Chapter Ten

"Virg. How long…have I been out of it?" Scott croaked as he squinted past his brother's shoulder to the scene beyond the hospital window outside. He could tell by the angle of the light that it was getting towards the later afternoon. Virgil was surrounded by a halo of light. The shadow made his silk bathrobe deeper in green and almost obliterated the fancy 'V' sewn into his pocket.

"Twelve hours. A Scott Tracy record."

Scott struggled to roll onto his back. "Everything still okay?" he asked cautiously, almost afraid to hear the answer.

"All good."

Scott allowed himself to relax. "I feel lousy." He mouthed. "What – is that stuff? My mouth feels—"

"Anticipated." Virgil held out a glass of water. "Sip it. Slowly." At Scott's wary look, Virgil held out a dish as well. "If you're going to barf, I don't want it over me."

Scott sipped the water slowly and it took five minutes not feel like it was going to come straight back up. The brothers grinned. Scott winced as he pushed himself up with his left hand and was surprised by the effort it took. He glanced around the room, silently congratulating himself he was at least sitting up. Vertical. Progress. He asked about Amber and what was happening on the home front.

"Dad's doing everything he can, believe me. They've gone to clear the runway at home so One and Two can be taken home"

"How's IR holding? Was there any picture of me?"

"We're concentrating on keeping you out of trouble. That's our number one priority."

"The com-watch. Any luck tracking it?"

"It's being taken care of, don't worry. Leave it to Father. Dad doesn't want you to think about any of this. Okay? You rest and get yourself right. Everything's headed in the right direction. Amber's off critical and the watch is being taken care of. There's reason to be optimistic. Things'll work out, you'll see."

Scott shot him an angry look. "Work out?"

"Leave it, Scott. Leave it to Father and the authorities."

"I'm dead meat as far as they're concerned. And for all the wrong reasons."

"Trust Dad to take care of things. You concentrate on mending up."

Scott kicked back the bedding and shuffled along the bed. "Swap places. I have to get off this bed."

"Actually, I could do with a nap now you're awake. I'll go back." Virgil eased out of the chair and stood up gingerly.

"Okay?" Scott asked worriedly.

"Yeah. Yeah. Have to be careful. Don't want to rupture it again. Definitely don't recommend it." Virgil shuffled to the connecting door. "Open or shut?"

"I love to hear you snore, bro."

Virgil closed it forcefully and Scott smirked until he tried to get from the bed to the chair, which were only two feet from each other. He felt heavier than a Boeing Jumbo and he had to make a grab for the arm to stop himself from going straight to the floor.

He was getting weak. He had to find a way to eat. He'd barely made the chair and arranged the hospital gown so he was modest, when Deirdre breezed in.

"Look at you. Out of bed." She checked his IV line and his temperature then arranged his right hand on a pillow in his lap. "You need to give your arm proper support."

Scott still refused to look at it. As soon as she turned her back, he slipped his arm under the pillow so it was covered. She noticed but offered him water without comment.

"It's good you're awake. You have visitors." Scott tensed. "You can't refuse these people. It's the police."

He suddenly wished he hadn't drunk the water. Chill, Tracy. Act cool. Contained. He began counting again. Nine thousand nine hundred…where did I get to?

Two officers came in. One in uniform, one in a suit. The one in uniform was from the accident scene and Scott nodded to him. The second was introduced as a detective. The detective stood in front of him with his feet spread, a clipboard open in front of him.

Scott started to feel hemmed in. "How can I help?" he asked, trying to get off on the right foot.

"We're simply pursuing our enquiries, Mr Tracy," the detective said. "Would you like to tell me your version of events leading up to the accident?"

His version? Why did that sound accusatory?

"Not much to say" was how he started the interview and virtually how he finished it. It became apparent very quickly that he could answer only the most basic questions without jeopardising International Rescue's status. Where was he going? Why was he going there? What could he say? He couldn't defend himself without lying. Personal integrity was something he valued and to deliberately give misleading information in these circumstances didn't sit easily with him. Certainly not to protect himself.

The interview ended with an outcome none of them wanted and the experience left Scott feeling wound-up and frustrated.

"Look. I don't mean to be difficult about it but I'm sorry I just can't say anything," he finally blurted.

"Really," the detective said rather sceptically from the corner of his mouth. "Do you want to say anything at all that might be helpful?"

Scott felt prickly heat crawl around inside his abdomen. "I might want to only I can't. All I can do is register my sorrow and regret at what's happened. I'm not able to comment on anything else. I'm sorry but I just can't."

The detective closed his book slowly. "Then I think you'd better engage a very good solicitor, sir. No doubt your daddy can afford one. Unfortunately for you, we're going to enjoy throwing the book at you."

"Amber. Amber." Gordon leaned across to stroke the top of her head. "It's me, Gordon. We really want you to open your eyes. Could you do that for us?"

In the afternoon, Amber had shown definite signs of waking. Her eyes moved under their lids. Her fingers twitched. She responded to stimuli administered by the nursing staff and best of all, when Gordon squeezed her hand and spoke to her, he felt a corresponding pressure on his fingers in return.

Hubert must have heard the excitement in Gordon's voice. He hurried over to Amber's opposite side.

"Amby. Mein Engel! We're here. Come back, my beautiful."

The hand that had smoothed the uniform, that had saluted the photograph, that had chosen with care the appropriate weapon, shielded the angry eyes from the sun as they stared up at the Tracy Corporation logo in urban Sydney. The logo of the giant 'T' surrounded by bursts of flame, which could have been the after-burn of a multitude of jets, looked even more orange as the westerly sun touched it with fire and its glare seared the image into the heart of the observer.

Scott observed that same fire on the wing tips of a Super Hornet fighter as it took off from the airport. Now he was off the IV he could allow himself to think beyond the hospital walls. He watched the jet soar, and his spirits lifted only to bottom out just as quickly when he remembered what awaited him. Even so, his fingers reached out to trace that spot on the glass where his passion culminated.

"Glorious, isn't it?" a male voice said from across the room.

Scott startled and immediately drew back his hand as if caught in an unguarded moment.

"Sorry to frighten you. You were absorbed. You obviously didn't hear me come in."

Scott's gaze scanned the newcomer and the rest of the room to make sure nothing else had changed while he'd been preoccupied. This time he couldn't even remember the numbers.

"What do you want?" he said moodily. He had mulled over the interview with the police for an hour, trying to figure out how he could have handled it better and now any semblance of order in his mind had evaporated.

"You flew them in the Air Force, didn't you? Fighter jets?"

Scott regarded him with suspicion. He wasn't going to give out any information unless he was sure who he was talking to. He could see the visitor wore a hospital lanyard, though he was casually dressed.

"I'm Nelson. From the mental health unit. Mind if I sit down?" Scott could see he was a doctor and that meant psychiatrist to him. Scott braced, his good fingers clutching the pillow in his lap with more force. Nelson grabbed the back of a chair off to the side and swung it around to face him. "So, how are you going, Scott? Is it all right to call you Scott?"

For the next ten minutes, Nelson made small talk and his patient answered in stony, mechanical one-word sentences then he got down to the purpose of his visit.

"As part of the care plan the hospital has in place for you, I've been asked to conduct a check on your psychological wellbeing, just to make sure everything's okay with you."

"Does my father know about this?"

Except in the most extreme cases, the Tracys preferred to treat themselves. Virgil was his listening ear, his safety relief valve. To see anyone outside the family only made the procedure a psychological nightmare for the participant. They just couldn't let their guard down. How could they explain the types of fears and pressures they lived with without revealing who they really were?

The last time it had been necessary had been after Gordon had been kidnapped and subjected to unspeakable horrors. They'd all been terrified and sickened by what had happened. It was the reality that no matter how many good things they did, someone would want to hurt them – in the worst possible way – for what they possessed that changed a lot of things. After this incident, it was difficult not to look on a stranger without feeling some kind of threat.

"He's been consulted and given his in-principle support," Nelson said, in answer to Scott's question. Scott was bewildered and showed it. "But I need your consent. The hospital is doing this in your interest. The police have agreed to hold off charging you until we make a full assessment of your health needs."

"I'm okay. I don't have any problems." Or if I did I couldn't talk about them.

"I'm glad to hear it. Let's just talk about you, then. Get to know you a little better."

Scott gave him the standard basics. He was test pilot with Tracy Corp who lived on a tropical island with his large, extended family. He thought that sounded pretty normal.

"You live and work for your father. And you live and work with your brothers. You know I don't know anyone else who does that. How do you find it?"

Scott nodded. "Okay." A mine field.

"So, you all get along?"

"Yes." Generally.

"Do you ever disagree?"

"Sometimes." Frequently.

Nelson asked about each of the members of his family and general information about his background and education. Then he changed tack.

"Do you have a partner or current relationship outside the family circle?"

Scott shook his head. It's discouraged. But, then, who could we trust? Gordon's recent nightmare had shaken them all.

"Would you like to?"

"Sure." I can't see how I could do it. How could I go or send one of my brothers into impossibly dangerous territory when a life partner or children waited at home for our safe return?

"How long has it been since you had an on-going relationship?"

Scott shifted uncomfortably. "A couple of years."

"What might stop you, you think? You appear to have a lot going for you. You're accomplished, intelligent, good-looking."

The compliment was unexpected. And the sudden memory of his last relationship before commencing the rescue service waylaid his thinking for a moment. Perhaps the woman had done him a favour, after all. Perhaps she'd made it easier for him to accept his isolation. Certainly, at the mere mention of her name his nether regions would contract. More effective than any cold shower. He had almost welcomed the island as a sanctuary from her efforts to capture little more than the Tracy name and what came with it. Dare he admit, a safe house? Certainly not to any of his brothers. He had a reputation to maintain.

What he said was – well aware of the almost schizoid conversation he was having with Nelson and with himself – "Too busy, I guess. Look. I pick up sex when I can. I do have needs if that's what you want me to say."

"If you believe the tabloids, no-one would doubt it. What's it like to work for Tracy Corporation?"

"Hard. People seem to think because we're wealthy we sit around and do nothing. We carry a lot of responsibility. I carry a lot of responsibility."

"Your medical record testifies to some pretty hard living. Tell me about being a pilot? I saw the expression on your face, just now."

"Oh yeah." Scott looked out the window, remembering the thrust of his precious Thunderbird One against his back. He grinned. "The best there is. I live for it. It's my life." And I couldn't even begin to consider life without it. There are times when I wish I was a poet like John. Just to find the words.

Nelson looked at his injured arm. "The future must seem pretty scary for you at the moment."

Scott stared at the pillow that was hiding it. He didn't answer. So terrified, I can't even allow myself to think about it.

"Do you want to talk about what's happened? How your arm came to be like that?"

"No."

Nelson nodded in acceptance. "Tell me about the responsibility, then. What's your most important one?"

"To get the job done with minimal risk. That means to look after my brothers. To protect them. That's my priority." Number ONE. Since mom died. We couldn't bear to lose another family member.

"They're grown men. Can't they look after themselves?"

"What we do is dangerous. I'm the team leader. My responsibility is first to those under my command."

"Your command, Scott?"

"I can't go into details of our structures, operations or actual projects. They're highly classified. All I can say about what I do is that I'm the boss in the field. They do as I say and I bear full responsibility for them."

"And if they don't. What do you do?"

"Well…what works." Scott hesitated, checking for any traps in the question he might stumble into, and relaxed when his visitor didn't pursue it.

"What do you do to unwind? What do you like to do? Hobbies?"

"I work. I fly. Sport. That's it." I don't unwind. I can't afford to. There's too much I need to hold together.

"I admire your commitment, Scott. You work and sacrifice yourself for your family. You give everything. How does that make you feel?"

Scott frowned, not sure what to answer. He didn't really think about it. He'd done it for so long, he accepted it as part of his duty, as his lot in the world. Even after being away in the Air Force, he naturally took up the role again for International Rescue. After all, being at home wasn't much different from being in the armed services.

"Do you resent all these impossible responsibilities?"

Scott's head came up. "They're not impossible."

He heard the sound of his own voice. It was deep and angry.

He was being peeled like an onion. He could feel it. The man was paring off a layer at a time. Rubbing the sore places. He had to stop this. He had to get out of there. He had to fix this mess so everything was right again. Father would be smiling. His brothers would be safe. Amber would be back in her own bed and the world would go on normally again.

Scott fidgeted.

"So, how do you cope? Must be difficult to control a world that has a mind of its own. Must take a lot of effort. So many responsibilities. So many secrets. Secrets are heavy burdens, aren't they?"

He didn't agree or disagree. He stared at the pillow in his lap while the fingers of his left hand assaulted its edge.

"What do you do when you're not in control? Must be hell in here. Tell me about being in here."

Scott's eyes darted about him. He couldn't think anymore. He couldn't allow himself to think. Thinking leads to feeling. He needed numbness. Containment. He must have containment.

"You okay, Scott? You look distressed."

"I'm fine," he snarled, before he could stop himself.

"Tell me about the accident."

Scott shook his head. "I can't."

"Then tell me about your father. From what I've read, he sounds an amazing man."

"He's…" Disappointed. Words immediately failed him, choked off by a suffocating surge of physical reaction. Scott pressed his good hand to his forehead.

"Your father's a famous astronaut, a self-made billionaire. Must be hard to live up to his record. Pressure to conform, to succeed – just like your good old dad. He must be a charismatic fellow to have all his sons still at home, all single, all working for him, totally under his control."

There was silence. Scott was aware he was being scrutinised, watched for every little reaction. Seconds passed. The sound of his rapid breathing and thudding heart seemed magnified in the room.

"But you like to be in control, too. Don't you? How do you get along? Did he ever beat you, Scott? To get you to do what he wants?"

The suggestion shocked him and he raised his gaze to look the psychiatrist squarely in the eye. "My father never hit anyone."

"You're angry. Full-blown anger. I can hear it. Where's this coming from? This is not quite the reaction I'd expect from someone's who's just been involved in a major accident. Maybe you blame the young woman for getting in your way? Causing all this trouble for you?"

A glimpse of Amber's hand striking the windscreen stuck in his throat but Scott swallowed it. "Definitely not."

"Did your father beat your mother?"

"Never."

"Did you ever hit your mother?"

"That's unthinkable."

"Perhaps he did even worse than that? Perhaps he—"

Scott was on his feet, his fist clenched. "If you so much as…so help me—"

"Is this what you do when you can't control things? Hit out? Strike out at a threat?"

Scott advanced on him. "Get out."

The man didn't move. "Sit down, Scott. This is obviously painful for you. Tell me how it is for you."

"You're talking absolute bullshit. I will not listen to any of this shit. My family is the best—"

"You're upset. I can hear it. I want to listen to your side of the story. Your privacy is respected. Sit down and we'll talk."

Scott didn't sit down. He took another step forward and grabbed Nelson by the front of his shirt. "Get out."

"Sit down. Please. You'll regret it if you touch me." There was a momentary clash of wills before Scott saw him press a button on his belt pager.

"Get out!"

"Scott. Tell me exactly what you're thinking."

"I do not have a problem. You hear me? You've got it wrong. There is nothing wrong with me. Or my family. Nothing. We're decent, hard-working people. Now, get out before I…" Scott started to shake violently and he looked up to see people rush into the room at him. "Virgil! Virgil!"

Virgil was already on his way. He could hear what the lunatic was saying and he could hear the tone of Scott's reaction. Scott was furious and Virgil didn't blame him.

He was off the bed and into his brother's room just as the nurse Deirdre and a security guard rushed into Scott's room. Trembling with rage, Scott loomed large over the psychiatrist's chair, his left hand drawing the edges of the man's shirt tighter around his fingers that was, in effect, tightening around the man's throat.

"Scott. Let him go!" Virgil shouted.

At Virgil's shout of alarm, the psychiatrist held up his hand to keep them at bay, his eyes never leaving the cobalt blue ones of the man who was holding his future literally in his hand.

"You have a decision to make," Nelson said evenly to Scott. "If you hurt me, you will be charged. No question. Your future will be sealed. But…if you stop now, if you pull back and let me go, the future will be in your hands. I believe you're still capable of making that decision. Pull back, Scott."

There was a momentary silence in the room. Virgil held his breath. The nurse and the guard, with baton drawn, stood on their toes ready to intervene.

Scott slowly unwound his fingers from the fabric. Then stepped back.

Everyone breathed.

"Thank you," Nelson said. "Well done. A wise decision."

Virgil was the first to move. He scampered around Nelson's chair and grabbed Scott by the shoulders. Scott retreated, turning his back on them, his hand outstretched to keep his face from impacting the wall.

Virgil watched as Scott's fingers alternately made a fist then uncurled.

"Let it go," Virgil whispered.

"N-o."

The catch in his brother's voice prompted Virgil to shift into protective mode. He knew Scott wouldn't want anyone to see him in an emotional state. He slung an arm across Scott's back, tentatively as he wasn't sure where his brother hurt, hoping the gesture would somehow signify a barrier between them and the outside world.

"Get out of here. Give us space," Virgil snapped at those looking on, making sure the snarl in his voice was matched by his expression. "This is not a side show."

"Nurse. Guard. Please leave," Nelson said. "Leave him some dignity. Progress, I think."

The various displays of outrage around him cooled and disappeared completely when they left.

"This is an improvement?" Virgil exclaimed.

"Mmm. He's shown an appropriate response." Nelson stood up from the chair and pulled his shirt back into place.

"You deliberately did this?"

The psychiatrist arched an eyebrow. "Creating – a certain amount of tension – is a risk, I admit, but worth it. At least he's expressing himself. Connecting. Good work, Scott. We'll be seeing you."

Nelson left, leaving the pair welded against the wall. Virgil soothed his brother's hair, tousling black waves in his fingers, and petted and reassured him.

"I have to fix this," Scott muttered.

"Right now, that's what we're for, that's what we're going to do."

Scott rubbed his face, leaving a wet smear across his upper arm. Virgil knew Scott would hold the world, the universe, on those broad shoulders of his if they'd fit.

When would he learn they just weren't broad enough? How much evidence did he need?

"For mercy's sake, get it over with. I won't look. I promise," Virgil scolded affectionately and rubbed his brother's shoulders. All Scott did was shake his head. Resolutely. Very resolutely. "Let go. Please." Virgil held little hope his words would be heeded. At least he had to try.

A minute later, Virgil was taken by surprise when Scott took him more literally than he intended. Scott's hand slid down the wall. So did the rest of him, making Scott lean too heavily into him and Virgil felt the strain in his abdomen.

"Can't hold you, buddy. Stand on your own."

"Need to…sit down," Scott said, his head dipping ominously.

"The bed. Get back to bed."

"Too far," he managed to say before his knees buckled.

Virgil did his best to cushion Scott's fall but he could only do so much without risking ending up where he'd been a few days earlier. He'd experienced pain; he wasn't a stranger to it. This, however, had been of a different dimension and he wasn't about to order a replay.

Scott didn't faint. Tracys just didn't faint. His knees gave out and he slid down the wall to the floor, his fingers clawing a vertical trail along the plaster as he went. Virgil observed wryly that even in defeat, Scott didn't go willingly and he knelt beside him, anxiously, pushing back stray curls so he could monitor his brother's face.

"At least that got rid of them," Scott murmured. "Am I still alive?"

"Seems like it."

"Shame."

"Don't talk like that."

"I can't do this anymore. I can't. Doesn't matter what...I'm caught, Virg…in the cracks. You must see it."

"You're strung out. You're exhausted. Of course you think that."

"Why did he do it? He doesn't understand. None of it."

"The psych?" Virgil tried to manhandle Scott into a more comfortable position so he didn't resemble a boneless bag of Lego.

"Father. Why did he agree to this?"

"He had to. To keep you out of jail."

"So, what's this?"

"At least they provide room service."

Scott closed his eyes tightly as if he was suffering then opened them wide. "Did you bring your piano? I want to hear you play."

"I don't think they'd appreciate us moving in. Spoil the neighbourhood. Gordon's harmonica's around here someplace. He thought it might cheer me up."

Scott's face brightened. "Hey, Virg. Do me a favour?"

"Anything. You know that."

"Pyjamas. I need pyjamas. This shirt thing is indecent. I'm practically naked."

"Didn't think you'd mind. The nurses around here aren't bad looking."

Scott's deep blue gaze slid over to meet his, the first eye contact he'd made that afternoon. "Not for what they do."

Virgil chuckled. "Blue ones?"

"Another favour," Scott said urgently. "I think – I'm going to need – that bowl."

Jeff could almost feel the pulse of the shower water on his skin as they reached the Tracy Corp car park. They'd worked hard that day in the Pacific sun. All of them were tired and dirty but the job was done and the way was clear to bring those Thunderbirds home where they belonged. Now he needed a shower. And such was his desire to feel clean again, he hesitated to answer his com-watch when it vibrated on his arm.

Jeff marshalled his forces before he answered. "Yes, John?"

John's usually deadpan face looked harried. "How far away are you, Father?"

"A couple of minutes. Got back to Tracy Corp just now." He was weary. He admitted it.

"There's –ah- a bit of a stand-off at the hospital. It seems Scott's been throwing his weight around. He had an altercation with one of the psychiatrists."

Give me strength. "Did he hurt anyone?"

"Don't think so. Virgil broke it up, apparently, I don't know. I'm not allowed in. Everyone's been ordered to stay out, let him calm down. The staff are too scared to go in. There's talk of moving him to a psych unit. I need your help here."

Jeff left everyone in the penthouse on the pretext of urgent Corporation business and went straight to the hospital.

At the hospital entrance, he was met by Ms Gleeson, who was dressed in her red ensemble, and she didn't look happy. "We're in final negotiations with the Australian government over the new homing missile defence project," she snapped. "We need that contract to justify our presence in this country. Your son is not helping the Tracy Corporation image, Mr Tracy. A-Tech Industries' bid will be looking more inviting by the day."

He turned on her. "You repeat those sentiments, Ms Gleeson, in my hearing or anyone else's and I'll look at your contract. You hear me?"

Her face closed up in rebellion.

Penelope caught him in the foyer. "Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Jeff, but public opinion is turning against International Rescue. The media has gone with the article on the People's website. Scott's image is all over the news."

Jeff rubbed his face. "One thing at a time, Penny. Family business first. A wayward son to bring into line. But thanks."

John waited anxiously for him outside the door to Scott's room.

"Right. Let me through," Jeff growled at the huddle in the corridor, to which someone warned him to be careful. "If he tries anything with me, he'll see what he gets."

When he threw back the door and strode in with John, he wasn't prepared for what he saw. Scott lay on the floor, his forehead resting on the vinyl, a pillow rammed into his stomach and Virgil sat beside him, stroking along Scott's exposed back like he was a kitten. Both boys looked up when they entered and Virgil pulled Scott's gown to cover him. Jeff saw Scott's expression turn from hostility to shame.

"Mother of…" John breathed beside him.

John went to rush forward but Jeff stopped him with an outstretched arm.

"John. Give us a minute."

"But they need—"

"John. Out."

John complied and shut the door quietly. Jeff looked over his sons and took two deep breaths.

"Get up. Both of you."

Virgil was the first to move. "He can't."

"Scott. Get off that floor. Where's your self-respect. Remember who you are. You're Tracy men. What the hell are you thinking!"

Scott silently complied with his demand, struggling to get upright. As much as Jeff wanted to help him, he held his ground, fearing to concede at this point would rob his words of impact. Virgil leaned over stiffly and they stood up together. Scott clutched Virgil's upper arm, whether for support or as a shield from him, Jeff couldn't tell.

"What in damnation is going on?"

Virgil spoke first. "The psych said despicable things about our family."

"And that's an excuse for violence? You were taught better than that," Jeff's voice was barely above a whisper but it still resonated with his usual authority. "I don't care what anyone says about us. We know who we are. Because someone says something we don't like, doesn't give us the right to use violence. You are International Rescue operatives and you do that not by right of being a Tracy but because each and every one of you has proven your ability. Nothing and I mean nothing anyone can say will change that. Am I making myself clear?"

"Yes, Dad," Virgil said.

"Scott, there's a chance I can get you released on a substantial surety into Penelope's care. That may mean you won't be on remand. But that's on the proviso you conduct yourself properly. They won't grant it if you carry on like this! I want you to spend the time here constructively. You've got a chance. Work out your problem and we'll see about the future. You'll be grounded until you prove to me you're worthy of my trust. I will not let you jeopardise the lives of your brothers or those we help until I'm satisfied. Clear?"

"Dad, go easy," Virgil breathed. "He doesn't have a—"

Jeff spoke solely to Scott. "Son, if you have a problem, you need to ask for help."

"That's not fair," Virgil said.

Jeff held his peace, waiting to see his eldest son's reaction. Scott straightened.

"Yes, sir," he croaked.

Jeff saw resolve pass across his son's face. Scott had made a decision and Jeff prayed it was the right one.