John hasn't had a heart attack, so Penelope's having it for him, standing in front of one of the monitors, watching what's being broadcast. Live. She'd said they were live, she'd agreed to let them broadcast live, because life in 2060 occurs at a ridiculous pace. If you don't stream live they you may as well not bother.
John holds up a hand and pauses a moment, picks up the glass on the table again and has another sip of water. Penelope has a couple more heart attacks in the space it takes him to swallow.
Her life is flashing before her eyes, or at least the part of her life that's comprised the previous week; all her careful management, every delicate element of balance necessary to keep public opinion of IR firmly favourable.
The GDF, subsequent to the incident at the hospital, had taken a far stronger stance than necessary against International Rescue. There'd been far more aggression, far more political posturing and big talk than should have been merited, and it had been because of their own mistakes. The GDF had lost a sample of an eradicated disease. Regardless of how John had picked it up, it's owing to GDF negligence that it had gotten back into the world. Leverage.
But the fulcrum falls out from under the whole thing if John tells the press that he'd had malaria. The fact that he hasn't gone public with the fact that he'd had malaria is the only reason they haven't attempted to charge him with the creation of an illegal Artificial Intelligence.
It's taken hardball. It's taken a double-edged campaign of public niceties from Gordon; a broad, sweeping tour of sudden insight into International Rescue's members; and a vicious, snarling back alley fight between Tracy Industries' and GDF legal teams. Scott's aged half a decade in the course of a week. John's hardly blameless, but they had been ready to crucify him.
Gordon has an expression imploring him to do it, as though Gordon knows what John's doing. Virgil's wearing an impassive mask, and it's plainly clear that things have left the track of what he expected.
John puts his glass back down.
And then, as though butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, "Sorry, pardon me. Just, to be technical, I didn't have a heart attack. It was a cardiac arrhythmia, undiagnosed. I suppose 'heart attack' sounds more dramatic. But no, I didn't have a heart attack."
It's a good thing John hasn't had a heart attack, because when Penelope gets her hands on the lapels of his jacket, she's just going to shake him.
There's a brief, almost imperceptible narrowing of Cassidy's eyes and Penelope lives and dies three more times before then the talk show host picks back up as though it's not the remotest issue. "Well, technically correct is the best kind of correct. Would you mind talking more about what happened?"
"We were working a hurricane in the Gulf of Mexico, and it's an incredible amount of stress. More than I realized, I guess."
Good. Good, swing it back around. Sympathetic, but not self-pitying. Penelope can practically feel the blood vessels bruising as she chews her lower lip.
"Well, we're all very glad to know you're recovering. It's got to be a relief to have a break from that kind of pressure for a while. Two doctorates, though, that I didn't know. If someone's going to be up there, I suppose we're all lucky it's someone like you. Can you talk a little about your time at MIT?"
"Oh, some of the best years of my life, easily. There's a thing my father did with scholarships-the Tracy Industries' Scholarship Fund is still a force to be reckoned with- but for the years we were all in school, he'd fund the best and brightest students from across the whole world into our same degree programs, so that the grade curve was that much higher. My graduating class at MIT were literally the best minds in the world at the time. Dad made sure of it. I was in the shallow end of that pool, and I came out of it with two degrees."
Penelope's brain melts into a puddle of gooey white noise and relief. The shark has stopped circling, it's a puff piece again. Gordon's been the one in front of cameras for the past week, though there've been distant, glancing shots of Scott as he moves about his new day to day with Tracy Industries.
Rumors are flying that the eldest son is finally stepping into his father's shoes. Scott hates it, because of course it's not true. But better that these rumors are flying than rumors flying that the second eldest had created a demonstrably unstable Artificial Intelligence, and then contracted malaria in low earth orbit and left it loose in one of the most powerful space stations in orbit. Scott can suck it up.
There's a complicated mess of signals from the director, and the music swells as Cassidy turns back to the camera for the commercial. "International Rescue, thank you, gentlemen, for joining me and for the work you do! Up next we'll be talking to the worldwide phenomenon and chart-topping heartthrobs known as Perfect Fifth. Perhaps a touch less heroic and with fewer doctorates between them, but they've sold more albums than the three of you put together."
There's obliging laughter and then the camera cuts up and away. Penelope's honed in on John like a hawk, and he sags visibly against the back of the couch, presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. For a moment a flicker of doubt darkens Penelope's suspicions-the possibility that John had just misspoken. This is concerning for a whole host of other reasons. Notably the fact that John doesn't misspeak.
Gordon's reaching across the low coffee table between them to shake Catherine Cassidy's hand, while Virgil puts his arm around John's shoulders and leans in to ask a question. The mics are off, Penny doesn't catch it, but John just nods in answer and Virgil's hand on his shoulder tightens slightly. Probably she won't be able to shake him like he deserves. Probably that would be unkind. Especially if he doesn't deserve it.
Penelope approaches as Cassidy gets to her feet and turns to address her. She either doesn't catch or diplomatically ignores the exchange between John and Virgil, as the pair of them retreat to the darkness offstage. "Lady Creighton-Ward. I'm not sure which of us owes the other a favour after this."
Penelope inclines her head graciously. "Traditionally in such circumstances I believe it's called even. Thank you, Ms. Cassidy, for keeping it fairly light. It's been a long week."
Cassidy cracks a grin and nods. "I've been following your long week. That interview with that American rag, that little pit bull of a man they let out of the cage to hassle high-profile subjects?"
"Alex King, with Essential America. It was early days after we started the tour. He was the first person to try and take the gloves off."
"Yes, him, the hack. Your boy here took him to pieces when he dropped that 'playboy philanthropist' line. Can I get you to quote that back to me, Mr. Tracy? What was the line...?"
As though she doesn't know the line.
Gordon's grin in response to being called Penny's boy is practically audible and Penelope rolls her eyes indulgently, as he quotes the line that went viral moments after he said it, "Let's light the studio on fire and see how many of your colleagues you carry out."
Penelope flushes a little, but in her defense, it's a line Gordon delivers very well. Catherine Cassidy is married to another woman and even she flashes a wink at him. "Yeah, that's the one. Nicely done, kid. Shop around a bit if you ever want someone to write your biography, and then bring it back to me. A series of five, you and your brothers. Make me some of your millions."
"Ma'am, you'll be the first person I call."
"No, darling, don't do that. Shop around and find out how much better I am and how lucky you'd be to have me. Then come back and beg."
Gordon doesn't seem to know how to take that one, so Penelope takes over. "Gordon, go and find out how many cars we'll be taking to the airport, your grandmother expects you three back on the island before dawn."
Her eyes flit to the countdown to the next segment and then they're back on Penelope. It's hot under the lights. This is one of the only people in the world who can make the Lady Creighton-Ward nervous. They've known each other since they were girls at St. Bartholomew, prep school. And each knows exactly how influential the other is. "John seems like he's putting on a bit of a brave face. Worse than it seems, or-?"
"Don't fish, Catherine." Penelope shakes her head and sighs. Then she lies through her teeth, "No, as far as I know it's just what he said. I've known John for years, and his heart's always been rather older than the rest of him. I think it's all finally starting to catch up, the hospital, the travel, the week in New York...I doubt he slept a wink on the flight over. Really, I think he just needs a rest." She layers emphasis on this last, the slight warning of just how unpleasant life will be if John Tracy is any way hindered about getting a rest.
Don't fish is the appropriate term to use, because Catherine Cassidy is a shark when there's ink the water. "Mm. Hands off of John, then. I'll trade you a case of '43 Dom Perignon if you can get me ten minutes of air time with Scott."
"Don't you have a boy band to interview?" Penelope asks archly.
A smile with too many teeth. "Don't be catty, Pen. I was kind to your boys. I didn't follow a single garden path towards asking how the death of their father has changed International Rescue."
And for that Penelope's intensely grateful. The less said about Jeff Tracy the better. A two minute warning light flashes and Catherine nods to someone over Penelope's shoulder. Penny takes her cue to disengage. "Well, thank you anyway, Catherine. If you hound Scott yourself he might bite. Drop my name if you like, you can rest assured he'll have seen you being kind to his brothers. It'll go a long way."
"Noted, Penelope. We'll call it even."
"Delightful."
There's a brief, cursory hug between the two women, and then Penelope rejoins the boys where they're waiting in the wings, chatting with Parker. Whatever arrangements have been made for transit, Penelope ignores them, draws a bead on John, leaning against the wall with his eyes half-closed.
She's still watching him as she addresses his brothers. "Gordon, Virgil. Make whatever arrangements you need to with your respective protection details and we'll meet you at the airport. Parker, bring the car around. John, you'll join me in FAB1. It's been far too long. I think it's time we talked."
Penelope hasn't seen John in years. He looks exhausted. She's just about seen him blow an entire media campaign on live television. He might have done it on purpose. She'd like a word. It's not like he has a choice.
