It was two days after the fight with the Skulz before the Tracys were allowed to visit Virgil.

When they finally saw him, they were shocked by the way he'd deteriorated. Changes had been happening when they were last there, but they had been so gradual that they hadn't noticed. Now, with 48 hours between visits, seeing the emaciated figure lying on the bed was like a punch in the gut from a member of the gang.

Virgil looked gaunt and frail, and not at all the robust picture of health that they remembered.

He lay there, unmoving, and appearing to be only just on the right side of death's door. The change was so dramatic and shocking that even the strong and steadfast Grandma had burst into tears upon seeing him.

Jeff had done his best to comfort his mother, but it wasn't easy. Not when he was as shaken as she was. His sons were subdued. No one felt like talking and any conversation was made in the sole hope that Virgil would hear them and know his family was with him. They tried joking and teasing with one another, but all light-hearted comments sounded forced and unnatural.

It was a torture that dragged on for five days.

Jeff had been holding a rather morose conversation with Colin Eden in the corridor when he'd nearly been bowled over before being deafened by a "Dad!" in his ear. "Alan!"

"I've been trying to find you."

"I'm sure the whole hospital's aware of that."

"You've got to come!" Alan pulled at his father's arm like a five-year-old. "Virgil's waking up!"

"What?" Jeff glanced at Colin, who was checking his clipboard tablet.

"The signs are positive, Jeff."

With barely a "Thanks," Jeff set off after his youngest son at a fast jog. "Why … *puff* …. didn't you … *pant* … try to … *gasp* … call or … *puff* … page me?"

Even Alan was breathing heavily after days of reduced activity. "Didn' think of it." They reached the door to Virgil's room and he burst inside. "Is he awake yet?!"

"Not yet," Grandma reassured him as Jeff asserted his place opposite her at the head of the bed. His sons shuffled along without complaint.

"Is it true, Brains?" he asked, glancing at the figure hovering behind Scott's shoulder.

"It is p-possible, Mr Tracy. I am, ah, quietly hope…"

"He moved!"

No one looked at Gordon. Instead they fixed their gazes on Virgil's face.

"What moved?" John asked.

"His eyes. His eyelids flickered!"

"I didn't see them," Alan complained.

"Then keep looking. Come on, Virgil, do it again… There!"

"I saw them that time! Open your eyes, Virgil!"

"Let him do it in his own time," Jeff instructed. Followed by a soft: "We're here, Virgil. Can you hear us?"

There wasn't even a flicker from the figure on the bed.

"Wake up, Darling," Grandma crooned, ignoring her son's instructions. "We've missed you."

Virgil's lips moved.

"Look!" she said, excited by this small development. "He's trying to speak!"

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Mother."

Virgil frowned. His rolled his head a little to the left. Then he rolled it back to the right. He repeated the action, each time with more vigour and, judging by his expression, increasing stress.

Jeff reached out for his arm, his concern for his son masking the hardness of the shell beneath his hand. "Relax, Virgil. Don't try to fight it."

"He can't feel you there, Father."

Heeding Scott's warning, both Jeff and Grandma reached upwards; Grandma to caress Virgil's cheek, Jeff to gently ruffle his hair.

"Relax, Virgil," he repeated and, smiled when his son appeared to calm at his touch. "That's good. Just relax and when you're stronger we'll tell you everything. A lot's happened in the last ten days."

Virgil opened his eyes.

Everyone grinned at him.

He closed them again and appeared to fall asleep.

As one they all deflated.

"Virgil," Grandma called. "It's time to wake up, Honey," she repeated.

No one knew if he was obeying her, but his eyes opened again.

And then closed and stayed closed.

"Come on, Virgil," Alan complained. "We're getting tired of our own company. You've got to join us."

It was another five minutes before his brother showed signs of obliging him. Virgil's eyes roved over each family member.

"Hiya, Virg," Gordon said when the brown eyes fixed on him. "Trying to give me a taste of my own medicine, are ya?"

Virgil opened his mouth in an apparent attempt to speak. He frowned at the lack of vocal response.

"You're breathing through a tracheotomy tube," Jeff explained. "Talking's going to be difficult for a while."

"But not, ah, impossible," Brains moved closer, leaning over Scott's shoulder so Virgil could see him.

"Here, Brains." Scott vacated his chair, allowing the scientist to move closer to the patient.

Virgil watched the exchange, his eyes following his elder brother as he moved further away from the bed.

Brains waited until he had Virgil's attention again. "There is a valve in the tracheotomy tube that will allow air to pass through and across the larynx." He gave a brief tutorial in the process. "Do you want to try?"

There was a slow nod. Then Virgil opened his mouth again, frowning as he tried to work out the processes required to form a single word. He managed a grunt.

Gordon applauded the effort. "That's the best sound you've made in days."

Virgil gave him a look that said he was less than happy with the result. Then he tried again. A bubble rose up into the clear apparatus connected to his throat and popped.

"Nurse…" Brains looked over his shoulder to where an unobtrusive nurse was monitoring the patient from a desk. "His breathing tube needs clearing."

The nurse gathered the necessary tools together and, after a quiet "excuse me" to encourage Mrs Tracy to move so he could get closer to the patient, began the task. As Brains explained that the anaesthetising of the thorax meant the suppression of the cough reflex designed to clear the bronchial tubes, those listening tried not to cringe at the sound of viscous liquid being sucked out.

"Is that going to have to be done frequently?" Jeff asked.

"More frequently than before," the nurse told him. He smiled at the patient. "Now that you're awake and communicating."

Virgil looked like he wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea.

"Try again," Grandma coaxed. "Say hello."

Virgil shook his head.

"What about hi?" John suggested. "It's one syllable."

Virgil shook his head again, this time without stopping. As the motion increased in frequency and strength those close to his reinstated feet could feel the bed shuddering.

"Virgil!" Alarmed by what appeared to be a seizure, Grandma once again vacated her seat, allowing Brains and the nurse closer access. "What's wrong?"

Virgil attempted to speak again. "K…" Despite the intervention of the nurse his shivering became even more violent.

"Virgil." Brains spoke with calm authority. "Speak clearly and slowly. Can you tell me what is wrong?"

"K… K-K…" Virgil closed his eyes and put all his concentration into speaking one word. "C-C-Co'."

Brains looked at the monitor above the bed. "His temperature's dropping."

"What?" Alarmed by this new development, Jeff leapt to his feet. "What's causing it?"

"Do not worry," Brains soothed. "We can treat this." He tapped instructions into his tablet, sending messages around the hospital.

The nurse hurried back to his desk and entered something into the computer. "I've increased the room's temperature."

"I should have foreseen the problem," Brains admitted. "Virgil has, ah, the same surface area as he did before the accident, but his body no longer has the ability to regulate temperature to the degree that it did before. As his blood passes through the polymer arterial tubes in his abdomen and legs, without muscles, skin and body fat, there is, ah, nothing to insulate it. It cools before it passes back into his torso and returns to his heart. The extra metabolic activity required to be awake is increasing the rate of heat loss." More nurses bundled into the room pushing a trolley before them. "You may all prefer to leave while we warm him. I doubt that you will wish to see the results of the operation so soon."

"Be glad to," Alan joked, running his finger around his collar as a bead of sweat slipped down. "It's getting too hot in here."

"W-We had to turn the room's temperature up."

"We know, Brains." John clapped him on the back. "Call us as soon as it's safe to return."

"I will." Brains cuffed his own sweat off his brow. "F-Feeling warmer, Virgil?"

"N-N-N…"

"Don't worry. You will soon…"

The next five days were a mixture of highs and lows. Virgil alternated between minutes of lucidity, delirium, and unconsciousness. His family took advantage of the all too brief moments when they could communicate and tried to explain everything about his and their situations; in between jokes about how he had probably developed super powers like Spiderman with the spiderweb polymers inside him; how he must feel like a baked potato being wrapped in the space blankets to keep him warm; and how it was unfair they were expected to cook as well.

When he was awake enough to do so, Virgil practised speaking; each syllable uttered on the breathing machine's exhalation, which left his speech stilted and incomplete. Often the family commented to one another on how they longed for the day when they would be able to hold a proper conversation with him.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Virgil awoke.

Something seemed different. This time there was no feeling of limited time. This time there was no irksome irrationality nagging at the back of his mind, nor the feeling that sleep was creeping up on him.

Virgil felt calm, rational, and awake.

Then he heard a sound. A sound like the tranquil whisper of breathing.

It wasn't his lungs making that sound, Virgil knew that. Every breath that was made was accompanied by a hypnotic hiss of oxygen passing out of a cylinder, down a tube, through his throat, and into his lungs. Followed by a different sound as the process reversed.

This sound was just as regular, but at a different tempo.

Trying not to nudge the life-giving tube, Virgil looked down.

Scott sat by the bed's side. The elder Tracy's arms lay on the shell that covered Virgil's good arm and his head on his brother's hard torso. His closed eyes and the regularity of his breathing told Virgil that he was asleep.

"He's been like that for about an hour," a quiet voice stated, and Virgil looked over to the duty nurse. She stood and moved closer to the bed. "Using a patient as a pillow is not standard practise, and under normal circumstances I would have chased him out of here, but as he can't hurt you and the rest of your family are off doing other things, I thought you'd both prefer it if he stayed. Plus, he's been looking tired these last few days and I thought the sleep would do him good." She smiled. "How are you feeling?"

Virgil thought he'd attempt the impossible. What, for him, would be the equivalent of a full sentence. "O–kay," he enunciated.

Unfortunately, his ability to speak didn't extend to his ability to control his volume and Scott stirred. Bleary eyed, he sat up.

"Sor–ry."

Scott rubbed his eyes. "Wha'…" He cleared his throat and pretended not to notice the nurse's understanding smile before she returned to her station. "What for?"

"Wa–king ... you."

"Waking me? I wasn't asleep." Scott yawned.

Virgil didn't comment on the obvious lie. "Where–'s … 'vry–one?"

"Where're everyone?" Scott rolled his head and rubbed his neck as he tried to massage the stiffness away. "The scientists' visas have finally been granted. They've gone to get them." He grinned. "Our family wanted to make sure they got here safely to look after you."

"All ... of ... them?"

"No. Grandma's checking that their rooms are ready and is cooking a welcome dinner. Father said they'd probably be more interested in getting some sleep after the flight."

"Where–'s … he?"

"He had some business to attend to. I think he was muttering something about paying the bills."

"Where–'s ... Brains?"

"From what he's told us about them, preparing himself for the onslaught of when those two arrive."

"On–slaught?"

"He said they were a bit single-minded, which, coming from him, must be something. I think he's gathering some notes together."

"How–'s … Tin–Tin ... and ... Ky–ran–o."

"Haven't seen that much of them," Scott admitted. "I've been over here most of the time."

"Why ... did–n't ... you ... fly ... the ... plane ... to ... get ... th'm...?"

"Someone had to stay here with you." Scott didn't say that his father, with his grandmother's and brothers' backing, had grounded him. Even though Virgil seemed to be finally stepping out on the long road to recovery, he'd still had trouble sleeping and was exhausted. A fact that had been obvious to everyone: including himself. Which was why he hadn't protested when his brothers had drawn straws to see who would pilot the Odonata.

John had won, and Alan had gone into a sulk. Gordon was just glad for the opportunity to see some ocean.

Virgil knew his brother well enough to get a sense of the real reason. "Are ... you ... o–kay?"

Scott hesitated, glancing at the nurse.

Understanding their wish to be alone, she stood. "I have a few errands to run. Will you keep an eye on Virgil, Scott?"

"Yeah. Sure."

"Thank you. Push the buzzer if you need anything."

Scott waited until she'd left the two men alone. "What can you remember us telling you?"

"Bits. ... … But ... it ... all ... runs ... in ... to–geth–ther. … … I ... don' ... know ... what ... I' ... heard ... and ... what ... I' ... dream'."

"What do you remember about your condition?"

"That ... I' ... lost ... both ... legs ... and ... my…" Virgil's eyes glanced down to his left. "Thumb ... and ... fore–fing–ger… … That ... Brains ... knew ... some ... sci–en–tists ... who ... have ... work'd ... on ... r'pl–acing ... limbs."

"Not only limbs, Virg. You've lost a lot more than that."

"More?"

Scott spoke quietly. "That's why they've had to immobilise you. Because of the, erm, internal damage."

Virgil looked troubled. "I ... for–got ... that."

"Do you remember signing a paper giving your authority for the operation to proceed?"

"No… Signed ... it ... 'cause ... I ... trust ... Brains?"

"We all trust Brains. There's no way we would have let them anywhere near you without his reassurances."

"Was ... the ... op–er–a–tion ... suc–cess–ful?"

"I don't know. No one's said it hasn't worked so far and I'm sure Brains would have told us the truth, even if it wasn't good news… But it's all experimental." Scott hesitated. "What can you remember of your accident?"

"I…" This pause wasn't to wait for the next breath. It was made while Virgil tried to recollect what memories were there and decide what could safely be said. "I ... was ... res–cued ... by ... In–ter–na–tion–nal Res–cue."

Scott smiled at the slow wink that accompanied this statement. "That's right."

"Are ... Bruce…"

Scott saved Virgil his breath. "They're fine. Do you remember us telling you that John's bought a property? We've all chipped in. It had a motel out the back and Hamish and Edna…" He saw a raised eyebrow. "We're under orders to dump the Uncle and Auntie. It's taken me this long to get used to it. Anyway, they've got one unit, the Crumps have another, Butch's dad has number three…"

"But–ches ... dad?"

"Apparently, you met him at their wedding anniversary party. That's another long story that can wait. The Watts have another unit. Rex and Winston have one… Did we tell you they've got engaged?"

Virgil smiled. "Good ... for ... them."

"Yeah. Olivia's sharing a unit with Rex's Auntie Alicia. Although I'm not sure if that's their choice or not."

Another raised eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because Bruce is sharing his unit with Freddy when Freddy's not at the hospital with Angela, and their parents have the last unit…" Scott counted everyone off on his fingers. "I think that's everyone."

"An–ge-la?"

"Freddy's sister."

"I ... know ... that. ... What ... happened ... to ... her?"

"Don't you remember?"

Giving up on trying to talk for a moment, Virgil shook his head.

"She was injured in the quake. She was in the bed next to yours in the days after you were brought here, so it must have been bad."

"How ... is ... she?"

"I haven't heard."

"Find ... out?"

"If I can."

"Where ... are ... the ... rest ... of ... ACE?"

"Scattered around the countryside I think." Scott was still counting on his fingers. "Oh, and Greg and Mavis Harrison have the last unit."

"John ... okay?"

Scott frowned. "John?"

"Head."

It had been so long ago that Scott had forgotten that another brother had been injured during that rescue. "He's fine. He went a bit loopy when he got overtired while we were waiting for you to go into surgery. But that's normal and we all did to a certain extent. There's nothing wrong with him." Scott sighed. "I wish we had John's masking gizmo in here," he admitted. "We've got so much to tell you, most of which needs to be kept out of the public domain. But none of us are prepared to risk it…" He looked at the artificial lungs. "Not while you're wired up to the mains."

"A–bout ... work?"

"Yes. And… And other stuff."

"'Oth–er ... stuff' ... us?" Virgil fixed Scott with a stare. He waited until the moment when he felt that sufficient air was passing through his airway. "Some–thin's– wrong."

"Nothing's wrong."

"Yes … there … is. ... What?"

"Nothin'"

"Is … it … me?"

"You're getting the best care possible."

"The … family?"

"You definitely don't have to worry about any of us."

Virgil knew his elder brother well enough to know that he could avoid the question till everyone returned and the chance to press for information was gone. Giving up, he rubbed the right side of his face against the pillow. "Could ... you ... do ... me ... a ... fav–our?" he asked, rubbing again.

Eager to help, Scott leant forward. "Anything."

Virgil looked embarrassed. "Prob–ab–ly ... a ... hair ... or ... some–thing ... tick–ling, but ... I've ... got ... an ... itch ... and ... it's ... kill–ling ... me… Would ... you ... mind ... scratch–ing ... it?"

"You want me to scratch it? Sure… Where is it?"

"Be–hind ... my ... right ... ear."

Scott reached out and touched the supposed spot. "Where? There?"

"Bit ... fur–ther ... back."

Scott pushed further behind Virgil's head. "Is that…?"

Virgil rolled his head to the side, trapping Scott's hand under his cheek. He looked up into his brother's eyes. "Don't … let … what … hap–pen'd … to … me … hurt … you, ... Scott," he breathed.

Surprised by the unexpected contact, Scott stared at where his hand lay against his sibling's face. "I…"

"I ... know ... it' ... not ... going ... to ... be ... easy. ... … I ... know ... it' ... go–ing ... to ... be ... frus–tra–ting. … … And ... I ... know ... it ... will ... most ... like–ly ... be ... pain–ful… … And ... I ... am ... sure ... that ... there ... will ... be ... times ... when ... I ... wish ... I'd ... died…"

"Don't say that!"

"But ... I ... know ... I ... can ... cope… … I ... know ... be–cause ... you ... will ... all ... sup–port ... me… … Even ... when ... you ... can't ... be ... here ... with ... me … phy–si–cal–ly, ... I ... know ... you'll ... be ... sup–port–ing ... me ... in ... spir–rit."

"I'm going to stay with you until you can leave here. Just like I did with Gordon."

"You … can't … do … that."

"Yes, I can."

"They ... need ... you. ... … They ... can' ... do ... it ... with–out ... you."

"Yes, they can," Scott echoed.

"No." Virgil shook his head. "They–'ll ... be ... short–staffed."

"Tin-Tin can help. You need me more than they do."

Virgil decided he didn't have the strength for that argument at the moment. "What–ev–er … you … do... … Where–ev–er ... you ... are. ... Wheth–ther … you–re … with … me … or … at … work, … you ... have ... to ... be ... well ... enough ... and ... a–wake ... enough ... to ... con–tinue, … and … I ... can ... see ... you're ... not. ... … You ... need ... some ... prop–per ... rest."

"I'm okay."

"No, ... you're ... not."

"So, I dozed off. Big deal! It's hot enough to fry an egg in here."

"Don–n' ... want ... to ... be ... a ... bur –den."

"You must remember from Gordon's accident that being with him and having him as the most important thing in our lives wasn't a burden."

Remembering that at times Gordon's accident had been a burden that was almost too hard to bear, Virgil said nothing.

"I can deal with this, Virg." Scott bit his lip. "But what I can't deal with is knowing how scared you were. I don't want you to go through that fear again."

"I … was–n't … scared."

"When you were trapped you were terrified. I could feel it. Don't you remember?"

"I ... re–mem–ber… … But ... I ... was–n't ... scar'd ... of ... dying… … I ... was–n't ... scar'd ... that ... my ... life ... be ... chan–ged ... for–ever… … What ... scar'd… …" Virgil paused for three breaths. "… Scares ... me ... is ... I ... re–mem–ber ... what ... it ... was ... like ... when ... we ... lost ... Ma. ... … I ... re–mem–ber ... what ... it ... was ... like ... when ... we ... thought ... we'd ... lose ... Gordon. … ... I ... re–mem–ber... what ... we ... went ... through ... when ... he ... strug–gled ... to ... re–cover. … ... I ... was…" Another full breath. "… I ... am ... scar'd ... that ... I ... will ... put ... the ... fam–'ly ... through ... that ... again." He stopped talking, feeling slightly dizzy after such a long speech. Wishing he could take some deep lungfuls of air to help re-oxygenate his brain, Virgil closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing.

"Too late. We've already been down that road. We were told you were dying…" Scott hesitated at the memories. "We were told you'd died."

Virgil opened his eyes. "Died?"

Scott nodded.

"Why?"

"It was soon after you'd been brought here. The hospital was in an uproar and it was a computer error… But you did die, Virg. On the operating table. Brains had to bring you back."

"I ... did–n't ... sign ... a ... D–N–R?"

"Do not resuscitate? I'm glad you didn't."

Virgil waited until five full breathing cycles had passed.

"You don't need to be scared, Virgil. I'm not leaving you."

"You ... can' ... stay. ... … Things ... are ... diff'–rent ... this ... time. ... … You–'re ... need'd."

Scott snorted. "I'm not sure about that. There's already been a mutiny to try to kick me off the team once."

"Mut–'ny?" Virgil frowned. "Who?"

"Dad, Gordon and John. Alan stood up for me, which was a surprise."

"Why? ... What ... hap–pen'd?"

Scott looked him in the eye. "Can't you guess?"

"Me?"

"You and me."

"Why?"

"This is where we need John's gizmo."

"You–'ll ... tell ... me ... late–ter?"

"Of course."

Virgil, reluctantly, accepted the promise. "You ... have ... to ... work, ... Scott. ... … Don–n' ... give ... up."

"I'm not giving up. I've had time to assess my priorities and you're my top priority."

Virgil frowned. "You ... should ... be ... your ... pri–o–rity. ... You ... need ... rest."

"No, I don't."

"You ... fell ... a–sleep ... on ... top ... of ... me."

"You were asleep, and it was hot, so I nodded off. I'm okay."

"O–kay? ... You ... could ... have ... flown ... a ... plane ... and ... you ... did–n't."

"John needed the practise."

"John' ... a ... good ... pi–lot."

"He is, but it's tricky landing the Odonata on the tennis courts. He needed to practise doing that."

"You ... would ... have ... han–ded ... o–ver ... the ... con–trols ... and ... kept ... an ... eye ... on ... him … dur–ing … the … land–ding."

Realising the truth of the statement Scott looked down.

"Was ... this ... the ... mut–'ny?"

"No. That was a few days ago. That's behind us."

"Un–til ... they ... decide ... that … you're ... a ... liability."

"Hey! Multiple syllables on one breath! Well done."

"Don–n't ... change ... the ... subject! You–'re ... not ... o–kay."

"I am!" Suddenly feeling too tired to argue, Scott gave up on the pretence. He lifted his free hand helplessly. "I… I dunno, Virg. Maybe I'm not." He ran his fingers through his hair. "I can't seem to think straight. The other day we were out on a job and we ran into trouble and I couldn't think of a solution. You know me, normally I thrive on that kind of thing. But this time I was blank… Then Alan did something to resolve the situation and I still can't decide if it was pure genius or rabid foolhardiness."

Virgil raised an eyebrow.

"Gordon looked like he was going to have kittens... Or at least spawn a school of fish."

Virgil, unsure if chuckling was an option in his current condition, smiled. "Did ... you ... get ... ev'ry–one ... out?"

"Yes."

"Any–one ... dead?"

"No."

"In–jured?"

"No."

"Equip–ment ... dam–aged?"

"No."

"Sounds ... like ... gen–ius ... to ... me…"

Scott didn't respond.

"Alan's ... not ... stupid, ... you ... know."

"I know. But sometimes he acts before thinking." Scott sighed and sat back as far as he could with his hand trapped. "And this time I couldn't think of anything."

"You're ... jea–lous?" This was said as a simple inquiry, not as an astonished statement.

"No… Just scared. Scared that I'm never going to come up with another plan as audacious or clever as that one."

Wishing that he could offer more comfort, Virgil rubbed his cheek against Scott's hand. "You ... will… ... Did ... this ... lead ... to ... the ... mut–'ny?"

"No… Not directly anyway. I'll explain later."

"Promise ... me ... you'll ... look ... af–ter ... yourself. … Get … some … sleep."

Scott gave a slow nod. "Okay, Virg. As soon as the researchers have given us their verdict, I'll try and get some sleep. And I promise to look after myself. But I can only do that if you promise to look after yourself."

"I'll ... do ... my ... best…" Pleased with his brother's promise, Virgil decided that it was time to change the subject to something less confronting... and more intriguing. "Why ... have ... I ... got ... this ... im–mage ... of ... you ... kiss–sing ... La–dy ... Pen–el–ope ... going ... through ... my ... mind?"

Scott looked surprised. "I think the only time that was mentioned was when you were in the coma."

It was Virgil's turn to look surprised. "You… kiss'd… Pen…ny?"

"Yeah." Then Scott smirked. "We were…"

Virgil didn't get to hear what "they were" doing when the door opened. He allowed Scott the dignity of pulling his hand free before the intimate touch was seen by the newcomer.

Jeff stepped into the room, smiling when he saw that his invalid son was watching him. "Hello, Boys."

"Hel–lo."

Scott grinned in delight. "We've been having a conversation. A full, complete, uninterrupted conversation."

"Yes?" Jeff's smile broadened, and he reached out, caressing the side of Virgil's face with the backs of his fingers.

Normally his sons would have pulled away with a protest at what would have felt like excessive and unnecessary familiarity, but now that Virgil was cut off from most tactile sensory stimulations, he welcomed his father's caress.

That was until Jeff realised what he was doing and, almost embarrassed, pulled back. "What have you two been having a conversation about?"

Scott shrugged and looked at his left hand. "Stuff."

Virgil raised an eyebrow and Jeff got the message. Even in that short time he could see that Scott seemed brighter and less weighed down by his concerns than he had before. Clearly a "conversation" had been the tonic that the doctor had ordered.

Seeing that his eldest had relaxed, eased some of Jeff's own concerns and he looked over at the desk. "Where's the nurse?"

"She had stuff to do."

"Ah… Interesting stuff, stuff… How are you feeling, Virgil? Any pain?"

"No. ... I'm ... not ... feeling ... any–thing ... except ... odd."

"Odd?" Jeff frowned as he pulled a seat closer and sat down. "What do you mean odd?"

"Are ... you ... sure ... they ... didn't ... ampu–tate ... at ... the ... neck?"

Jeff chuckled. "Quite sure. I wouldn't let them."

"Has … anyone … said … when … I … can … breathe … on … my … own?"

"No." Jeff shook his head. "Sorry."

"I wish we knew," Scott admitted. "I think, Virg, that we're going to have to get Brains to tell you everything about your condition again."

"Or else we'll let the geniuses behind your recovery do it."

Scott looked over the bed at his father. "How far out is the plane?"

Jeff glanced at his watch. "Three hours?"

"That close?" Surprised, Scott looked at his own watch. "Where'd the time go?"

"You ... slept," Virgil reminded him. "Using ... me ... as ... a ... pillow."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, ... you ... did."

"Settle down," Jeff growled. But his glare was directed towards Scott. "The earthquake authorities have opened up parts of the city to give residents limited access, so Tin-Tin's hired a helijet to take Hamish and the rest of ACE to check out their homes. I'm dreading what they'll find."

"I hope everyone's fully insured."

"So, do I. And that the insurance companies don't try to wrangle their way out of their responsibilities."

Scott snorted. "I wouldn't put it past them."

"Me neither. That's why I've got Carter Cyval on standby. It's the kind of thing he'd love to get his teeth stuck into."

"Do ... you ... know ... how ... Angela ... is?"

"Angela Eagles?"

Virgil nodded.

"The last time I was talking to her mother, Amelia said she's responding to treatment. But she's like you. It's early days yet."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

The three Tracys spent an amiable half hour talking, Jeff and Scott telling Virgil heavily edited and de-dramatised tales of the events of the previous ten days; steering clear of anything that might cause him concern or could be dangerous to International Rescue if overheard by the wrong people.

Scott yawned.

"You ... should ... go ... get ... some ... sleep."

Scott sighed in mock exasperation. "It's the middle of the day, Virg. It's not the time to sleep."

"I've ... been ... sleeping ... through ... the ... middle ... of ... the ... day ... for ... the ... last ... ten ... days. ... If ... it's ... good ... enough ... for me ... it's ... good ... enough ... for you."

Scott turned to their father. "Two words in one breath. He's showing off now."

"He's also talking sense. It wouldn't hurt you to catch forty winks. If you go now you can be back here before your brothers arrive. They need never know."

"Do ... I ... have ... to ... banish ... you?"

Scott grinned. "I'd like to see you try."

"You … couldn' … stop … me … I have… have … re–in–force…" Virgil stopped speaking, wishing he could clear his throat. He tried again. "re … in … force … ment…"

There was a gurgling sound.

Concerned by the noise and hesitations, Scott frowned. "Are you all…?"

A bubble rose up the clear plastic tube in his brother's throat.

Jeff sat forward. "Don't try to speak," he said when Virgil opened his mouth. "Are you having trouble breathing?"

Virgil managed a small nod, but Scott had already pushed the button to summon the nurse.

They expected her to rush back, but were still waiting after a long five minutes.

Scott pushed the buzzer for what seemed to be the 100th time. "Where is she?"

"I'll go and see if I can find someone," Jeff offered.

He was back a short time later. "I spoke to one of the admin staff. There's been a major road accident and all available staff are treating the casualties. They're waiting on reinforcements." He sat down again. "I've tried to contact Colin Eden, but even he's tied up with the accident and emergency department."

Virgil was acutely uncomfortable. A headache was building, and he thought that his lungs would have been burning if they weren't anaesthetised.

Scott stood.

Jeff looked up at him. "Where are you going?"

"Being a good Boy Scout." Scott went over to the nurses' station and collected the paraphernalia that he'd seen various medical practitioners use over the previous five days.

"You're not going to attempt to clear his tube, are you?"

"Not unless I have to."

"Do you know what to do?"

Instead of answering the question, Scott applied some sanitiser to his hands. "Why don't you try the buzzer again? With any luck, the nurse will be free now." He looked down on Virgil. "Let me know if you need my help."

Closing his eyes, Virgil nodded.

Scott pulled on a pair of gloves.

Jeff watched, unsure that Scott's plan was the right one. Not because he didn't trust his son, but because he wasn't convinced that attempting the procedure was necessary or advisable.

That was until Virgil's body reacted to the decreasing levels of oxygen. Despite having no way of drawing air into his lungs, his instinctive reaction was arch his head to try to open his blocked airway. His immobilised body thwarted his instincts and he gasped; inhaling nothing.

Through the clear shell that protected his torso they could see that his chest was barely moving.

"Virgil!" Scott tried to look his distressed brother in the eye, but Virgil's eyes remained tightly closed as he fought the battle against his body. "Do you need me to help you?"

There was no response.

Ripping into the first of the sterile packs, Scott glanced at their father. "Are you okay with this? You don't have to stay."

"I'm staying." Alarmed, Jeff looked at Scott. "What can I do?"

"Keep pressing that buzzer."

Jeff grabbed it like a lifeline and held the button down.

Scott grabbed another pair of gloves and held them out to him. "Put these on and hold the oxygen tube near the stoma. We may be able to induce enough oxygen into his lungs to keep him… ah… comfortable. But don't touch anything!"

"I won't."

"Right…" Scott told himself to keep calm. "I'd say to take a deep breath and hold it, Virg, but…"

Virgil's skin was turning blue.

"We're running out of time, Scott!"

Trying to remember exactly what the various nurses had done, Scott reached for the oxygen tube and popped it free of the outer cannula, before handing it to his father. "Withdrawing inner cannula…" He pulled the smaller tube free from where it resided inside the larger one that sat inside the trachea. "Man, that's clogged!"

Keeping the hose that was issuing the life-giving oxygen pointing towards the hole in his son's throat, Jeff pressed the button on the buzzer and willed someone who knew what they were doing to arrive.

Virgil's chest wasn't moving.

After wiping down the exterior of the breathing tube, Scott quickly suctioned the interior. "Reinstating the inner cannula… Hang in there, Virg. I'm reattaching the oxygen." Hoping that he wasn't nudging something that shouldn't be nudged and that the seal around the oxygen tube wasn't compromised, he followed his own instructions.

Nearly as breathless as Virgil had been, Jeff watched as his invalid son's chest rose. It fell before rising again. "You did it, Scott." Relieved, he released the buzzer's button and sat back, for a moment forgetting that the chest movement was thanks to the machine at his side and not involuntary muscle contractions.

Scott pulled one of his gloves off and laid his bare hand against his brother's forehead. "Can you hear me, Virgil?"

"He's breathing."

"His chest is moving, but is he getting oxygen?" Keeping his hand clear of the tracheotomy, Scott checked for a pulse at Virgil's neck. "Can you open your eyes, Virg…? Please…"

There was a flicker as Virgil obeyed, quickly shutting them again.

"Do you need a moment to get your breath back?"

There was a tiny nod.

"Okay. Take as long as you need." Scott collapsed into his seat and pulled off the other glove, disposing of them both into a bag. He rubbed his face before giving his father a wry grin. "That was interesting."

"Well done," Jeff congratulated, him. "Have you ever done that before?"

"Nope. I'd learnt how to do emergency tracheostomies, but never had to do it on a real patient."

"I'm impressed."

Scott gave a nonchalant shrug. "I've done worse…" He looked down at his brother. "I nearly had to ten days ago." Determined not to lapse into morose thoughts, he glanced at his father. "Do you still think I should head back home for some sleep?"

"Yes…" Jeff growled. Then he softened his voice. "But I'm glad you were here. Why don't you pull up another chair and try to catch some shuteye on that?"

Scott made no comment.

A nurse bustled into the room. "I'm sorry that you've been left alone," he apologised. "But things have gone crazy in A&E. You were paging us?"

Jeff explained about the emergency. "…The breathing tube was blocked, and no medical staff were available to help us. That's when we started to get worried."

"Scott … clear'd … my … tube."

At hearing his son's voice, Jeff leaned forward so he was in Virgil's line of sight. "How are you feeling now?"

"Bet–ter." His younger son looked across to his eldest. "Thanks."

Scott smiled. "You're welcome."

Virgil had closed his eyes again.

With a small frown, Scott stood so he could get out of the nurse's way. "Do you want to check that I haven't done something I shouldn't?"

"Would you mind?"

"Not at all. I'd like the reassurance."

The nurse leant over the patient. "Are you ready for me to check your tube, Virgil?"

Without opening his eyes, Virgil nodded.

After a burst of lung-filling oxygen, the nurse checked the cannulas. Having had more practise, he was quicker and more assured than Scott in his actions.

Seconds later was he was reattaching the oxygen line. "All done." He stepped back and allowed Scott to reclaim his seat. "I couldn't have done a better job myself. You've had medical training?"

Virgil finally opened his eyes.

"First aid," Scott prevaricated. "But I've been watching each time the procedure was done. I hoped I'd learnt enough to clear the tube without doing any damage."

"Only first aid?" the nurse echoed, surprised. "You must be a natural. Have you ever considered medicine as a profession?"

Scott chuckled. "Labouring all hours, getting exhausted and covered in muck while people's lives hang in the balance? That sounds too much like work. Right, Virg?"

There was a tiny smile and a minute wink from the figure on the bed.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

It was five hours before there was a commotion outside the door, followed by multiple, loud shushing sounds.

John stuck his head through the door. "Is it safe to come in?"

"Get out of the way, John," Alan grumbled, pushing past his elder brother. "We've waited weeks for this… Hi, Dad."

"Hello, Alan"

"Hello … every–one."

Gordon's face lit up. "Virgil! How are you feeling?"

"Okay … … Once … Scott… saved … my … life."

"What?" Grandma turned to her eldest grandson. "What happened?"

Scott looked suitably embarrassed by the praise. "I'm sure that's an overstatement."

"Didn' … feel … like … it."

In preparation for meeting the two Australasian researchers, Jeff Tracy had vacated his seat. Stepping around his family, he extended his hand to the first of the two strangers that he'd only met via a video link. "Good to finally meet you face to face. I'm Jeff Tracy."

"And you, Mr Tracy," Timoti pumped his hand. "You've given us an opportunity we'd only dreamed of."

"A-And this is Bryce Dower, M-Mr Tracy."

"Mr Tracy!" Bryce was just as enthusiastic at meeting the man who was bankrolling their experiment as Timoti was. "We can't thank you enough. We're told that your connections have scored us the fastest visas in American history."

Brains completed the introductions, "Timoti… Bryce… Th-This is Scott, Mr Tracy's son, V-Virgil's eldest brother."

Scott reached out to replicate his father's actions but was ignored as Bryce pushed through the throng of Tracys to the sole bed in the room. "I take it that this is our subject?"

Virgil gave him a somewhat uncertain smile. "Hi."

"Virgil's communicating clearly, but you have to be patient and listen to him," Jeff warned. "The sooner he can breathe normally and without the tracheotomy tube the happier we'll all be."

Scott decided to ignore the earlier snub. "Do you have any idea how long before it can be removed?"

"And skin!" John chimed in. "When will you replace his skin?"

"And what about his arm muscles?" Gordon queried. "He needs to exercise them, so he can build up some muscle tone. When are you going to remove the shell stopping his right arm from moving?"

"And when can his sit up?" Alan added. "It must be boring staring at the ceiling all day. Right, Virgil?"

"Ri…"

"Once we've examined him we'll have some idea." Timoti pulled at the sheet that was tucked in under the mattress at Virgil's feet. "How does the restoration look?"

Brains held the sheet down. "Ah, I think the f-family should leave first. Th-They haven't seen the results of the operation, and I'm sure that, at this early stage, they would, ah, prefer to keep it that way."

"Oh… Okay…" Bryce almost seemed surprised. "In that case you should all leave." He began shepherding the Tracys and a bemused Brains to the door. "We won't take long."

"We'll take as long as necessary." Timoti had already resumed releasing the blankets on the far side of the bed.

"Which shouldn't be longer than a couple of hours… You too, Mr Tracy." And Jeff found himself in the unusual position of being forced towards the corridor.

"Wait!"

As one everyone in the room turned to look at the figure on the bed.

"I … want … …" Virgil hesitated for two exhalations, unwilling to exhibit any signs of weakness even in his weakened state. "Brains … to … stay."

Rather than looking startled, Brains approached the bed. "You want me to stay?"

"I need … you … explain … every–thing … to me." Virgil darted a look at the two impatient researchers.

"I'm s-sure Bryce and, ah, Timoti will explain everything, ah, s-satisfactorily."

"I need … someone … to be … my … voice. … … Since … I … can't … talk … proper–ly."

"And I c-c-can d-do that?"

"I … know … you can."

Brains collected a face mask from a box on the nurse's desk. "Then I'm happy to stay."

Virgil managed a smile. "Thanks."

Alan sidestepped Bryce, who was standing like he was prepared to tackle the lot of them to stop them from approaching the bed again. "You'll call us when it's safe to come back, Brains?"

"Of course."

"We'll be over at the house."

"I'll phone Mr Tracy."

Timoti plucked at the bedclothes. "The sooner you go, the sooner you can come back."

If he thought that his words would hurry the group along, he was wrong.

"You'll call us as soon as you've finished, Brains?" Jeff checked.

"I promise."

"Thank you."

As impatient as the researchers to know that everything was going to plan, Scott began guiding his family out the door. "Come on, everyone, I want a nap and I'd rather have it on a proper bed than on the floor here." He glanced at the figure on the bed and saw a relieved expression. "Father will wake me when it's visiting time again."

Gordon rounded on him. "You're going to have a nap? In the middle of the day!? Are you feeling all right?"

In the time that Scott took to consider his answer, (should it be the automatic, accepted: "I'm fine" or the more truthful: "I'm so washed out that Thunderbird Four could motor through me,") Bryce clapped his hands at the group. "Everybody out!"

And the six Tracys found themselves out in the corridor.

"Well!" Grandma hmphed. "Of all the nerve! Shooing us out of there like school children!"

"It's the first chance they've had to see their work up close," Jeff soothed, even though he was just as unhappy at his treatment. "They're keen to see how it's progressing."

"And, to be fair, they weren't going to chuck us out initially," John reminded his grandmother. "If Brains hadn't stopped them we would have seen everything."

"And I'm quite happy that he did stop them," Gordon added. "I'm not that keen on the idea of seeing Virgil's insides."

Virgil wasn't that keen either and wasn't happy when his sheets and space blankets were whipped off the bed and deposited on the floor. He kept his eyes glued to the ceiling.

The two researchers took a moment to stand back and admire their handiwork.

"It looks just as I imagined," Bryce admitted.

Timoti nodded his agreement. "That robot and printer have done an awesome job."

Even Brains moved in for a closer look. "It is r-remarkable the amount of regeneration that has occurred in such a short sp-pace of time."

Encouraged by his friend's words, Virgil stole a look down his body. From this angle, it appeared that Timoti was leaning over his nether regions, examining them in detail.

"Beautiful," the latter sighed into his surgical mask. "Simply beautiful."

Brains chuckled at Virgil's look of astonished embarrassment. "He means the 3D printouts."

"Oh." Deciding it was safer, Virgil resumed his inspection of the ceiling. "Are … they … going … to be … much … longer? … I'm … getting … cold."

"I'll cover the areas they're not…" Out of respect for his friend's feelings, Brains managed to avoid the word "admiring" and a smirk, "looking at with a space blanket."

Neither Australasian heard their conversation and both uttered exclamations of alarm as shiny gold and silver coloured blankets covered their subject. "Hey!"

"Virgil's temperature's dropping," Brains informed them. "You can remove the blankets as you, er, wish, but I'm sure you agree that it's important to keep him comfortable."

By the tone of the two men's replies, Virgil wasn't sure that they agreed. He was glad that he'd insisted the Brains stay behind.

What followed was an hour of almost continuous rustling of space blankets as each millimetre was pored over and notes made of what was seen through the clear armour that protected the temporary structures. Finally, the announcement was made that it was time to remove the shell for an even closer inspection.

"We won't be able to, ah, leave Virgil uncovered for too long," Brains reminded his associates. "He'll lose body heat even quicker without the insulation of the shell." He picked up a space blanket. "Once it's removed, I'll place this over his upper torso to keep him warm."

Bryce nodded his approval of the plan. "We just want to see how the original tissue is taking. We already know which areas we want to examine closer, so we won't be long."

Virgil had grown tired of staring at the blank white space over his head and had closed his eyes, slipping into an almost relaxed stupor as he realised that nothing the scientists were doing was painful nor concerning.

That was until the shell that had protected his body for the last ten days was removed. Then Virgil was glad that his gag reflex was anesthetised. If it hadn't been he was sure that he would have been heaving the contents of his stomach all over himself and his bed… If he had a stomach.

The stench that his body emitted was so bad that all three scientists were sent reeling backwards away from the bed and the nurse started dialling up the air filtration in the room to the maximum. Only Virgil, without even a surgical mask to protect him, was unable to do anything to escape that horrible odour. It was the kind of smell that once it had entered your nose, seemed to stay there forever.

Virgil could count on the fingers of one hand (his right, not his left) the number of times that he'd had to deal with similar odours in the past. It was something that he'd encountered on occasions when International Rescue were called in days too late. It was not one of the better rescue memories.

And to know that his own body was the source of that foul odour…

Brains was the first to realise the patient's predicament. "I-I'm sorry," he said as he placed a mask over Virgil's nose and mouth. "You can smell that, can't you?"

Virgil nodded.

Even without his stomach he was feeling sick. But this wasn't a nausea-induced sickness. He was sick with fear.

"I think we've got some necrotising tissue," Bryce hypothesised, as he approached the bed cautiously. "Look. There… And there…" He pointed at what a lay person would describe as bits of dead meat.

"And there," Timoti added. "It will have to be debrided."

"At least that will be simple. There's no healthy tissue to damage."

Brains looked into Virgil's eyes. "Don't worry. I'm sure it will be all right."

Virgil would have liked to have thanked his friend for the reassurance, but he kept his lips clamped together, unwilling to open his mouth in case he could also taste that atrocious stench.

Bryce was examining a kind of surgical map; a record of what tissue had been installed where on the polymer framework. "It's not all bad. I think that the necrosis has occurred in tissue that had been stored after the original amputation."

"Do you think it wasn't stored correctly?"

"My hypothesis is that as the tissue wasn't cooled before removal from the subject, structural changes occurred during and after the removal process, allowing bacterial growth. The tissue that was removed in the process of the attachment of the polymer structures still appears healthy." Over the top of his surgical mask, Bryce beamed at Brains and Virgil, (who was examining the ceiling again as he tried to focus on something other than the fact that his world appeared to be literally disintegrating beneath him). "This is good. We're learning a lot."

Virgil couldn't see anything good in the situation.

"Can we replace th-the necrotic with living tissue?" Brains asked. "Or has it damaged the polymer substructure?"

He watched as Timoti poked something black and dead on the white polymer skeleton with his gloved finger. "The substructure appears intact." Stepping back from the bed, he removed his gloves and replaced them with a fresh pair. "I have no concerns about replacing it. Was there any good quality donor tissue remaining after the operation?"

Brains nodded. "Some. I requested that it be preserved in case it was needed."

"Good. Nothing to worry about then."

"Apart from the fact that Virgil's body temperature is dropping again," Brains warned him, aware that the only un-anaesthetised part of the patient's anatomy was shivering. "Do what you have to do and get him covered."

Seeming to be disappointed to have to hide their craftsmanship out of sight beneath a multitude of blankets, Bryce and Timoti obeyed.

To be continued…