Title: Tick Tock
Author: Gumnut
21 – 30 Nov 2018
Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS
Rating: Teen
Summary: And then he had to take that one step further."
Word count: 6861
Spoilers & warnings: None.
Timeline: Standalone
Author's note: This is for i-am-chidorixblossom She was having a bad time of it, but this fic got out of control, did what it damn well pleased, and RL kicked my butt, so it is delivered late ::headdesk:: I've been staring at it for far too long. It has issues, but I'm not sure how to fix them. ::glares at it some more:: Also, I'm a librarian and an artist/designer, not a medical professional, so please suspend disbelief if I've completely blown it :D In any case, I hope you enjoy it anyway and thank you to all for your continuing wonderful support. I couldn't do this without you ::biggest hugs with extra snuggles for Chiddi::
Author's note: Disclaimer: Mine? You've got to be kidding. Money? Don't have any, don't bother.
-o-o-o-
Virgil stared at the piano.
The ivory stared back.
Reaching out a gloved hand he touched the familiar keys, but as if in an echo of reality, his glove prevented him from feeling their silky touch.
"Virgil, you coming?"
He looked up as Scott tore into the room still in his uniform, as Virgil was, no time between rescues.
No time for anything.
"Yeah, give me a second."
He rolled his shoulders, willing the ache to just go away.
It didn't.
"You okay?"
Virgil blinked. "Fine."
"Great. Launch in five." And he spun into his chute. Idly, Virgil wondered if his brother had remembered to disengage the uniform spinner.
With a sigh he followed suit, throwing the broken piece of Thunderbird Two on the floor beside the desk, and heading to his chute.
Another day, another rescue.
It would have been nice to have had the night in between.
-o-o-o-
Thunderbird Two landed hard and Virgil swore. There went the damn landing gear alignment. Another afternoon of repairs lined up and he hadn't even gone through post flight checks yet.
The hangar loomed and he cut speed, the mountain's shadow passing over him as it swallowed him whole. The turntable caught his 'bird and spun her ready again for the next rescue.
Which by all accounts would be, five, four, three, two…"Virgil, we have a situation."
Goddamnit!
-o-o-o-
He stunk.
There was no other way to describe it.
Virgil walked up the module and lay his head against the cold cahelium. God, that felt good.
But he stunk.
Five rescues in a row. All undeniably urgent. Three involving children. Two with fatalities. And that was only today.
He didn't want to think about yesterday.
He wanted to stay right where he was, no going back out into that damn desert sun.
"Sir, are you with International Rescue?"
No, I'm with the circus, we just arrived in town. He swallowed a sigh, lifted his head and turned around. "Yes, ma'am. Can I help you?"
She wrinkled her nose at him, obviously having gotten a whiff.
"Do you think you could move your equipment? We can't get the tour bus out of the carpark."
He stared at her.
The remains of a second tour bus were still hanging off the cliff fifty metres away. Two people had fallen to their deaths despite all his efforts.
Total blank.
"Sure." Just let me wash this blood off my hands first.
She smiled at him. "Thanks."
He resisted the urge to connect his head with the cahelium with an audible thunk.
-o-o-o-
He staggered into the comms room, there was no other word for it.
His head was pounding, his shoulders aching and there was a stone in his right boot.
"Woah, eau de hard work just walked into the room."
"Shut up, Gordon."
"I'm sorry, my mistake, eau de bear."
He ignored him. Sometimes that was all you could do.
"Virg, how did it go?"
He stared up at his big brother for a moment, briefly wondering what the hell he was talking about. "Oh, the climbers. Caught both of them. One was okay, the other was a whining cow."
The room fell silent and Virgil looked up from where he had been attempting to pull out a piece of grass that had gotten stuck in his harness. "What?"
Scott was frowning at him. "Are you okay?"
He flicked the grass onto the floor. "Oh, I'm dandy. Haven't slept for a while. Three people died in my arms today. I ate food earlier, but it tasted like cardboard. Must have had something to do with all the blood on my hands. How are you?"
And there was more grass! How the hell did the damn stuff get through the neoprene and his undershirt to scratch his skin? The material was space-rated, for crying out loud. He picked at it.
A shadow passed over him and he looked up to find a pair of worried blue eyes blocking out the setting sun.
"Virg?"
"What?!"
Okay, so he yelled a little. Didn't realise he could make his brother flinch quite that way.
He scratched his head and something fell out of his hair and on to the floor. Whatever it was, it scuttled away behind one of the lounges.
Gordon yelped and backed away.
Virgil really didn't have the energy to do anything much at all. "Sorry about that."
"I think you should sit down." And his brother was trying to usher him in the direction of the lounge without actually touching him.
"Why?"
There were calculations going on behind those blue eyes, he could tell. "Are you tired?"
"What do you think? There have been countdowns and fall downs and let downs, so why shouldn't there be sit downs as well." He took a step towards the lounge, but apparently the day hadn't finished with its fall downs yet, because the floor suddenly flew at his face.
"Woah!" And there were hands on him, grabbing at his uniform, and then he truly was sitting down.
On the floor.
"I stink."
An arm wrapped around his shoulders, and there were words that didn't really make sense. Then there were more people than before.
Grandma was there.
"Hey, Grandma."
"Hello, Virgil." She reached out and touched his face. He edged back a little and she dropped her hand. "How are you feeling?"
"Like shit."
She blinked at him. "Are you hurting anywhere?"
"Everywhere." And the world started to slide to the left.
There were hands again. Something soft. And he was finally resting. The floor was hard, but it was cool and there was no energy required. "Oh, god, that is good."
There were voices, lots of them, but he understood none of them, and quite frankly, he didn't care.
He could finally relax.
He drifted.
-o-o-o-
Someone was stroking his hair.
"Mmm, tha's good."
"Virgil? Are you with us?" Scott. But there was a fragrance.
"Grandma?"
"I'm here, honey." The fingers in his hair patted him gently.
"Not feel so good."
A shadow fell across his eyelids and a kiss brushed his forehead. "Don't you worry, you're safe."
And it was only then he realised that he was surrounded by the sound of his beloved 'bird. "Wha-? Why?" He tried to sit up and discovered blankets over him and a needle in his arm and hands hurrying to hold him down. "Woah, Virg, you relax. We're on our way to the hospital." Opening his eyes produced a blurry approximation of his big brother.
"Who's flying?"
"Gordon."
He struggled to sit up, attempting to throw his legs off the side of the bed. But something was wrong.
He stilled and the hands holding him back steadied him. "What's wrong with my legs?" He tried to move them again. The left one shifted a little, but the right one might as well have not been there. Panic hit. "What happened? What's wrong?" He couldn't remember.
"Virgil!" It was Scott's command voice, but something inside Virgil wasn't right. His heart rate soared and an alarm shrieked somewhere.
But then a pair of soft hands cupped his face and he was turned to look into a pair of clear blue eyes. "Virgil, it is going to be alright. Do you hear me?" One of those hands returned to combing his hair.
A breath fell out of him and he sagged, his body sliding forward before being caught by a familiar pair of strong hands. He was lowered slowly back onto the bed.
Grandma didn't let her touch slip for a moment. He forced himself to take in breath, expel it, and calm down. "What happened?" Why was he so breathless?
"You collapsed in the comms room. Do you remember?" Scott's voice was like a lifeline.
He thought back. "Something...I smelled bad."
"Yes, you did." And there was a touch of a smile in that voice. "That was thirty-six hours ago."
"Thirty-six?"
"You were exhausted, Virgil. And you have been asleep for most of it. Damnit, why do you do this? There are rules for a reason."
"I-I broke no rules, Scott. There were people-...who needed hel-" And he had to catch his breath. His lungs just weren't filling properly. "Wha's wrong w' me?"
Scott looked at his grandmother a moment before turning back to Virgil. Quietly. "We don't know yet."
Gordon's voice suddenly filled the room. "We are on final approach to Wellington. Please take your seats for landing."
"Wel-lington?"
"Hospital, Virgil." Grandma brushed his temple with her fingertips. "We will find out what's wrong, honey. You just rest."
He leant into her touch. "Sorry, Grand-ma." His eyes drifted shut, his focus shifting to her gentle touch, clinging to it. "Sor-ry."
A breath that wouldn't come.
And he was forced to let go.
-o-o-o-
Scott spun as both an alarm started shrieking and his grandmother cried out. "Virgil?!"
His brother's body shuddered slightly and then stilled.
A pause, a moment, no indrawn breath.
God, no.
"He's not breathing."
The ship around them shuddered as if in sympathy and Scott moved. Don't think, just do.
The roar of VTOL vibrated through the hull as he reached for a bag ventilator and started breathing for his brother. Grandma lowered the bed, helping to move her grandson into the correct position.
Damn you, Virgil, don't do this. Scott scanned the readouts. If only he had realised what was happening faster.
They had thought it was simply exhaustion taking his brother down. The man had fallen asleep on the floor, for goodness' sake. Once he and Gordon had manhandled him into the infirmary, everything had checked out. Virgil had just over done it, and not for the first time. They had decided to let him sleep it off in the infirmary where they could keep an eye on him.
Something had niggled at Scott, something about how Virgil hadn't seemed himself before his collapse. It bugged him. But there were no indications that there was anything else wrong with him.
Fourteen hours later and he was still sleeping. Scott reassured himself that it was just Virgil, who slept long periods normally anyway.
But still the niggle.
At sixteen hours, he cracked enough to attempt to wake his brother.
Virgil responded by swearing at him, rolling over and going back to sleep.
Okay, the bear was still in residence.
But sixteen hours was a ridiculous length of time to go without fluids, sustenance and a toilet break.
So he woke him again and against Virgil's protests, dragged him out of bed and into the infirmary's bathroom, before shoving a glass of water and a bagel in front of him.
The glare was epic, particularly when Virgil realised exactly where he was.
"I'm not sick!"
"Eat your breakfast."
But the moment his brother set eyes on the bagel he paled to a ghastly shade of green. "Not hungry."
"Drink, at least."
Half the water made it down his throat before Virgil's eyes began to droop again. "'M tired."
"Drink the rest of the water, or I'm calling Grandma up here."
The rest of the water made it past his lips, the glass hitting the bed table just that little harder than intended as Virgil pushed the table away. "Wanna sleep."
Scott sighed. "In a moment. Just let me check you over first, okay?"
His brother rubbed his ear as he lay back on the pillow. "O-kay." But he was asleep again before Scott had a chance to do anything.
Twelve hours later, Scott was really beginning to worry.
"Something is not right, Grandma."
Gordon was examining his prone brother, checking Scott's assessment of his condition. "Bro, I can't see anything more than you. Virgil is just sleeping. No indications of anything else." A sigh. "He just pushed it too far. I'm going to give him a piece of my mind once he is back on his feet."
"Get in line." Scott and Grandma said at the exact same time.
Another sigh. "Let's wake him up. Time for some more fluid, in and out."
The bear was still firmly in residence upon being disturbed. "For god's sake, leave me alone."
"Virgil, toilet break, then food."
"Who died and made you boss?"
Scott froze, just as Virgil realised exactly what he had said. "Shit. Sorry, didn't mean that." Sitting up, he dragged himself to the side of the bed, letting his feet hang off the edge, and dropped his head into his hands. "Hell."
Yet another sigh, and Scott reached over to help his brother off the bed. "Apology accepted, if you pee, drink and eat something."
"'M sorry."
"I know." And he did. This was not the Virgil he knew and it was setting alarm bells screaming in his head.
They started screaming even louder once Virgil's feet hit the floor. "Ooh, that's weird." And then his brother was falling.
Scott only barely managed to catch him, the larger man more difficult to manhandle than he appeared. "Gordon!"
The aquanaut appeared in the doorway, diving into help the moment he saw Scott stagger. "Virgil, whatcha doing?"
"Feet feel weird. Numb." And as Scott watched, Virgil attempted to get those feet under him and failed. "Don't think I can...can't...what the hell is going on?"
They managed to get him back on the bed. A sensitivity assessment later and they realised that their second oldest brother was suffering a creeping paralysis.
The anxiety level in the room skyrocketed.
But Virgil didn't know because he had fallen asleep again.
Thunderbird Two was prepped and they left the island within the next fifteen minutes.
But apparently they weren't fast enough.
-o-o-o-
They torched a park near the Wellington Hospital, foregoing the airport the moment Virgil stopped breathing. They could charge them for damages later. It wouldn't be the first time the Tracy's had to pay for extra greenskeepers and it wouldn't be the last.
An ambulance met them there.
It was a huddle of the three of them as they pushed the hover stretcher out of TB2. Scott at the head of the stretcher was keeping his brother alive, pumping air into his failing lungs. Grandma held his hand.
Gordon held them together.
A blur of paramedics, vitals and his brother was rushed off to emergency. Scott going with him.
Gordon found his arms full of his grandmother, quietly crying on his shoulder.
He bit his own lip. Now Virgil was in other hands, he had no emergency to occupy him, nothing to distract him from the fact that his brother may be dying this very moment.
And Grandma was crying.
He blinked and a tear ran down his cheek. He cleared his throat. "C'mon. We need to get to Scott." His big brother was likely a mess. Try and help what he could.
And pray for what he couldn't.
-o-o-o-
The hiss of the ventilator hurt.
It was a rhythmic sound, something no doubt Virgil would be able to sense, perhaps even create some music to, but to Scott, it just screamed pain.
Virgil couldn't breathe on his own. There was concern that he soon wouldn't be able to do anything on his own and he would die.
Why?
They didn't know.
Scott had clung to the hospital having the answers. He was only a paramedic, doctors knew so much more.
But they didn't know.
He had sent Gordon back to TB2, to return her home and gather the rest of the family in Tracy Two. John had declined to come down just yet. He wanted the power of Thunderbird Five to support his sudden research into the causes of paralysis.
Grandma sat under his arm, her head on his shoulder, her expression lost as she stared at her dying grandson.
Yes, dying. There was no denying it, just futile rage against it.
And the lack of reason was pure torture.
His medical history had been scoured. And what a history it was. The doctor had many questions.
What had his brother eaten in the last week? Considering how busy they had been, Scott figured the better question would have been 'Has your brother eaten in the last week?' Not that Virgil ever had any trouble eating, he had a healthy appetite, but time, there had been so little time.
Where has Virgil been in the last week or so? Had he travelled internationally at all? Scott was so tired he actually burst out laughing at that question. Grandma had wrapped her arms around him as the laughter had nearly turned into tears.
In the last week, Virgil had landed on every continent with the exception of Antarctica. Though, he had been there the week before to assist the US Airforce at McMurdo. As Scott listed off the sites of the rescues his brother had attended, it sunk in exactly how much work Virgil had been buried under. Sure, Scott had been alongside him on many of them, as had their brothers, but Virgil was so integral to IR's operation that, bar a space exclusive rescue, he was on site for almost every event. And if he wasn't, it was because he was attending another site at the time.
Scott ran his hands through his hair. International Rescue was stretched thin, and this was the result. What the hell had he done? What would Dad have done? Was this his fault?
"It's not your fault, Scott."
He dropped his elbows to the side of the bed, his head into his hands. "How can you know that, Grandma?"
"Because it isn't." And her arms were around him again, her head against his shoulder. As always, he was a little stunned by how physically small his grandmother was. Her personality was so strong, so vibrant, it out shone her size. He had shot up above her at fourteen, but she still seemed larger than him.
He still looked up to her.
"Grandma, I..." And he scrunched his eyes shut as his throat caught. "I can't lose him." The breath he dragged in strangled him. "I can't."
The arms around him tightened, but there were no words of reassurance.
There were none to be had.
-o-o-o-
Gordon was surrounded by his brother.
That's what it felt like, anyway. Virgil was everywhere he looked. The sound of Thunderbird Two screamed Virgil, the seat he was sitting in was Virgil's pilot seat and the very green of the cockpit was just simply his brother.
Gordon's throat was tight as he launched her into the air. He knew his brother would be protesting him flying his 'bird. He understood it was no reflection of his brother's trust or a lack of confidence in his piloting skills. Hell, it was more a running joke than anything else. Just that this was Virgil's Thunderbird. His. Just as TB4 was Gordon's.
Gordon bit his lip, blinking away the blur.
Damnit.
It was just so senseless. The man worked his ass off to save the world and suddenly his body just stops working.
The doctors had bandied around possibilities, but none had been conclusive and most of them had come with the words 'no cure'. So symptoms were to be treated as they appeared.
Too bad if death was one of them.
Gordon wiped his face with the back of his hand.
Oh, goddamnit.
As TB2 hit cruise height, he engaged the autopilot for the short journey home and took himself to the little bathroom.
And wished he hadn't.
Virgil was here, too.
A used uniform was shoved in one corner, such a sign of how rushed the usually tidy man had been. Almost in contrast, a handful of flowers had been shoved in a cup of water and jammed up against the faucet to stop it from falling over. Pretty red, orange and yellow tiny little flowers, now rather wilted, moved in rhythm with the vibrations of the Thunderbird, trembling just enough to shiver.
Gordon reached out to touch one. His brother had probably stashed them for photographing or painting later, but in the rush had forgotten them. Even his eye could see the colours were lovely.
Something tiny scurried across his fingers. "Ah!" It was only little, but it set off an immediate reaction. His skin tingled and red marks appeared where the creature had touched him. "What the hell?!" He shook his hand and it was flung across the room, landing in the shower recess. Damn fingerless gloves. Useful for dexterity, but damn vulnerable when ...touching flowers?
He stared at the flowers for a moment, then back at the shower recess, suddenly reminded of the thing with legs that had fallen out of Virgil's hair shortly before he had collapsed.
He absently scratched his damn itchy fingers, before picking up the flowers, eyeing them for any more bugs and carried them into the cockpit. "Hey, John?"
"Gordon?" His holographic brother was obviously distracted, his fingers flying over unseen data.
"Do you know what plant these flowers belong to?"
Green eyes glanced up at him for a moment. A blink. "Lantana of some kind. Why?"
"Virgil, had them in TB2's bathroom." He shook his itchy hand again. Glancing at it he realised it had become a little swollen. "Had some kind of bug on them."
John frowned at him before returning to his research. "Give me a moment." Another blink. "Lantana can cause internal paralysis if eaten." An arched eyebrow.
"I can't see him eating the flowers, bro. I suspect he was going to paint them."
"Then I don't..." And John paused staring at something Gordon couldn't see.
"What?"
"You said there was a bug on them. Describe it to me."
"Tiny, with legs. Didn't see much, didn't want to. Damn thing has made my hand itchy and now it is swollen."
"Show me."
Gordon held it up.
"You've got to be kidding me." John's voice was low and his eyes wide. "I need to speak to Scott." And the hologram vanished.
"What?! John!"
But his brother was gone.
He dumped the flowers on the console, and tried not to gouge one set of fingers with the other.
-o-o-o-
"Scott!"
He jumped. He couldn't help it. John's voice startled him out of memories and dark thoughts.
"What?" Oh, so professional a response there, field commander. He rubbed his face with a hand. "Yes, Thunderbird Five?"
"Was Virgil checked for bites and stings?"
A blink. "Yes, it was one of the first things they did."
"Check again. This time, focus on his hair and behind his ears."
Scott rose to his feet, throwing a questioning look at his grandmother. She shrugged and also stood up, walking around the bed to Virgil's other side.
Turning on the overhead light brought out the stark paleness of his brother, his dark hair in such contrast to his bloodless face enough to corpsify him.
Scott swallowed hard before reaching to gently touch his hair. It was soft, but obviously in need of a wash. He fingered through it, scouring his brother's scalp for any indications of injury.
At first he found nothing and despair of an answer nagged him, but then..."What the hell is that?!"
A tiny swollen lump of a creature was attached to his brother, deep in his hairline just behind his left ear.
Then he found another one.
A gasp from his grandmother produced a third.
"John, what the hell are we looking at?"
"I suspect Virgil is a victim of a paralytic tick."
"Three so far."
"Three?! Call in the doctors now. Get them removed immediately."
What followed was a blur of action. He notified a nurse, the doctor was called, the ticks were removed, five in total, and bagged for identification.
By the time Alan, Gordon, Kayo and Brains arrived, they knew what had taken their brother down.
What they still didn't know was whether he would ever get up again.
-o-o-o-
"How the hell were they missed in the first place?"
That was Scott. An angry Scott.
Damn.
"This is a rare situation that usually only presents in children and most certainly not in New Zealand." John's calm and matter of fact voice was reassuring. "The ticks do not usually go unnoticed for such a long period of time. Virgil's exhaustion compounded the situation."
"So what you are saying is that it is Virgil's fault."
"It is nobody's fault, Scott. Sometimes shit just happens." And there went John's calm.
Hell.
Virgil fought against lethargy. He knew what would happen next if he didn't intervene. An agitated John was as dangerous as it was rare. Combine it with an angry Scott and the explosion could take out a building.
Or any bystander brothers.
"He could have died!"
"Don't you think we know that?!" Oh great, Gordon was in the mix? Mount Vesuvius had competition.
"You're not the only one who cares about Virgil, you know." And his littlest brother. The emotion in his voice hurt. Goddamnit, wake up.
He tried to move his body, but nothing responded.
Except his nose. It wrinkled, tingled, and then he was sneezing.
Over the ringing in his ears and the pain in his throat, there was the clatter of moving chairs and shadows fell over his eyelids.
A tentative, "Virgil?" Scott.
He moved the muscles in his face, scrunching up his eyes and nose, attempting to move his eyelids.
Finally a crack, a dip, another crack...and four brothers hovering around his bed. Blink.
"H-y." And apparently he could talk, but not quite. Another try. "You guys are loud."
He didn't miss the smiles that spread over four faces, or the tears in several sets of eyes. His heart softened. "You all okay?"
And the moment broke. Gordon blinked away moisture, Scott looked like he wanted to thump him in the arm, Alan had a stupid grin on his face, and John, John had that calm half smile that said little yet everything at the same time.
Virgil tried to move his hand, but it didn't respond. "Wha's wrong with my hands?"
Serious took over the room once again. "There was some paralysis." Scott held up his hands. "Doctor says it should all come back, it just may take some time."
Virgil stared at him. "Paralysis?"
"You were bitten by a bug, bro. Several bugs." Gordon, as always, was so specific.
"A bug?" At least he could turn his head.
"Remember the Fitzroy River floods last week?"
Virgil's blink was slow, but he remembered. "The three little girls?"
"Uh, yeah." Gordon ran his fingers through his hair. Only two of the three had made it. "Remember the flowers?"
Flowers? Oh, they had been everywhere. "Wanted to paint some." To remember little Lily. He closed his eyes for a moment. But that had been a week ago. The flowers had been left on Thunderbird Two. No time.
No time.
"Virg?" Scott's voice was quiet.
His eyelids were once again heavy to lift. "Yeah?"
Gordon again. "You got yourself infested with some ticks, bro. Nasty ones that can cause paralysis if they are left unattended."
"Oh."
Scott spoke up. "But we found them in time. You've got Gordon and John to thank for this one."
"Thank you." His voice had become a whisper and his eyelids fighting to droop.
"It will take a while, but you'll get better."
"Okay." And then it was all too much energy and he let his eyelids drop closed.
And he let go.
-o-o-o-
Three weeks.
Three goddamned weeks.
Of embarrassment. Of being unable to do the easiest tasks. Of frustration to the extreme.
Of four brothers, one sister, and one grandmother being both the most wonderful family in existence and the most annoying.
Of course, of all of them, Gordon was the most understanding, as he had been through something similar and could empathise.
Scott was willing to do everything for him to the point that if he saw Virgil attempting it, he would jump in immediately.
Virgil was both grateful and ready to kill him.
John was ever the practical one, providing technical assistance and a quiet presence.
Alan cared a lot, but had no real idea what to do to help. Of course, Virgil the bear was often growling at Scott, so Alan tended to keep near the doorway. But waking up one afternoon to find his littlest brother flaked out in the chair beside his bed, his hand centimetres from his own, did bring a fond smile to Virgil's face.
But it was Grandma who kept him sane. She kicked out Scott, reassured Alan, relieved Gordon and stopped Kayo from killing nurses. But most of all she sat with him and ran her fingers through his hair at those most frustrating and confronting moments.
And she brushed away his tears when he couldn't do it himself.
-o-o-o-
Gordon approached Virgil's room with a little apprehension. His brother had been taking it hard over the last week. Recovery sucked and Gordon had to admit that he was having to face his own paralysis fears as he watched his brother struggle through it all. There had been a few nightmares to make it all the more enjoyable.
But the worst had to be seeing his usually calm and kind brother so frustrated and helpless. Virgil was the powerhouse of IR. He was the guy you went to for help. The rock. He wasn't used to asking for help. He wasn't used to being so dependent. It was confronting for all involved.
Gordon understood.
But it didn't make it any easier.
When he entered, Virgil was on his side in the bed, facing away from him, staring at the window. His family had done their best to brighten up the room for him. He had a digireader at hand, basically a tablet with accessibility turned up to the max and supported by an arm attached to the bed.
A pair of TB2 dice hung from the bedhead. John had installed a holographic interface in the bedside table and a huge communications screen hung from the ceiling, able to show all the TV reruns anyone could ask for.
But Gordon knew it wouldn't be enough. He had been in the same position, with four similar walls staring at him day in day out.
He so wished his brother didn't have to go through this.
Stepping into the room quietly, he stood just inside the door, not knowing whether Virgil was awake or asleep and not wanting to disturb if he was the latter. Scott was down in the cafeteria with Grandma. She had dragged him there an hour ago to give Virgil a break. Kayo was doing her rounds of the facility, while John had dragged Alan back to the hotel for a shower.
This gave Gordon the opportunity to spend a few moments with his brother alone.
While it could be said that Scott and Virgil had the legendary relationship in this family, Gordon liked to think that he and his second eldest brother had their own special thing, too. After all, Gordon depended on Virgil for almost every rescue he participated in. He was the voice above the waves, the one who dropped him off and picked him up, and the one who disabled the shower controls just to stir the pot.
A mental snort. Gordon may be the prankster in this family, but he had learnt to never underestimate Virgil. The man played his smarts close to home and could whip out a retort as easily as breathing, if necessary.
And now he was just procrastinating. A sigh.
"So are you going to come in or are you going to just stand there?"
Okay, so he jumped, but he wasn't going to admit it. Walking around the bed, he found his brother wide awake and watching him. "Hey, bro."
"Hey, Gordon."
He grabbed a chair and brought it to the side of the bed, sitting to bring his eyeline a little closer to that of his prone brother. "How was rehab today?"
"Sucked."
"Usually does. Any progress?"
In answer, Virgil lifted an arm above the bedsheets and onto the edge of the bed. A frown of concentration and his fingers moved as if he was playing the piano, the absence of keys not enough to hide the slow precision of his brother's artistic reflexes. "Almost able to play again." He let the hand drop onto the covers. "If I could sit up."
"It will come."
"I know."
A silence descended.
After a moment, the expression of concentration returned to his brother's face and he continued to tap invisible keys on the side of the bed.
Impulsively, Gordon reached out and placed his hand over Virgil's stilling the rhythm.
Brown eyes met brown eyes.
"I love you, bro."
Virgil's eyes widened.
Gordon looked away for a moment, but didn't let go, his fingers squeezing his brother's just gently. "Please don't do that again." And he wasn't referring to the piano playing.
"Wasn't planning on it."
A half smile. "Good." And the smile got wider. "Because next time there will be tarantulas involved." And he managed a laugh at his brother's horrified expression. "Yes, tarantulas, at least six, and in your bed. Gotta keep those bugs under control after all."
And Virgil was smiling at him, the sudden glisten of tears in his eyes.
God, the man was the powerhouse, but he was also a damn big softie.
"Maybe even a scorpion. They have enough attitude to kick your butt into gear." Yep, that stopped the tears and replaced them with fond exasperation.
"No scorpions, Gordon."
"Why not? They are such elegant creatures." A pompous arm emphasised the statement. "Claws of such grace, and that stinger, ooh, just hits the spot."
"You're an idiot."
"One of five."
"Not six?" And yes, that was a smirk on his brother's face.
"God, no, even I'm not stupid enough to call Kayo names. I like living."
A smile and the conversation stopped.
Gordon still had his hand on top of Virgil's and his brother's eyes were looking at it.
Another moment.
Quietly. "Thanks, Gordy."
One last gentle squeeze before he let go.
"Anytime."
-o-o-o-
"We need to talk."
It was inevitable. he knew it had been coming and he guessed he was fortunate enough that his big brother waited until he could at least sit up before lambasting him.
"About what, Scott?"
"About operational procedures."
"What?" Perhaps it wasn't what he expected. He fiddled with the blankets covering his legs. He was due to leave the hospital tomorrow and he was so looking forward to seeing his own bedroom, with or without the necessary hoverchair.
"Once you are back on duty, you are not to attend more than three rescues in twenty-four hours and for no more than twelve hours at a stretch."
He stared at his brother. "But what if I'm needed?"
"But that is just it, Virgil, you are always needed." The commander swallowed. "But I need you more, and I need you alive."
Virgil continued to stare.
Scott grabbed a seat and sat down beside his bed, putting his arms down on the covers, not quite reaching for his brother, but almost. Voice quiet. "Virg, we nearly lost you. And for a stupid reason. If you hadn't been so overworked, you would have noticed the issue far earlier. Hell, it may never have become an issue. Those damn ticks have to be attached for days before they become a problem." His blue eyes glazed over with guilt. "I have been asking too much of you, and it nearly got you killed."
Virgil reached out and grabbed his brother's arm, grateful he actually could now. "It was not your fault, Scott. It was mine. I know my limits and I pushed them too far. It's just..." And he pressed his lips together. "They needed my help. All of them. How can I not give it to them?"
Scott's hand landed on top of his. "You can only give so much, Virgil. You have to keep something for yourself."
"And let them die?"
Scott looked away. "We can't save them all."
"But you are asking me to turn my back on those I could."
"You can't save them if you are dead." And his brother's tone was firm and final.
Virgil went back to staring.
Scott pinned him with his eyes. "Think about it. What if it was Alan in that bed? What about Gordon? Apparently he is allergic to ticks. His hand swelled up because one walked across it. What if he had been the one to encounter them at the Fitzroy Floods? How would you feel to be sitting where I am?"
"I..." The words caught in his throat. "Can't let them die, Scott. Please."
"I can't let you die either." His brother's lips thinned. "This isn't about the world needing Virgil Tracy. It is about your brothers, sister and grandmother needing you." Scott looked down at his hands for a moment. "I can't lose you, Virg. I just can't."
And to Virgil's horror, his big brother was blinking away tears when he looked up. With a poorly managed smile, Scott untangled himself from Virgil's hand, stood up and left the room.
His brother left to stare at where he had been.
-o-o-o-
Virgil tentatively reached out and touched the piano keys, his fingers automatically falling into his usual warm up routine.
Notes bounced off the comms room walls and danced out onto the balcony.
A moment devoted to flexing long neglected muscles and he dropped into a simple tune, left hand strumming the chords, right managing the tune.
Just.
He frowned and pushed it, closing his eyes. The tune shifted playing to his emotion, frustration leaking into the higher notes. He forced in determination, weaving a deeper purpose, making his fingers work.
He missed a key and swore under his breath, eyes shooting open and glaring at the keyboard.
Run the riff again.
His dexterity had taken a hit in his illness. He needed to get it back. Practise.
Work damn you.
Repeat.
C'mon.
Concentrate. Calm. Draw in a breath.
He closed his eyes once again and let his fingers find their familiarity.
Play.
The frown came back, but he ignored it, once again forcing it.
Music filled the room.
Until that same key, that same stretch, stuttered.
Goddamnit!
A soft hand landed on his right, drawing his fingers from the keyboard, stealing the music from the air and startling him out of his frustration.
Grandma reached out her other hand and wrapped it around his shoulders as she sat down beside him on the stool. "You have always been such a stubborn boy. Quiet, polite and kind, but as stubborn as a mule."
"Grandma?"
"No, don't deny it. And I won't necessarily say it is a bad thing, stubborn has its uses." She squeezed his hand again. "But honey, you need to give yourself time."
"I'm just practising."
"No, you're not. You're forcing it, Virgil." And she held his hand up gently in her own. It was trembling just slightly.
He glared at it, forming it into a fist to stop it from shaking.
And his grandmother wrapped it in both of her hands. "You know, your father was just the same. Always had to take it just that one step further. Caused no end of trouble for himself and those around him." She sighed. "Of course, it got him where he needed to go. Five beautiful sons and a dream to save the world."
She drew his hand to her cheek, and caught his eyes with hers. "And then he had to take that one step further."
Virgil stared at her. "Grandma?"
"Please, honey, we don't want to lose you, too."
His heart clenched, and there must have been something in his reaction, because his grandmother once again put her arm around him and drew him close, resting her head on his shoulder. "Give yourself some time. You are just as valuable as all those people out there. Look after yourself, so you can look after them."
"Yes, Grandma." Could he say anything else?
Gently pulling his hand from hers, he reached around and drew her in close. She was so small compared to him. So fragile. He dropped his head to touch her hair.
"Promise me, Virgil." He almost didn't hear her whisper.
"Promise, Grandma." He never could deny her anything.
"Good."
-o-o-o-
Virgil flexed the muscles in his shoulders, striding past the piano towards his chute. "John, any further information?"
"No, I've lost communications with the sub. Gordon is waiting in Thunderbird Four."
"Well, he'll just have to wait a moment longer, Two needs to refuel. No fuel, no flight."
"What about you? You okay?"
He stopped in his tracks. "Uh."
"Virgil?"
He took a moment, assessing himself. Sure, he was a little tired. A couple of aches were making themselves known, but really nothing too bad. He rolled his shoulders again. "I'm good. Got at least one more rescue in me."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm fine, John."
"You better be."
Neoprene creaked a little as he resumed his stride towards his chute.
"Don't worry, I am."
-o-o-o-
FIN.