Virgil woke early the next morning. Woken by pain and worn off meds, he was forced out of bed by the sheer ache in his shoulder, arm and wrist.

Movement was hell.

He desperately needed a shower, coffee and, he had to admit it, painkillers.

Today was going to suck.

He was still in his damn jeans and ruined shirt. He considered attempting to remove the clothing, but was far from confident that he would be able to replace them. Wandering about the villa naked wasn't preferred.

So, first priority was to dig up some meds so he could move and get himself showered and mobile.

He sucked in a breath and headed to the door in socked feet.

He made it to the infirmary undetected, but that should have given him a clue. It may be five am, but he had brothers up before the sun every morning.

And a grandmother who refused to waste a single day.

"Virgil?"

He had his head in the medicine cabinet and he hadn't heard her enter. Caught with his hand in the cookie jar and he had no excuses.

Just an aching body.

He turned slowly, his one working shoulder slumping. "Grandma."

She approached and gently nudged him aside, reaching into the cabinet and snagging a bottle. Turning, she cupped his hand in hers and nestled the medication into his palm with her other hand. "These should do the job."

She held his eyes for a moment before pulling away and turning to leave.

His heart lurched.

"Grandma?"

Her hand landed on his bicep again and gently squeezed, but she stepped away without a word, heading towards the door.

"Grandma, please."

She stopped, but didn't turn back.

"Please let me explain." His voice broke on the last word and he found his heart in his throat. "I'm sorry, Grandma. Please, I'm sorry."

He could blame it on the early hour, the pain, the post injury weariness, but honestly, it was simply because he loved his grandmother and couldn't bear to think he had broken her trust irrevocably.

There was a tension in her shoulders that suddenly released and she slumped where she stood, her whole posture going limp.

When she turned there were once again tears in her eyes.

The sight broke his heart and he was moving. "Grandma, don't...I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He wrapped her in his one good arm and cursed the arm that caused all this to begin with. Cursed himself for being the source of so much pain.

But she was suddenly clinging to him, sobbing on his shoulder.

Oh god.

Grandma.

His eyes pricked with their own tears and he was blinking madly. "Grandma, I'm sorry."

"Not your fault." The words were soft and muffled by flannel. A rough breath and his grandmother pulled away a little, watery blue eyes looking up at him with such love and sadness, he wasn't sure his heart could take it.

The pain in his chest out shone that in his arm.

"Virgil, I'm sorry I wasn't there when you needed me."

He blinked and stared at her, ignoring the single tear that escaped and tracked down his cheek. "What?" It was dumb and stupid and yet another sign that he needed coffee, but... "Grandma, you've always been there. Always."

She reached up and wiped away the tear with her fingertip. "Not enough, honey." Her eyes drifted to his shoulder before closing again. She dropped her forehead onto his chest.

He found his hand stroking her hair automatically.

-o-o-o-

Sally Tracy considered herself a strong woman. She had seen much in her relatively long life. She'd seen death and injury, lost those she loved, oh, so many she loved. But she had clung to her tenets of strength and stubbornness and the Tracy maxim of never giving up. She weathered it all.

She would never have thought that simple ink on the scarred shoulder of her grandson could disassemble her so easily.

The sight of those dates, several of which were etched into her own mind, the symbolism and the pain behind elegance...it had knifed straight into her heart and broken it.

To her absolute shame, she had not only fled her patient, but her beloved grandson. Left him in pain and anguish, and god, failed both herself and her family.

The anger had been at herself. At fate and its cruelty in scarring a man who could not be kinder, who made the world a better place simply by being himself.

The injustice screamed at her.

But most of all, it was the shock, the absolute shame of her not knowing. The knowledge that Virgil had been suffering with this FOR YEARS and she hadn't noticed. Hadn't seen.

Her doctorate, her experience, her love. It had all failed him and her.

It was crushing.

So, she had struck out, struggling to reassert her strength and determination amongst grief and denial.

And only hurt him more.

Fuck.

And now, where she should be showing strength, should be supporting and reassuring him, he was forced to care for her as she failed yet again.

His strong hand in her hair and her tears on his ruined shirt, she was little more than the farm girl she started out as, so long ago, wishing Grant was there to tell her everything was going to be alright.

"Grandma?" His voice cracked.

It was enough. She straightened and stepped back, wiping her eyes. "I'm sorry, Virgil."

The worry in his dark eyes as he held her arm. "No, no, don't apologise. Grandma-"

"You need to take your medication."

Her words stopped him short and those eyes flinched just a little.

She cursed herself again.

She was the parent. She was the caregiver. For goodness sake!

"Honey, you're in pain. Let's get that fixed and then we can talk." She held back a flinch herself. She didn't want to talk. She didn't want to face what was on his shoulder and what it meant. It scared her. Its existence and the concept that it was a 'compromise' absolutely terrified her. That despite doing everything she could for her boys, she hadn't done enough.

The possibility that her beloved grandson had almost been lost due to her own neglect.

He was still staring at her.

Her hand was shaking as she took his, fingers still clasped around the pill bottle. "Take your medication, honey."

He looked down at their hands and back up at her before stepping aside and placing the pills on the table. He paused staring and she realised her stupidity.

He only had one hand.

She blinked. Grabbing the bottle, she opened it and shook two of the tablets into his hand. Cap back on, she went to the sink and acquiring a glass, filled it with water. The familiar motions were a little reassuring. She was being useful.

His eyes never left her a moment.

She returned to him and held out the glass.

He shoved the pills in his mouth and took the water, throwing it back to down the medication.

She stared as his larynx bounced in his throat.

The glass landed quietly on the counter as he swallowed the last of the water.

She waited.

He exhaled.

"Grandma-"

"I need to see it." The words fell from her lips without thought and she regretted them immediately.

He stared at her, eyes widening.

Her heart twisted.

And he retreated, stepping back and turning away. He grabbed the pill bottle and made himself busy putting it back in the cupboard.

She stared at the back of his ruined shirt, the plaid wrinkled as he moved.

Then he ran out of busy work.

He kept his back turned to her, stiff and so...hurting, her throat closed up again.

"Grandma, I don't want to hurt you...any more." His voice was parched and slightly muffled by the fact he refused to look at her. Her only clue to his expression was what little she could see of his reflection in the glass of the cabinet door.

Dark hair, dark eyes, one of her grandbabies...

Her hand touched his back and his muscles tensed under her fingertips. "You haven't hurt me, Virgil."

He spun around at that, grabbing at his arm as the movement obviously aggravated it. "I made you cry, Grandma. Twice." His crumpled brow illustrated exactly the pain she had caused him with her reactions.

She reached up and cupped his cheek. "Because I failed you. I'm your grandmother-"

But he was shaking his head and her hand slipped away. "You can't fix this, Grandma. I..." He let out a frustrated breath before catching her eyes. "This is on me. This is my issue and I'm handling it the best I can."

And he turned away again.

Perhaps she was a failure because she couldn't leave it there. "Please talk to me, Virgil."

"What do you want me to say?" It was desolate.

"Why didn't you come to me?" Perhaps that was the core of it. He always came to her for advice and assistance, yet, in the moment of his direst need, he hadn't.

He sighed. "Grandma, we'd just lost Dad. You were grieving. Everyone was grieving. I thought I could handle it." He was staring at the countertop. "And when I realised I couldn't, it was too late."

She took a step closer, once again unable to resist placing a hand on his back. "It is never too late. You can come to me with anything at any time."

"Not this." Another sigh. "Never this." He closed his eyes and hunched in on himself and she wanted nothing more than to hold him like she had as a toddler and make everything better.

She was his grandmother; it was her job.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

He didn't even verbalise his reply, only shaking his head, still staring at the counter.

"Are you seeing someone?"

He nodded.

At least that was something.

"Has it helped?"

"I'm okay, Grandma."

Her fingers tangled in flannel. He didn't look okay. Every alarm both medical and parental were screaming in her head. "Promise me?"

Dark, bloodshot eyes darted in her direction. He couldn't lie to her, she knew that. At least not to her face. Perhaps that was the hardest part of this - the fact he had managed to hide this from her despite that.

He held her gaze a moment longer and she saw a decision made as he closed his eyes for just a second before reaching for the buttons on his shirt and undoing them one by one.

She dared not say anything to interrupt him. Dared not assist him. This was his decision, despite her request. The wrecked shirt was shucked from his shoulders and discarded on a chair.

He began picking at his bandages.

"Virgil?"

"You want to see? You're going to have to help me." It was sharp, but she wasn't arguing, quick fingers unwrapping the bandaging that both held his injured arm and wrist to his body and hid the tattoo on his shoulder.

As the limb came loose, he hissed between his teeth and she almost called the entire thing to a halt. He must have sensed her hesitancy because he took over pulling the bandaging off willy nilly.

"Virgil."

"You want to see it. I want you to understand."

"Not if it is going to hurt you further."

"It's going to hurt, no matter what, so I'd rather get it over and done with."

Damnit. "Well, at least sit down. Here." She nudged him toward one of the beds.

He shuffled backwards and planted himself on the edge. She grabbed the control and lowered it further so he could slide on comfortably.

His sigh was more of a groan and her guilt was a physical thing.

But she had to know.

The bandages came away revealing the expected swelling around his shoulder. Her medical eye did an assessment and was happy with its state, but it was the creep of black ink, the curl of a stylised leaf and the white of old scars that marred the apex of his scapula that churned her stomach.

As he settled into a slump on the side of the bed, he let his eyes close. "Look. Ask. I will answer what I can."

"I'm sorry, Virgil."

"Grandma, just do it, please."

Her lips tightened, but she moved around the end of the bed and approached him from behind.

It was an axe. A great Celtic axe adorned with knotted ribbon and stylised ivy. The handle of the axe was clutched in the talons of a great bird of prey. Whether it was a real bird or mythical, she had no idea. The whole adornment covered his entire shoulder and bled towards his lower back.

For the most part it was a normal tattoo, an impressive one, even, but the blade of the axe had a date etched into it, literally etched in relief. Her grandson's skin rose tight and puckered red. The date of his mother's death.

Next to it was another date. The date of his father's disappearance.

Woven amongst the Celtic knots a ghastly red ribbon wrapped around and around the handle of the axe, looping around an ankle of the bird and curling outside the extent of the tattoo and heading down towards his lumbar spine.

The ribbon had dates. So many dates.

The occasional name appeared on the knots. She even recognised a few. The last date was Cassandra McCready and her name was calligraphed on the handle.

There was so much information, she wasn't sure where to look and it took her a moment to realise the worst of it all.

As she stepped closer to her grandson the light cast shadows. Each date rose in scar, but underneath it all, underneath every inked line there were a series of deeper scars hidden, dimpling dark skin.

As if a claw had torn at her grandson's shoulder, attempting to rip the skin off his body.

The ink glittered dully in the overhead lighting.

Sally swallowed and tried to get her heart and breathing under control.

"It is done by a professional, Grandma. Safe and sterile. Confidentiality is in place. The artist can be trusted."

She didn't say anything. Her eyes following the scars, catching dates she could connect in her head with disasters. At the very top of the axe a moniker caught her eye.

Oh, god.

Grandpa.

Grant Tracy.

It was tiny, beautifully scripted, and in that moment, she had an inkling of exactly why her grandson did this. This memorial. This honour to those he had lost.

And why those dates were raised. Unthinking, she reached out and touched her fingertip gently to her husband's name. Virgil's skin was warm and the scar rough.

"Grandpa was one of the first."

She snatched her hand away and his shoulder flexed. A hiss and Virgil clutched at his arm again.

"Honey?"

"It has grown over the years. Never expected it to get this big." It was said through gritted teeth.

"Does it have everyone?" Her voice was little more than a whisper.

"No. Only those I failed."

"You have never failed anyone, Virgil."

"I..." His head dipped. "I wish that were true." A ragged breath. "I've held so many last moments, Grandma. Been unable to reach. Missed at the last second. They scream. They always scream. Their eyes cry out and I'm just not enough. Not fast enough. Not close enough. Not smart enough. They deserve more, but I can't give it to them." Another breath, this one shaking. "So, I give them this at least. Memory. I can remember them and try harder next time."

Sally's hand was shaking as she laid her palm against his back. A moment and her cheek followed, her arms wrapping around him the best she could. His good shoulder flexed under her temple as he captured her hands in his single one. "I'm okay, Grandma. I promise."

-o-o-o-

End Part Nine

TBC