Scott was able to avoid the bulk of Doctor Virgil's impromptu checkup the moment Kayo burst through the ornate double doors and delivered her very own crushing hug.
"About time, Scott!" she admonished as she pulled away. "If you were planning on sleeping any longer, I was gonna wake you up myself."
"Little sis was just mad that I kept beating her at checkers," Virgil supplied with a smug grin. He shoved a thermometer into Scott's mouth without warning, and the eldest made a face at the unwanted intrusion.
"That's funny, because I seem to remember it the other way around," came Kayo's retort. The pair continued to bicker, steering the conversation to lighter topics, while Virgil checked Scott's temperature with a grunt of approval.
Kayo stepped to the side and spoke with Brains, Lady P and Parker via her wrist comm to relay news of Scott's improved condition. The eldest noticed that her clothes were decorated with streaks of oil, the lifeblood of one of their Thunderbirds. For a brief, dreamy moment, he half-heartedly hoped that she'd been repairing Thunderbird One for his return. But no, his beloved Thunderbird was gone, ripped apart from the inside out below the ocean's surface.
Scott realized that he'd never taken time to truly mourn for the Thunderbird he'd loved and lost. He'd designed and crafted the beautiful machinery alongside his father, and it had become the strongest tangible reminder of the man he might never see again. But those feelings could wait until later, when he was alone and could surrender to his pent-up sorrow in private. Instead, Scott summoned up the courage to ask Virgil the obvious.
"How long was I out for, Virg?" He noticed his brother grimace slightly.
"You didn't wake up for three days."
"Three days?" Scott repeated numbly. "But…Gordon. What about Gordon? John? Alan?"
"We don't know," Virgil answered softly. Scott was about to protest, but the baritone voice cut through his argument. "Scott, you have no idea what these past few days have been like. You almost didn't make it."
"But I DID make it," Scott pressed. He pushed himself up straighter in bed, despite the slight trembling in his arms. "And I'm ready to stop playing the victim. I know you are, too. So let's DO something about it!"
"I AM!" Virgil snapped, surprising both brothers with the uncharacteristic outburst. Kayo quickly ended the exchange with the trio through her wrist comm and cast Virgil a look of concern. He eventually slumped into a chair next to Scott's bedside and stared vacantly at the hands in his lap. "Sorry, Scott. I just…it's this place."
Virgil's choice of words—'this place'—implied that Scott was either an esteemed guest housed in a private ward or a prisoner confined to some sort of luxurious estate. He hoped it was the former, but the way Virgil carefully avoided his gaze caused the worry to gnaw at his gut. The eldest pressed the issue.
"Am I trapped here?"
"No," Virgil replied rather quickly, while Kayo groaned, "Yes" in the same breath. The pair exchanged glances over Scott's bedridden form.
"I-I mean, no," Kayo amended, only seconds before Virgil added, "Well, yes, technically—" They both quieted again, which only served to fuel Scott's frustration.
"So I AM a prisoner?" There was a long, weighty pause before Virgil succumbed to his older brother's questioning.
"I mean…yeah. Kinda. It's complicated, Scott."
"I think I can handle it, Virg," Scott huffed.
"And I think I'd better head back to Thunderbird S," Kayo said, intending to make her grand escape, but the sound of oncoming footsteps from the hallway stopped her in her tracks. She backpedaled inside the room. "Well, Scott, it looks like you'll be able to ask the man in charge yourself. For the record, Virgil and I had no choice."
Scott shot his younger brother a look.
"Surely it can't be THAT bad…" Scott regretted those very words once the aristocrat entered the furnished room with a flourish.
"Awake at last, I see. Pity that you had to miss the imported breakfast from Italy. Though, might I add, the wine of the hour was exquisite. Why don't you run along and fetch him a glass?" This was directed at Virgil, who stoutly ignored the crass command. The new arrival flopped lazily into a high-backed chair and propped his leg on one of his knees. "Yet all the Italian bistros and wineries in the world can't compare to the unexpected—but completely deserved—exclusive membership offered to me, billionaire—nearly trillionaire—adventure specialist, and charming TV personality with a flair for the dangerous and dramatic."
"Wait. Exclusive membership?" Scott croaked, as the familiar man straightened his GQ jacket.
"But of course. As an active operative of International Rescue, which I graciously accept. Although those flight suits are hideous and SOOO uncomfortable." He snapped his fingers, oblivious to Scott's increasing scowl. "Ah. The wine?" Before Virgil could rise from his chair to obey the command, punch the man's smug face or both, a second figure sprinted into the room with a camera held aloft.
"I thought I'd give you another hour or so to wake up, but then I thought, 'HEY BRRRAAAANNNDDDOOOONNN, why don't I check on Scott now? And I was like, totally right, brah."
Francois Lemaire and Brandon Berrenger. God help him.