Scott was a man of action, a man of instinct, someone who knew from experience how to make a decision in half a second and hope it was a good one. Sitting around and waiting was not his specialty. It wasn't really a Tracy specialty at all.

So they had a room. Of course they did. Because the hospital knew what they would be in for with five Tracy's hovering, worriedly about one of their own. And maybe, just maybe, their father had done a little bargaining.

Virgil, his immediate younger brother, curled into his seat, taking up three spaces with his long legs extended in what could look like rest if Scott didn't know better. Of all of them, Virgil had spent the most time at the hospital and limited his time in the hotel suite to showers and quick naps. Virgil was not sleeping. Not then, and not now, with his eyes closed in half rest and an earbud in on one ear. His heavy sighs, louder than he thought they were through the headphones, and occasional shifting from lack of comfort betrayed the image of slumber.

John, hair unkempt and eyes bright, had his laptop open and his fingers soared across the keyboard at a speed that could challenge a classic SR-71 Blackbird and win.

Alan, his baby brother, playing some sort of handheld video game on his phone, looked lost among the adults here, so small in comparison.

Their father shifted on his feet, leaning against the wall in an opposite corner, as if it gave him privacy. His expression was tight, as his exhausted voice stressed something to a whomever was on the other end of his phone line. They'd all been behind the intensity of their father's voice, so it wasn't the volume, but the authority behind the words that had all of them looking up as Jeff left the conversation with an air of finality and closed the call by tossing it into the work briefcase he had propped open on the chair to his right.

"Sit down, Jefferson," their grandma urged him, looking up from her knitting while her hands continuing moving and looping yarn into an ever-growing afghan on her lap.

He complied and rubbed at the space between his eyes, exhaling, "Sorry, Ma. Boys."

His phone rang. This time, their father calmly picked up the phone and selected a few settings and the phone went from ringing to vibrating, then went silent.

And Scott, well, Scott wore a hole into grey sheet tile. His presence here was hugely against protocol, and their father's influence could only delay so much. At any time, Scott would be called back to service. He would have to leave at some point whether they were ready or not. Whether he was ready or not. John too, had some decisions to make, considering he was supposed to be up on the freaking ISS in a month's time. This was the last time for a long they would likely be together, and Gordon was – surviving. Gordon was surviving.

He loved these people, these wonderful, worried, scared, selfless people that made up his family. People who –

"Scott, please! Go take a walk or something."

– he was clearly bothering. He raised his hands in surrender, an apology to John who was already back to his computer. It wasn't a bad idea; he could use a stretch outside these awful white walls.

But what if the doctor came?

"We won't hear anything for a while, Scott," Virgil added at his hesitation.

Just a small walk then for some fresh air; there was a convenience store around the corner that would be a quick visit.

The little shop was busy, but Scott was man on a mission and had the layout figured out quickly. He was good at that – assessing, figuring out the fastest or most efficient plan possible. He definitely needed to pick up waters for each of them, some sports drinks for electrolytes, and finally the standard array of treats, sweet and salty and a little in between.

It was only about 15 minutes total, but the walk had done him good, and by the time he got back he felt like he could use the time to sit.

"I brought an offering," he shared when he walked back into the unchanged room, walking over to sit next to John and dig through the contents. The first thing he did was grab the chocolate for John as his family gathered. Sorry for bothering you the gesture said, and John just shook his head with a light smile. It's forgiven.

For Alan, the hard candies he liked to savor.

Virgil, a bag of pretzels.

Grandma, she'd want a fruit cup.

Dad, ah, here's the licorice.

And finally, he picked up the last item. It was heavy in his hand, heavier than it should have been as he lifted it and realized what he held. A damn celery crunch bar. There was only one Tracy that ate celery crunch bars.

Scott felt the blood rush from his head, and he was glad he was sitting. His hand shook. He looked up painfully at the blurring faces around him, not sure what to do now that he had pulled out the offending item and couldn't just pretend it never happened.

Thump. Thump.

It was a stupid treat in the first place. He wasn't sure what made Gordo like them so much.

With its ugly neon green wrapper.

"Give it here, Scott. I'll eat it." A small hand reached towards his clenched fist. "I don't mind them."

Slowly, Scott's fingers loosened around the snack, and Alan's blue eyes came into focus, kind and pleading, from where he sat on the floor. Once the treat was out of his hands, the blurriness cleared.

He breathed out and felt Virgil's hand on his back, even before he looked up to see him beside him. An open bag of pretzels shook in front of his face in invitation.

"You forgot yourself again, Scooter."

"Unless you want some chocolate." And on his right, John had broken off a piece of chocolate from his candy bar and offered it over.

Both, both was good. Scott always did have a love of sweet and salty together. Best of both worlds.

"What you really need is this," his father said as he started handing out the sports drinks. "And thank you, son."

"Thanks, Scotty," Grandma agreed.

They had a whole room to themselves, of course they did, and yet they had selected a single corner, surrounded themselves with each other. Gordon was surviving, would survive. And yes, Scott would likely have to leave before he was ready, but here and now they were together.

*SR-71 Blackbird - the current fastest jet aircraft in the world; it can reach Mach 3.3 according to Smithsonian's National Air and Space Museum. A mere 2,100mph compared to Thunderbird 1's 15K mph, but still quite fast. Scott would know. 😊 For funsies - In comparison TB2 has cruising speed 2,000 mph.