"SCOTT!" The pilot felt his body jostle from side to side, thanks to a pair of hands at his shoulders attempting to return him to the waking world. "Scott, can you hear me? Scott!" The shaking intensified until it elicited a groan from its victim. Scott instinctively tried to push the figure away. He fought harder when a heavy palm was pressed against his chest, keeping him grounded.

"Scott, easy! It's me." The voice was familiar. Reassuring. Virgil? Scott's jumbled thoughts provided no easy answer as to why his brother was at his side. "Hey, I got you. I need you to stay awake for me, okay?"

"Virg…" Scott managed. He was with Virgil. He was safe. The eldest Tracy allowed his exhausted limbs to drop in silent relief, and very nearly succumbed to the sleep his body craved.

"Does anything hurt? Are you in any pain?" As if on cue, a dull ache settled at Scott's temples.

"My head," came the weak reply. Virgil braced the back of his older brother's neck and slowly assisted him into a sitting position against the couch. The pilot opened his eyes and tried to blink the fuzzy world into focus.

Virgil's soothing timbre continued, but the words merged and divided like a song on repeat, lulling Scott back to that blessed slumber. He allowed his head to dip forward and rested his chin against his chest.

"Oh, no you don't, Scotty," Virgil chided as he kept him steady. "Not yet. Bear with me, here. Are you feeling any worse?"

"Mmm," Scott acknowledged. His blurry vision sharpened gradually, bringing with it an unwelcome sense of vertigo that would've sent Scott crashing back to the floor were it not for Virgil's support. The medic prodded his abdomen.

"Just your head, huh? No trouble breathing? No chest pains?"

"No."

"What about your neck?"

"No." He felt Virgil's mild touch as he inspected the tender knot on the back of his skull. Even that brief contact sent another stab through his brain and Scott's body arched in a futile attempt to escape the painful sensation. Finding no reprieve, he eventually cradled his head in his hands.

"Hey, easy there, Scott. Rate the pain for me with one being the lowest and ten being the highest," Virgil instructed. The eldest Tracy's sluggish brain supplied the first number that came to mind.

"Three."

"Liar," Virgil snorted with a hint of his usual humor. "Try again." Scott took a deep breath.

"Eight."

"Better." Scott had closed his eyes again, relishing the comfort that the darkness provided. He expected a rebuke from the dark-haired pilot at his side, but instead the reassuring grip on the back of his neck tightened slightly. "I should've anticipated some sort of side effect. That cocktail in your system—whatever it's made out of, it's not pretty. I'm sorry, Scott. I should've seen this coming."

"It's okay, Virg," Scott mumbled. He was too exhausted to keep up with Virgil's commentary as his memories shifted against each other like splintered glass that refused to align. He had something important he had to tell Virgil…right? He rested his forehead against his younger brother's shoulder and shuddered as another headache overcame him. The headaches? Is that what he wanted to warn Virgil about? As if reading his mind, his fellow pilot asked the obvious.

"How many headaches have you had since the crash, Scott?"

"I don't know," Scott gasped. He was in too much discomfort to make a logical guess and hoped the ever-vigilante medic wouldn't press the issue. The eldest slumped against Virgil even more and earned another reprimand for his efforts.

"I need you awake, remember?" Virgil maneuvered his arm across Scott's shoulders and guided him to his feet. Scott swayed, but the Thunderbird Two pilot's grip kept him standing. "Med bay might be a little more comfortable than the living room floor."

"I don't know if I can make it," Scott admitted. Virgil chuckled.

"Well, you either walk or I carry you. Bridal style." This got Scott's attention.

"On second thought, I'll manage."

"Good choice."

The duo made slow work across the hardwood floor. Scott was too tired to let his pride interfere—at least when it came to walking—and leaned heavily into his broad-shouldered sibling for support. The simple act of moving seemed to clear his head as his once fragmented thoughts began to snap into place.

It was all coming back now. The pharmaceutical company. Kayo and Lady P's mission. The underground lab. Virgil…Oh, God. Virgil!

Scott's legs buckled and it was only the medic's quick reflexes that spared him from another encounter with the floor.

"You and Alan weren't hurt on the rescue, were you? You're okay?" It was then that he remembered Virgil's sprained arm, but if his brother was in any pain, he didn't show it.

"Better than you," Virgil replied, waving his older brother's concerns aside. "We'll debrief later. C'mon, let's get you squared away first." He ushered Scott into med bay where the Thunderbird One pilot immediately collapsed onto the nearest bed. Virgil dug through the cabinets with purpose, pausing once or twice to glance over his shoulder at his weary charge.

"Virgil, they've been watching us. Tracking our missions." Scott cringed at a sudden bolt of pain before continuing. "I think you're their next target. And if they go after you or any of the others, I—"

"Hey." Virgil retrieved an armful of items and sat next to Scott on the side of the bed, pulling him upright in a sloppy one-armed embrace. "We'll figure this out. Whatever it takes." He passed a cup of water and two pills into Scott's hands. "In the meantime, we've gotta get those headaches under control. Can't have you passing out on us again." He studied Scott carefully as he downed the pain pills in one gulp. Scott met his gaze with a slump of his shoulders.

"Did Alan—?" The question remained unspoken between them. Virgil shook his head.

"I dropped Alan off at Lady P's before I came back. Kayo had found some encrypted jump drives from the bunker and needed Alan's help to crack them."

"Thank God." Scott rubbed a hand across his face. He didn't relish the idea of Virgil finding his lifeless body on the floor, but he'd never wish that on his youngest brother.

"Listen, Scott, I'm gonna shoot straight with you. It's hard to tell what they injected you with, but I don't think they expected you to survive the crash." Scott broke eye contact with his brother to stare at the floor instead. Virgil continued, undeterred. "We still don't know the full extent of these side effects. I just want you to be prepared that these headaches might not go away for awhile."

"Or they might not go away at all."

"You don't know that," Virgil said, but the eldest caught the sleeve of his uniform and held him fast.

"I'm in no shape to lead, Virg. I've lost Thunderbird One. I'm a liability on the field—" Scott took a deep breath. "And I know those aren't the only two pain meds you'll be prescribing, which takes me off active flight. I want you to take my place as commander."

"Scott, you're still in control. A few headaches don't change that," Virgil protested. The pilot grimaced.

"I almost compromised Kayo and Lady P's mission today. It's a mistake I can't afford to make again. Please, Virg. I want you to trust me on this." Virgil responded by shoving a thermometer in Scott's mouth.

"Sorry, Scotty. Didn't quite catch that."

Scott's muffled retort was answer enough.

"Hey, be a good little patient and let me check your temp." Scott, still fuming, complied with a scowl. After a minute or so, the medic withdrew the thermometer and inspected the readings with a smirk.

"A slight fever, but nothing serious. Something a field commander should be able to manage."

"Ugh, I give up. Fine, I'll keep the title," the eldest groaned. He leaned back into the bed as the medicine started to take effect and quelled the throbbing agony in his skull.

"Hang tight. I'm gonna run a few tests and see if there's any other surprises we're missing in that thick skull of yours." Scott nuzzled into the plush pillow with a sigh.

"That gives me at least a minute of sleep before—"

"No sleeping, Scott. Doctor's orders." Scott tried to defy those orders, only for those same healing hands to press against that painful knot.

"Virg!"

"Hey, look who's awake. You want to try that again?" Scott groaned at the typical Virgil response. He tried to think of any excuse to send his self-proclaimed bodyguard away, if only to snatch a few precious moments of sleep his body desired. He then remembered their resident aquanaut, which brought a newfound sense of guilt to his conscience. Gordon. He hadn't seen the blonde all day. Gordon might not be in a kumbaya mood, but there were bigger issues at hand than his ego.

"You're in luck, bro, because your field commander just thought of a mission for you. Find Gordo for me. He got into some sort of fight with John. It's probably nothing, but—"

"Isn't Gordon out on a rescue?" Virgil inquired. "When I got in, Thunderbird Four was missing."

"John didn't say anything about an underwater operation," Scott mused. He suddenly set his jaw, a spitting image of their father. "Oh, God. He went after the sub." Scott made to rise from the bed, but Virgil sternly pushed him back down.

"He wouldn't be that reckless. Alan, maybe. But not Gordon. He would never try to pull that off on his own. Besides, wouldn't John have tipped us off? He's got eyes on all of the Thunderbirds." The two exchanged glances. Something was wrong.

"Call John and Gordon. Now," Scott ordered. He fought against the tide of drowsiness that threatened to pull him under. Virgil tapped his comm and tried to reach Gordon, but his summons went unanswered. He then switched frequencies to Thunderbird Five but, for the first time since the launch of International Rescue, the connection failed. Virgil, Scott's anchor of support, the voice of reason in the chaos, showed the first crack in his armor as he stared, unblinking, at the unresponsive wrist comm.

It was possible that Gordon was deliberately ignoring them—a small possibility, but one all the same. John, however, would never put his Thunderbird on standby unless…

"Get the QRH," Scott barked. Virgil tore from the room, heading to their father's vacant office for a copy of Thunderbird Five's Quick Reference Handbook. Scott finally had those spare moments alone he'd been praying for, but he'd long since abandoned any thoughts of sleep. Someone was waging war against his family. And he was going to find out why.