instead cranes his neck up to intensely study the monitors hooked up to Jeff. He seems to like what he sees, because his shoulders relax after a second, and he looks back at Jeff expectantly.
"Do you need more pain meds?
Jeff shakes his head, unable to tear his eyes away from the exhausted face in front of him. His son wordlessly picks up the glass of water on the bedside table, angling the straw towards Jeff so he can drink, which he grudgingly does.
There's silence that seems to echo as Virgil silently puts the cup back, checks the bag feeding into his IV, checks his bandages, and checks his fever. Jeff studies him intently the whole time, long used to picking up cues from his sons posture and body language. Virgil stays relaxed and focused the whole time, his hands steady and an absent frown on his face, but the minute he's done with his check, his whole demeanor changes.
His hands get nervously stuffed into his hoodie pocket, his eyes angle away from Jeff, and there's blatant discomfort written all over his face.
This is the first time they've been alone without someone providing a distraction, Jeff thinks absently.
"I..it's late. I'm gonna get Scott to stay with you for a bit." He says, pushing the chair to the side, his movements stilted. Jeff instinctively catches his wrist before he can get too far.
"No, wait. Hold on, Virgil." His son looks down at the bandaged hand now covering his wrist, and swallows. The discomfort is radiating off of him in waves, but he looks up and tries to act casual, the effect mostly lost with how tired and wrung out he looks.
"Do you need something else, dad?"
Jeff shakes his head. "No. Are you okay?"
A chuckle that sounds all wrong, and a smile that looks like a grimace under the nervousness and exhaustion plastered all over his face. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"
"You already did." Jeff shoots back, falling into his familiar strategy of firm but gentle. "Now I'm asking you."
"I'm fine." A shrug that wants to come off casual but comes off twitchy. "Just…tired."
"Virgil." He shakes the wrist he's still holding gently the second his son tries to look away again. His eyes snap back, and he swallows again, a flash of fear playing across the face before it's gone.
"Something's the matter. Please tell me what it is."
"Dad, nothing is the matter. Honestly." It sounds anything but honest. "I'm just tired…and worried about you."
Jeff doesn't doubt the truth in the last statement, but mentally calls bullshit on the first part.
"Virgil…"
"Dad." His son cuts him off, looking like he wants to physically jump out of his own skin to escape this situation. Alarm bells are blaring in Jeff's head. What on earth is the matter with his son?
"Please, just focus on getting better. I'm fine, you don't have to worry about me."
"If you would tell me what's wrong, I wouldn't have to worry."
"Dad, seriously. I'm fine. I promise, nothing is wrong with me."
"I've never taken you as someone who breaks his promises, son."
It's a lower blow than he'd intended, and it slips out before he can stop it, but he doesn't expect the reaction he gets. Virgil actually flinches at the words, hand clutching unconsciously into a fist. His hands are shaking, Jeff notes numbly. He can feel the tremors in the wrist he's holding. Instantly, he's in comfort mode, the need to soothe overtaking the desire to know what the hell is going on and how the hell can he fix it.
"Virgil.." He starts softly, thumb stroking across the wrist he's holding, and the gentleness seems to hit, his son sucking in a shaky breath. Horrifyingly, his eyes are now brimming with tears, which he desperately tries to blink back.
"I'm fine. Honest." It's not more than a whisper. He pulls his wrist away from Jeff's loose grip. "I'm gonna refill this for you, and get Scott. Seriously, I'm fine, just…tired."
A shaking hand grabs at the now empty glass on the nightstand and only succeeds in knocking it over. His son swears, quickly crouching down to pick it up. It's so unlike him that Jeff feels a surge of sympathy.
He reaches out a hand and firmly grasps his sons shoulder, albeit weakly, keeping him in place. The broad figure under his hand could easily break away, but Jeff knows he won't. He does flinch at the touch again, squeezing his eyes shut, but he stays where he is.
"Please, son, tell me what's wrong." He strokes back soft black hair, keeping his voice soothing and level, trying not to let the anxiety he's feeling leak into his voice. "You're starting to scare me."
"I told you, Dad" The voice he gets is hoarse, thick with emotion. "I'm just.."
"Virgil."
"Dad, please" A shaky breath turns into a stifled sob, and a hand hastily wipes at the tears trailing down his face. "Please don't make me do this right now."
Oh, Virgil. Jeff gently takes his chin, and turns his head up so he has no choice but to look him in the eyes.
Something about being level to Jeff seems to break something in him. After a few seconds, Virgil's face crumples into the most devastated look he's ever seen on him. His son looks down at his knees, his lips trembling and getting that miserable downturn they get whenever he's trying his hardest not to cry.
"You're going to hate me." It's such a small whisper, so full of fear and regret, that Jeff actually feels his heart hurt.
"Virgil, why would you say that?" Jeff cups his cheek, trying to meet his eyes from where he's sitting on the bed. "I could never hate you."
Virgil just shakes his head, a gasping sob escaping his lips.
"Whatever this is about, son, I could never hate you. Just please tell me what this is about, you're really worrying me."
He gently knocks his chin up, and Virgil has to crane his head up a bit to meet his eyes. Jeff wipes away some of the tears as his son looks at him with eyes brimming with unshed tears, schooling his face into the most comforting it can be. It's hard with the face in front of him, so nakedly scared and vulnerable.
His son looks down again, picking at a hangnail. The silence stretches and Jeff gives him time to gather his thoughts. He so badly wants to pull him into a hug, but his son has been flinching at every touch and the last thing he wants to do is scare him away when it finally looks like he's getting ready to talk. The seconds tick by and Jeff has to make an effort to calm the father in him that wants to immediately fix whatever has his son so upset, and he almost thinks he's going to have to cajole him some more before Virgil finally speaks.
"When.." He clears his throat. "When you were…there…" Jeff doesn't have to wonder where he means. "..did you ever think we weren't coming for you?"
"I…"
He had hoped this wasn't misplaced guilt about his captivity, but that doesn't seem likely anymore. He almost denies it instantly, his natural instinct to protect, but something tells him that's not what his son needs right now.
"Alright. Occasionally, yes." He pauses, forcing himself to admit it. He ponders for a second on the most tactful way to say it. "On some of the worst days, I did think…I was holding onto a miracle."
He blinks up at his boy, forcing himself not to dwell too deeply on the memories. Teary brown eyes are boring into his, seeming to hang onto every word, a hint of something Jeff can't place.
"Is that what this is about, son?" He ventures. "Because even on those days, I knew you boys were doing all you could to find me."
He'd been sure this was reassurance in the right direction, but it seems to be the completely wrong thing to say, because Virgil's face crumples again, a shaking hand coming up to cover his eyes.
"Oh, son. Please don't blame yourself. None of this is your fault, you have to know that."
More tears drip down into his lap, shoulders trembling as he shakes his head. Another sob, then he looks up again.
"Did he tell you…" He swallows. "…he made it look like you were dead?"
He's stunned enough at this sentence that he even has to ask "The Hood?". Virgil nods and smiles bitterly, although it collapses immediately. "The GDF called it substantial evidence, but not concrete."
The last few words hold the air of words extremely unwelcome but often repeated, Jeff notes numbly, his mind spinning. His family was told he was dead?
"How.."
Virgil's hands nervously pick at the blanket half covering Jeff, and he studiously looks at them, eyes adopting a faraway look.
"They didn't tell us all the…details. Scott hounded them for days, but…all they told us was there was no way you could have survived. There was no…" a grimace "..body, but they said the circumstances were…"
Virgil's hands are shaking again as he breaks off, and he swallows heavily.
"Oh, son.." He sighs, pushing out the thoughts of how why to focus on the situation at hand. He gives in to the urge to reach out and pull him into a hug or wipe the steady flow of tears or anything to comfort the young man that looks like he's about to fall apart, but his son still flinches away, gasping out another sob. A hand roughly swipes at one side of his face.
Something about the narrative doesn't make sense as Jeff can't stop his mind from trying to analyze the situation. From every indication he's gotten from his sons, who have tried their best to shield him from any gory details from his absence, they were all furiously looking for him. It was the GDF in the end that narrowed down the lead, that much he knows, but the rest of what he's pieced together from Gordon and Alan's exaggerated stories and John and Scott's passing comments is that they've all spent the last few months actively searching from him. One by one, all their faces flash into his mind from when they had finally found him, decked out in full International Rescue gear. Relief, happiness, relief, and..
His face snaps back to the son in front of him, and Virgil's face stands out in his mind among all the others. He finally registers the disbelief he'd seen on his sons face.
Oh
"Scott and John didn't believe them." The hands are back at the blanket again. "They outright told them to fuck off. Gordon and Allie…" He shrugs. "I don't think they ever stopped hoping. Even after…" He swallows, shaking knuckles white where they hold on to the blanket. Jeff holds his breath, hoping he's not going to hear what he thinks he's going to hear.
"But, dad, I did." Another stifled sob. "I did stop. I've spent the last few months mourning you."
To hear it from confirmed from the voice that's shaky and laced with despair and guilt is enough to take his breath away. His poor boy spent the last few months thinking he was dead?
"Scott tried so hard to get me to change my mind. Told me that the GDF is only human and he just knew that you were still out there."
Jeff can't tear his eyes away from the face that's resolutely not looking at him again.
"The things I said to him. God, I told him he was a selfish bastard. That if he could just let you go."
Everything he had imagined happening in his absence, the entire scenario that had kept him going, is being torn apart with every word he hears. At the very least, he had imagined his sons united in whatever front they accepted. He had imagined them comforting each other in the way they always did, supporting each other through whatever road blocks they hit. Of course he had considered that they might think he was dead, but this…
The fact that this happened to the son that always feels the most..
"And if I'd had my way…If I had been Scott or John, I would have left you there to die." His eyes seem far away and tortured, gaze fixed somewhere on Jeff's shoulder. Jeff resists every urge to reach out, desperate to not scare his son away. His mind is still reeling from the implications of what he's hearing.
"I would have abandoned you." Imploring eyes bore into Jeffs, as if willing to get him to understand. "Because it was too hard to keep looking for you. It was…it was too hard to keep hoping that we'd somehow find you and get you back, and like a goddamn coward…" The words are hissed out, dripping in self-loathing, and are immediately followed by another sob.
The tap seems to have opened, and Virgil can't seem to stop confessing everything he's been holding in.
"And Alan and Gordy. God, they were so upset, and so lost without you, and I didn't know what to do. Because all I could think about was how Scott and John were keeping them latched onto this…this fantasy where you would magically come back and everything would be okay."
"Dad…they would have been orphans. I can't…I" He's sobbing earnestly now, and brown eyes meet his again. "I would have orphaned my younger brothers."
The word orphans rings in his ears, and Jeff has heard enough. His son is heaving out sobs now.
"Virgil.."
"Dad" He sobs, taking Jeffs bandaged hand and holding in both of his. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I believed it."
"Virgil, it's okay.."
He doesn't seem to be listening at all. "Dad, please, you have to know that I wouldn't have…" Every other word is starting to dissolve into another sob. "I wouldn't have given up if even a little part of me believed you were alive.."
"I know, Virgil."
"They're all going to hate me." He whimpers and coughs, but keeps going. "I could have…"
"Virgil, it's okay. Son, you have to calm down." He can feel Virgils pulse beating through his wrist on one of the hands holding his, and his sobbing is taking on the very strained quality of someone struggling against them but unable to stop.
"Virgil. Virgil, look at me." Jeff takes his other hand and pulls his chin towards him.
"You have to calm down. Listen to me, I don't hate you. I could never hate you…I don't understand why you would ever think that."
The pain in those honey brown eyes has tears trickling down Jeff's cheeks, adding to ones he hadn't even registered falling. It's a kind of grief he hasn't seen in those eyes since his wife died, and now, it's mixed in with a self-loathing that Jeff can't stand.
"Breathe. Regulate your breathing, you're hyperventilating." Virgil takes a deep shaky breath, then immediately chokes on it, coughing and gasping out more sobs. He scrunches his eyes shut, chest still heaving.
"Breathe with me." Jeff coaxes, patting his cheek until he opens his eyes again. "Come on, in…and out"
This only works for a few seconds until Jeff, in the face of the devastated son in front of him, forgets that he's in the infirmary for a reason. Bruised ribs twinge in pain as he breathes in too deep in a desperate attempt to get his son to do the same, and he gasps.
Despite the fact that he's in the middle of breaking down, Virgil immediately freezes, his eyes wide. He falls backward, looking horrified.
"Oh god. Dad, I'm sorry." He sobs, immediately jumping up and adjusting Jeff's IV and pressing a button on his watch.
"Wait, Virgil." Jeff gasps out, pain already receding, desperately reaching out to catch his sons wrist. He misses by inches as Virgil staggers backward, looking stricken. It's the very picture of someone who can't believe what he's done. Jeff can't stand the thought of adding more guilt onto what Virgil already seems to be harboring, but his son is faster than he looks, and flees before Jeff can even twitch.
"Virgil! Virgil!" Jeff swears, trying to get himself out of bed, ignoring the pain it causes. Brains runs in two seconds later and stops that attempt in its tracks. Jeff falls back, ignoring his concern at the tears still on his face and his clearly elevated heartbeat on the monitors. He instead orders him to get Scott down to the infirmary as fast as he can, Virgil's tearful confession ringing in his ears and his tear stricken face swimming in his mind.