For some reason I grew up thinking it was Scott, John, Virgil, Gordon, and then Alan. So, as this is the birth order in my head, I shall now inflict it on everyone else.
Thunderbird 2 landed. If it was a little bumpy, Virgil did not notice. What he did notice, however, was Gordon's eyes on him as the redhead unclipped himself and stretched his way out of the chair.
"Where'd the vendetta for the palm trees come from?"
"What palm trees?"
Gordon laughed and scrubbed a hand over his face, smearing the dust even more. Virgil had a quick glimpse of a uniform torn up the right arm, but in true fashion Gordon moved around the cockpit like a dolphin, one thing to the next to the next to the next – Virgil closed his eyes.
"We're lucky this time I guess." Gordon's voice filtered over to him through the sounds of levers going and buttons being pressed.
"Lucky?" Virgil leaned his head back against the top of the chair and let out a sigh. The rescue had been a short one but full of … unexpected complications. He felt a little bad about Gordon doing all the pre-shut-down checks but his arms did not seem to want to move.
"I mean, no one got hurt enough to have to detour to the hospital." Virgil could hear the shrug in Gordon's voice. There was silence for a moment before, "So straight to the showers it is!"
"Yeah," replied Virgil, knowing full well the blood coming from the gash on his side was starting to soak through the pad he had tucked between his uniform and the chair. He could only hope the red seats would not show any stains until much, much later. "It's real lucky."
The ground crew at the incident had collected the injured in ambulances from the safe zone. There had been a couple of broken bones but all things considered there was nothing that required immediate hospital evacuation, nor an urgent trip in one of the Thunderbirds. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. And definitely not that gash, which Virgil tried not to think about.
"I'll just finish the last of the checks then I'll come and join."
"Virgil, you're my brother and I love you, but I do not want to shower with you."
Virgil threw a hand in Gordon's direction, still not opening his eyes.
"You know what I mean."
There was a wicked laugh. Virgil frowned. It never boded well when one of the Terrible Two made that sound. Something poked him in the cheek and he reached a half-hearted hand to swat at it.
"Dude, don't fall asleep in here. You never know what'll happen to your 'Bird."
"You're the one who drools when he sleeps," said Virgil sleepily.
"Try a bucket of – oh, hey, Scott, what a surprise, lovely to see you."
"Everyone alright in here? Bit of a bumpy landing." Virgil kept his eyes closed. He could imagine Scott now, hands pressed to either side of the door frame into the cockpit, eyes roaming but his feet steady. "You good there, Virge?"
"Just … hellishly tired," mumbled Virgil with a smile. It probably looked more drunk than anything but he heard Scott laugh.
"Somehow I thought so. I haven't seen you that close to setting one of the palm trees aflame in a long time."
Virgil heard footsteps stepping into the cockpit and the smack of a hand on suit.
"What is–"
"Ow! Hey! Don't mess her up, she's got such a nice sheen."
"Your suit is disgusting," said Scott. "And I … genuinely don't know what to say about you giving it female pronouns." Another smack, a short scuffle, and then, "Come on, fish, get out of here before Virgil's drool floods the cockpit."
Virgil moved one hand so it was hovering above his knee and made a rude gesture with his eyes still closed. Gordon snickered and footsteps disappeared from the cockpit and clamboured down the ramp to the hangar. Virgil let out a tight breath.
Wait. Only one set of footsteps.
He opened his eyes slightly and saw Scott standing beside his chair, watching him. His arms were crossed. He looked concerned but thankfully not worried. Yet. Virgil knew if he did not pull off the best piece of acting he had had to do in months, there was no way he was getting out of Thunderbird 2 without a stretcher and a compulsive hand-holder.
"You sure you're okay?"
"I'm peachy," said Virgil, closing his eyes again. "It's just been a very, very long day." He added a yawn. For effect.
Silence answered him and Virgil was almost tempted to open his eyes again, but it would not sell the 'tired' thing very well, and he could not be sure Scott would not immediately know Virgil was bleeding out when their gazes met. Scott was freaky like that.
"You can stop hovering now," said Virgil, this time a little more bite in his voice than before. "I'm sure Gordon's looking forward to seeing exactly how much 'road rash' that fall off the cliff caused him. And he'll be simply dying to having you hover over him and lovingly apply all those bandages." Virgil shifted a little, instantly regretted it with a wince, and muttered, "smother-hen," in a low voice.
"Gordon can wait," said Scott. Virgil froze. He peeled his eyes open, blinked a bit in the bright lights, and stared upward at where Scott stood. Scott was frowning. Not good.
"Scott," he started, but the oldest Tracy son held up a hand and he stopped.
"Are you sure you're okay?" asked Scott. He hesitated for a second before continuing. "You look sort of ..." He waved a hand at Virgil's body but did not elaborate.
"Scott," said Virgil slowly, "I. Am. Tired. Please leave so I can finish these checks and so Gordon doesn't trash my sickbay before I get there. I swear, I'll be there as soon as possible."
Scott stared and Virgil held his breath trying desperately to look like he was not waiting for Scott's answer.
"Okay," said Scott finally as if he had come to a conclusion. "I'll send Alan along to help clean everything up in a bit." He glanced around the cockpit. "You both did a number on this place."
Virgil let out a gusty breath and leaned his head against the back of the chair again, closing his eyes in relief.
"Thank you," he said, with just the tiniest bit of sass. Footsteps disappeared and for a little while so did Virgil.
Everything was so peaceful in the cockpit. He did not have to answer to anyone, there were no dire things requiring his attention – including Gordon and that stupid 'road rash' that was actually the result of rolling down a couple of too-large boulders. All that mattered in the darkness behind his eyes was that his breathing was regular and that his side was leaking somewhat. He held his elbow against it, absently trying to slow the bleeding further and apply a little more pressure, but gradually he began to drift, aimlessly, into the night.
"Time to move-it move-it, Virge the Surge!"
Virgil jolted forwards and groaned.
Alan banged his hand as he walked along the other side of the wall from the cockpit. Virgil could hear him moving closer, the sound getting louder until it rattled around inside his head. Virgil desperately tried to calm his heart rate and breathing from the small fright he had gotten. His adrenaline must still be pumping from the rescue because boy, was his heart racing. It was getting a little difficult to breathe in properly as well.
There was one final bang on the doorframe.
"Don't hurt her," croaked Virgil but he knew Alan would not hear him. He just had to focus on keeping upright, keeping somewhat conscious, and keeping the gap between the armrest of the pilot's chair and his elbow and therefore bleeding side as small as possible.
"Come on, Virgil," said Alan, finally entering the cockpit, "Gordon's ready and whining in the sickbay already, Scott dragged him out ten minutes ago!"
Alan looked like he needed a bath. His normally blond hair was grey with dust and his face was streaked with grey stripes where the helmet had left open parts of his chin. The grey fingermarks on the inside corners of his eyes showed he had picked up Scott's habit of pinching his nose when something was bothering him. Gordon must be playing up plenty in the sickbay. Overall, it appeared Alan had not used however much time Virgil had been in the cockpit dozing to get showered or dressed. Teenagers.
"Don't you mean 'ready and waiting'?"
"Nope. Definitely whining." Alan swung his arms and looked around the cockpit. "Man, this place'll need a good clean!" He was not wrong. Scott had not been wrong. The inside of his baby was covered in dust. Virgil thought he saw what looked like a butt imprint and groaned as he realised how enthusiastic the scuffling between Scott and Gordon had been earlier. Virgil absently wondered whether he could guilt either of them into cleaning it for him – under his watchful supervision of course.
Alan moved to the console and drew a smiley face in the dust that was layered upon it, before pulling back a second later and wincing. The blond scowled to himself, moving his hand back and forth and wringing his wrist with the other hand. It seemed the only one to emerge from the rescue unscathed had been Scott.
"What's with the arm?" asked Virgil. Alan turned away from the console looking concerned, and Virgil realised how breathless he sounded. "It's fine," he said quickly, before Alan could make comment. "Just bruised ribs from the slip."
Alan did not look convinced but he let it go with a shrug.
"Maybe get someone to strap them or something."
Virgil rolled his eyes and instantly regretted it. The world spun in front of him and stars appeared in the centre of his vision. He blinked them away. The blood loss was officially kicking in. As it had been for the past hour. Maybe longer. Virgil did not dabble in semantics.
"I think I know my own craft well enough, sprout," he said finally when he realised Alan was waiting for a response. Alan grinned, the teeth white against the grey and tanned skin. "Your arm?"
Alan looked down and twisted it to the light.
"It's just a sprain or something, Scott had a quick look at it in the sickbay."
"I wouldn't trust Scott to find his way around the ends of a medical box," said Virgil grimly, and yes, he was aware just how ironic and hypocritical that comment sounded at this current time, thanks. He nodded at the door. "Meet me in the sickbay, I'll be down in five."
"You sure you're okay to get down from Thunderbird 2?" Alan looked as though he strongly doubted it. "You look sort of ..." He motioned in much the same way Scott had.
"Of course," said Virgil, somewhat testily. Alan crossed his arms, winced, but kept them crossed with a hard look on his face. Virgil was struck in that moment how much their little sprout had grown up recently. Sure, he had been on a few rescues with them, and he knew his way around the engineering of any of the 'Birds like the back of his hand, but in that moment he looked an awful lot like Scott. No, like a field commander. Virgil gave a small smile. He had left behind a boy as he learned the craft and travelled the skies, and he had returned to find the boy a man.
"Prove it," said Alan, and Virgil was dragged back from his musings. "Stand up."
He even sounded like Scott and Virgil suppressed an irritated groan lest it be suspected indicative of something else.
Virgil gripped the seat sides with a white-knuckle grip, took a shallow breath, and slowly got to his feet, careful to angle his likely mottled dark blue side and messy chair away from Alan.
"See?" said Virgil after a moment of settling everything before his eyes and taking somewhat of a slow breath in. "Just a little stiff and sore."
"And you're sure fine to get to the sickbay yourself?"
"I have legs, I have a working body, I'll be fine," said Virgil, with a little less of a snappish tone than he had used for Scott earlier. "Now can I finish these checks so I can go have a hot shower? Before Gordon is released from sickbay and steals all the hot water?"
Alan's eyes moved from Virgil to the open door down the corridor and then back again.
"Fine," he said finally, "but if you take longer than five minutes I'm sending Scott after you."
Virgil suppressed a shudder and shared a grin with Alan before the boy – the young man – disappeared.
Virgil let out a quiet breath. He could not be certain Alan had actually left the hangar, so he quickly completed the checks, one arm wrapped around his ribs as tightly as he could stand. He had had a quick glance at the seat before he left and grimaced at the small pool and stains left behind. Virgil made a mental note to lock the doors as he left so he could deal with the interior clean-up later. So so very much later.
His hand slid along the wall as he made his way outside slowly. The outside of Thunderbird 2 probably needed a clean – no, she definitely needed a clean – after being so close to the rocks as they were falling; she was as dusty as Alan and Gordon had been. But that too would need to wait – a lot longer seeing as it was not nearly as incriminating as her inside. And sibling penance was always an option to be exploited in such situations. Virgil was, after all, struggling to keep his hand on the wall, let alone raise either of his arms above his head right now; realistically he would not be able to scrub the underside of the green machine for some time to come.
Virgil tried to keep breathing, slowly as the air felt thicker and thicker in his chest with every step. An average human being could hold their breath for between one and three minutes, and it took less than one to climb down Thunderbird 2's ramp and get to the door on the other side of the hangar. There may be a lot of boxes and gear in between but they had all been pushed to the side in a hurry before the Thunderbirds had left, and they did not cramp the space that much. Virgil would have no excuse for taking longer than his self-alloted minute.
He took a step down the ramp and put out a hand to keep himself even. When his footing steadied, he retracted the hand and stared at the grey dust now covering his palm like paint. A glance up to the side showed a hand-print in amidst the dust. Damn. Another piece to clean off. And when had the hangar ever been so cold?
Virgil dusted off the grey stuff on his pants, shivering as he did so, but the dust had stuck to the blood on his hand and the movement just caused him to cough. Hard. Something tore further at his side – clothing or skin Virgil did not know – but his hands were numb and there were grey spots appearing in front of him blocking his exit and it was growing harder and harder to suck in air.
Virgil bent forward, mouth opening and closing silently. He considered using his watch but where it sat at the end of his arm was just too far away, and his un-watched hand was currently trying to hold in as much blood as possible. Virgil longingly considered the wall and all the storage boxes sitting against it. If he could just reach them, he could sit down for a bit and then call the others, and in the meantime he could rest his eyes. Surely just a moment, just a second to catch his breath and put his head back against the wall, he deserved that after the rescue. He definitely deserved it. A break. A well-deserved break.
Virgil staggered down the ramp and collapsed against one of the boxes and let out a low moan. His knees hit the concrete floor and he shuffled his chest back a little to spin around until he was finally, finally, sitting with his back against a box, head leaning backwards over the top, hands loose at his sides, eyes slowly drifting shut.
The sound of someone entering the hangar startled him enough to jump and a hand went to reach for his side before flopping uselessly to the floor next to him.
"Hey Virgil," he heard Scott call, "there be many a patient for you to torture yet."
Virgil could hear the light sneakers Scott had changed into come closer across the hangar toward him. How long had it been already?
"I'll be … right there," huffed Virgil, rolling his head from side to side to clear away the fog. He gazed to the right to see Scott spot him and start to run – was Scott running? Why was he running? Virgil blinked slowly, got his hands somewhat under him, and pushed himself forwards.
Stars appeared.
The air grew even colder.
The hangar swayed around him.
And Virgil's blood pressure dropped somewhere near his knees and everything turned to black.
Sound came back first. Faint beeping, fabric moving on fabric, someone humming absently.
"Hey Virge." Virgil grimaced and tried to turn his head frowning. "Hey, calm down, you're okay. You were on a ventilator for a bit."
A ventilator?
"Yeah, a ventilator. Dude, you better be glad we have the medical supplies available for this because you were, like, this close to dying."
Was that … Gordon?
"Dude?" He tried to mouth but coughed instead and felt something ache deep in his chest.
"'course you might still die," mused Gordon. Virgil squinted open his eyes and saw a blurry shape above him, red hair stark against a pale smudge and a grin that could be seen even amongst the smudge. "Scott is fully ready to guillotine you as soon as your throat recovers." He made a violent movement with his hand. "You're dead meat, man."
Virgil blinked his eyes a couple of times.
"You're … not that upset." It was more of a croak than anything else but Gordon seemed to get the gist. The redhead reached to the side and suddenly something cold was resting against Virgil's bottom lip. He opened his mouth and an icechip was placed carefully on his tongue. The relief it brought to his dry throat was heavenly.
"You know me," shrugged Gordon, "I only cry when I swim. That way no one can see the tears."
"Tough guy," said Virgil with a smile.
"Seriously though," said Gordon, "you – it was pretty close. If Scott hadn't been in the hangar when you collapsed …" He shuddered. Virgil stretched out a hand, grimacing but ignoring the way his body responded to the pain such a movement brought, and patted the hand that was currently attached to the rail on the side of the bed.
"I'm okay, fish," he said.
"You almost weren't," replied Gordon simply. They looked at each other for a moment. It was the most serious Virgil had seen Gordon for a while. In fact, now that he looked closer, he could see the bags under his brother's eyes, the paleness of the skin indicating he had not been outside for some time. Some time.
"How long?" Virgil tried to push himself upwards, getting a strange sense of deja vu as he did so. Gordon's quick hand on his chest stopped him. The hand diverted to poking Virgil's cheek before an answer was given.
"A while," said Gordon, giving the chest a gentle pat before retracting his hand. He glanced up at something Virgil could not see. "You might want to stay down for a bit. Play the victim card."
"Victim–" began Virgil, confused, before he heard the faint sound of the sickbay door opening.
"Hey Scott!" said Gordon looking at something over the top of Virgil's prone body. "Welcome to the death chamber! How's it hangin'?"
Footsteps approached.
"Is he awake?"
Virgil recognised that voice. Virgil recognised that tone. Virgil wanted out of the bed right now.
"Gordon," he hissed, but trying to keep his voice low only made him cough. He closed his eyes and moved a hand up to flouder for his right side that stung sharply, only to have it grabbed before it reached there. Something wrapped around his fingers.
"Don't, Virge."
Slowly Virgil's breathing slowed down enough that he relaxed back into the bed and opened his eyes again. Scott stood above him, staring down, arms crossed as they had been in the cockpit, which was apparently some time ago. He did not look happy.
Virgil squeezed his fingers against the fingers clutching his.
"You can go, Gordo," he said softly, "no need for both of us to stay for this."
"And here I thought you'd want family to witness your execution. Anything you'd like to add to the will for little ol' me?"
"My thoughts and prayers," said Virgil, giving the fingers one last squeeze and then letting them go.
"Pity. I'd have liked your signed Bon Jovi CD more." He patted Virgil's fingers. "I'll see you later, if you're still alive." Virgil tilted his head to watch Gordon leave the sickbay and gave a small sigh. There was no point delaying the inevitable. His eyes moved from the sickbay doors upwards to where Scott was still staring down at him.
"Can I have more ice chips?" he asked. Was it a pre-emptive attempt to have Scott see him as a poor recovering victim of circumstance? Maybe. It always worked for Gordon.
Scott scooped up some ice chips and fed them to Virgil in silent but tangible fury. His motions were gentle, his care apparent, but if the look on his face could kill, Virgil would be dead.
"So," said Virgil into the silence once the ice chips had melted. "I can explain–"
"Can you?"
"Just let me–"
"Did you know when you lose enough blood it can cause a heart attack? Oh, wait, you're the medic of this team, you would already know that. Okay, how about this: did you know I have now officially tested out the AED in the hangar? Brains was prepping for surgery and dad was busy calling every emergency department he could reach, and while it is not something I'm unfamiliar with, I'd appreciate it if I didn't have to use it on my younger brother."
Scott's scowl deepened from personal affront to righteous outrage.
"And Alan, he had to help me get you onto the stretcher as you were bleeding out. He was beside himself thinking his leaving you alone had caused this. Then he almost concussed himself as he was cleaning the blood off your pilot's seat in Thunderbird 2, and I found him yesterday in the bathroom trying to scrub the skin off his hands."
"Scott–"
"And did you know Gordon hasn't gone near the pool in over a week and he's been refusing to eat anything beyond the disgusting sandwiches he makes for himself in some bizarre form of penance for leaving you alone in the cockpit. Dad hasn't slept in two days and his coffee intake has gone through the roof. And you – you have been unconscious on this bed with a ventilator breathing for you and a hole stitched closed in your side and many, many, blood bags trying to compensate for all the blood you left in your precious 'Bird, and all because you didn't tell anyone you were injured."
When people saw Scott, with his height and his muscles that he was so proud of and his Airforce background, they assumed he was the sort of man who remained level headed in any situation and was calm and patient in the face of disaster because he was big and bad enough to beat it without any excess aggression. And they were right. Scott was like that – when he was in the field. He was a brilliant Field Commander for precisely those reasons. But when Scott got scared, when he got angry – actually properly angry, and especially when the issue involved his brothers, he got very, very loud.
There was really no response to the rant that had ended with shouting so Virgil simply lay there. Scott stared at him. Virgil stared back. It seemed like neither of them wanted to break the silence.
"Oh," said Virgil finally. The weight on his eyelids seemed to be growing by the second and every blink was slower. "Oh." Something was pulling him downwards, closing his eyes and giving his breathing a heavy quality. "Di'ou put s'thing in my IV?"
"No," said Scott, his voice disappearing into the void, "that's the blood loss."
"Oh," said Virgil faintly. And he was tugged into sleep.
"Hey," Virgil heard as he blinked his eyes open. "How are you feeling?"
Virgil turned his head. There, on the chair beside his bed, was John. He was tousle-haired but he looked wide awake and he was smiling slightly.
"It's been a while since I've seen you un-pixelated," said the astronaut, "I'd almost forgotten what you looked like as a living, moving, non-freezing figure."
"Hey," said Virgil. His eyes darted to the side where the ice chips had sat last time he was awake but they were not there now. He swallowed roughly.
"Scott went to get you some more. We could see you've been ready to wake up for a while." John grinned. "All that tossing and turning, and Scott getting more and more worried about you by the minute."
"Worried?"
"What, you think he's going to stay angry at you?"
"Yes," muttered Virgil, moving his gaze to the ceiling.
"Hey, come on now, what you did was … really, really, unbelievably stupid, I'm not going to lie to you. But the miners are alive, our brothers are alive, and most importantly, the man currently lying in a bed in the sickbay with his 'Bird's hangar looking like the scene of a violent murder is also alive. Though apparently not for lack of trying."
"I did try to get help," said Virgil, somewhat petulantly. He had tried. He distinctly remembered thinking about calling the others on his watch but for some reason it had been out of reach. But it was the thought that counts.
John shrugged.
"We survived this one. You live and you learn."
"When did you get so wise, space-face?"
"I've always been wise. You're just too trapped right now to avoid listening to my wisdom."
Virgil stuck his tongue out and John laughed.
"Seriously though, how are you feeling?"
Virgil grimaced.
"Sore," he said, "and … still breathless. And my heart feels like it's run a marathon."
"From what I heard from Brains, that will last for a while yet." John glanced at the sickbay door. "Scott says your lips were turning blue when he found you." He gave a wry smile. "Gordon offered to paint Thunderbird 2 so it would match."
"Don't let him touch her," mumbled Virgil. He was distracted, his hand reaching for his side where there was a dull aching pain. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a couple of short breaths. "What–"
"You really don't remember much of our conversation earlier, do you?"
Virgil's eyes snapped open. Scott once again stood there, but this time his arms weren't folded. Instead, he was holding what smelt like a cup of coffee and a bowl that was dripping condensation. Scott took a seat on the other side of the bed from John and handed over the coffee, which John accepted with quiet thanks. "You had a ventilator in for a while – your heart freaked out and you stopped breathing."
"Ventilator?"
"Yes, ventilator. A gaping wound in your side, pouring blood everywhere? Oh, and some fractured ribs from the rocks which luckily didn't get broken while you lugged those very same rocks around and could've accidentally led to a pneumothorax? Ring any bells?"
"Honestly, not really." Virgil shifted in the bed and winced at the pain that laced across his body like lightning. If he lay still it became a dull ache that lurked at the back of his mind but as soon as he moved there it was, in his face and roaring.
Virgil saw Scott frown and glance at John.
"What do you remember?"
Virgil blew out a gusty breath.
"I remember the rescue, the miners trapped after the rockfall. There was one miner – did we throw a line across the entrance?"
"Yeah, that was your idea."
"Right. Right, and then we flew back here and I was doing the final checks, you came to grab Gordon, and then Alan arrived, and then I left. And then it all goes black. Blank. I meant blank." He inwardly cursed his choice of words.
Scott's frown deepened.
"Do you remember our conversation at the rescue site?"
"I, um ..." He knew full well he would be in far worse trouble if he lied to his Field Commander now. Because he knew that was what Scott was asking as – not a brother but as the person who had been in charge of the rescue. And he knew the answer to Scott's question was not 'no'. He remembered every word of the lie he had told – no, Scott, I'm fine; no Scott, I'm not injured; yes Scott, I'm absolutely able to swing across this rope to save this man's life.
"Yes," he said finally in a small voice. John glanced over at Scott.
"I think I'm gonna leave you both to it," he said. He patted Virgil's shoulder twice and disappeared with his coffee through the sickbay doors, leaving Virgil lying helpless on the bed next to Scott, who had leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and an intense look on his face.
"I asked you if you were okay at the rescue site and you lied to me."
"Scott–"
"You lied to my face, Virgil. And afterwards, down in Thunderbird 2 as well. You lied to each of our faces. You told each of us – individually – that you were okay."
"Not John–"
"So you do remember!"
"Scott, we work in a field full of dangers–"
"Exactly! How many lives did you hold in your hands yesterday? How many people trusted you to get them to safety, how many people did I send your way to help get them to safety? You were helping move those rocks, digging people out, directing people at the scene, hoisting people on ropes for what felt like hours, and you were flying Thunderbird 2 – Virgil, if you'd collapsed –"
"Thunderbird 2 has autopilot, and Gordon–"
"And Gordon didn't know either! That's my point! You kept it from everyone in the team and we only found out when you were lying unconscious in Thunderbird 2's hangar."
"You had more important things to worry about–"
"I had a whole rescue to coordinate! I can't coordinate if I don't know all the information, if I don't know who can work and who can't–"
"A half worker is better than no one at all!"
"Only if the leader knows what that person's limits are!" Scott pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath, and Virgil for a moment – one hopeful moment – truly believed that this would be the natural end to Scott's tirade. But no. "A person cannot pretend they are fully functional when they have lives relying on them! You had – God, Virge – I sent people your way thinking you were fine – if you'd–"
He another deep breath and leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. He was almost finished.
"I don't mind that you were injured. I would have been concerned, obviously, but these things happen and we deal with them as best we can in the moment, not hours down the track when they are so much worse. And yes, before you say anything, I get that you think I would have been distracted, but I've been working in this job for a couple of years now, and the Airforce before this. I'm pretty good at focusing myself and closing off emotions to get the job done where it matters. But it means you could've been given a backseat to this rescue where you would've been safe and other people wouldn't have been put at risk. An unnecessary risk, I might add because we had more enough people for this rescue. And you just go and prove it when you refuse help again and again and again – from me, Gordon, and Alan! All of it offered after the rescue ended."
His face became hard.
"This was pride, nothing more. Pride and wanting to be part of the action, no matter the cost to yourself or anyone around you."
"Pride?" said Virgil. Something was hissing inside of him, unravelling and rearing itself up. "Pride?"
Virgil pushed himself up until he was sitting on the bed and felt slightly vindicated by the look of not-quite-fear on Scott's face.
"You think it's pride that made me keep my mouth shut? I've worked damn hard for this job and I know my limits, better than the team does, better than you do. Me and my limits. I can manage myself. I am a grown adult, Scott, and I have been for years!"
"That's not–"
"No, Scotty, it's my turn to talk now, so listen up." The room spun a little around Virgil but he grabbed the bed railing and steadied himself. His voice moved from quiet fury to outright yelling as he made his way through his many, many objectively logical points. "We work in a dangerous field, we all chose to be there, and if you think you can keep tabs on all of us all the time you've got to be joking! We all make our own choices – Gordon with every single underwater rescue, John with that stupid cliff stunt last year, Alan with whatever crazy thing he manages to pull out of his ass at the last minute, and we all chose to be there, at every single rescue every single time.
"And another thing," Virgil took a quick breath, "you're absolutely right I'm not going to compromise you or any of the others in the middle of a rescue by explaining every single little scrape I get! Yeah, this one was somewhat worse than a scrape, but it wasn't that bad at the time and I wasn't about to have you worry yourself into the ground during the rescue like we both know you would!
"And another thing," his hands were starting to shake against the railing, "if I hadn't been there, there could've been more accidents. There would've been more accidents. Because who is it that has the record for attendances at rock slides? Who knows their way around a mining area the best? That's right – me. I was trying to help people, like we all were. We're part of a team and we need to work together, and how you only need to look as far as when Gordon was laid up with that accident to know how the team doesn't function properly when someone's missing!"
Virgil took a deep breath, and then another, feeling the sting in his side, feeling the air thicken around him.
"And another thing - take a careful look in that mirror of yours, Scott, because God knows you've been pulling these sorts of stunts for years!"
He grabbed the ice chip bowl from Scott's hands and threw it across the room. It bounced off the opening sickbay door and clattered to the floor, the only sound in the room.
Alan stared down at the bowl where he stood in the doorway, before he raised his eyes to the two brunettes glaring at him from across the room.
"I'm gonna … come back later," he said slowly. He turned on his heel and disappeared through the door.
Virgil snapped his gaze back to Scott.
"Get out," he hissed.
Scott got to his feet, paused, and opened his mouth. At Virgil's scowl the mouth quickly closed and Scott turned on his heel in true Airforce fashion and disappeared after Alan.
Virgil slowly sank back into the bed.
The ceiling above him was white and currently swirling a lot more than it should be. Virgil shut his eyes to block it out. Proud? How dare Scott call him proud? And selfish? Look who was talking! Look exactly who was talking, that hypocritical, egotistical, cold-hearted bastard.
Virgil scowled. The Mood had begun, and for the next indeterminate amount of time Virgil steamed and stewed and came up with cleverer come-backs and sulked his way through an entire mental rerun of the argument. He was so wrapped up in his fury that he did not notice when the sickbay doors opened, and it was only when someone sat down beside him and he heard the chair squeak that he opened his eyes.
"You okay?"
"Figures they'd send you in to deal with the mess," said Virgil grumpily, closing his eyes again.
"Well," said John with a grin, "we do call you Virge the Surge for a reason." He nodded back at the door. "That was some pretty hefty yelling. Want to talk about it?"
"Not really," muttered Virgil.
"That's fine," said John, far too easily, and Virgil opened his eyes suspiciously.
"What?"
"What what?"
"That's what I asked you. What's that face for?" Virgil's eyes widened as he remembered just how thin the sickbay walls could be. His eyes darted between the walls and John, who was starting to look a little guilty. "What did you hear?"
John looked away to the sickbay door, almost as if he were contemplating leaving. John was not a good liar. He never had been.
"Enough," replied John. "Dad was concerned Scott was having a coronary."
"Dad heard?"
"Virgil," said John, "the whole house heard. I think Lady Penelope probably heard it in England."
Virgil groaned and pulled the pillow out from behind his head to cover his face.
"Kill me now."
"Brains didn't expend all that effort in saving your life for me to suffocate you now. He was a little concerned you'd break your stitches though." Virgil could hear the shrug in John's voice. "Like I said, want to talk about it?"
Virgil huffed and in a rush it all came out from underneath the pillow, everything Scott had said, everything he – Virgil – had said, the yelling and nasty digging words, the angry looks, the scaring Alan away. He left out the part about the bowl because, as much as he loved John, he really did not want his only other older brother also looking at him like he was a petulant child. Part way through the account John closed his eyes for a minute and Virgil had the strong suspicion he was rolling them behind closed eyelids. When Virgil finished, it was almost like something had been pulled from him, a splinter where the hole had bled for a bit but now it was clean and healthy and the irritation was gone.
"You and Scott are just as bad as each other," said John finally. Yeah, Virgil probably deserved that.
"But I'm your favourite, right?" The fiery anger he had felt so strongly had dissipated somewhat, and left in its place was the growing feeling of guilt and peace intertwined.
"Right now Alan's pet wardrobe spider is topping the list for favourite Tracy. You lot are all equally problematic."
Virgil made a face.
"Why does he still have that thing?"
"That," said John, "is a very good question." He dug around in his jacket pocket for a moment before pulling something out and handing it to Virgil. "Here. Brought you something to be entertained."
John handed over one of their portable screens.
"I'd better go help Scott calm down – forcibly or not, it's entirely up to him." John put a hand on Virgil's shoulder. "He's glad you're not dead, at the end of the day. There's just a bit of anger in between him expressing that. And perhaps you could consider a little about whether that anger was a tiny bit justified? Just a thought."
Virgil shrugged. The wound was still open, and if he thought too much about it he could feel the irritation crawling its way back in. He did not say anything, not wanting to break the fragile calm John's presence, humour, and kindness had created in the sickbay.
"Get some rest. Maybe watch a movie or something – there's some good stuff on there."
Virgil shuffled up the bed somewhat and raised it so that he could sit up freely. The sitting up and yelling earlier had given his back a dreadful ache and his head span every time he raised it from the pillow.
"Sure," he said under his breath and gave John a short wave as the blond man left the sickbay. Virgil turned on the screen and absently reached for his side. It ached, especially after the discussion with Scott, and he wished he had asked John to grab the painkiller pack from the cupboard before he left.
The screen took a second to boot but the moment it did, Virgil knew he'd been had.
There was only one video and it was labelled 'VIRGIL WATCH THIS: To the man in Thunderbird 2'.
If Virgil was not absolutely certain that rolling his eyes would very likely make him throw up, he would have done so in an instant. From the preview shot, it looked like two people talking to a camera. Virgil could guess what it was. It was fairly common that International Rescue received thanks from those they saved, whether from a government or a company head or sometimes directly from the people they saved, but this was one of the few apparently directed at one single person. It was directed only to Virgil – or at least Virgil's International Rescue persona.
Virgil pressed play.
"It's going, it's going!" was the first sound that came through, definitely not anyone he had rescued recently, or at least no one he remembered. It was the voice of a small child. The top half of a face came into view – a forehead, eyes, and the tip of a nose, accompanied by two wiggling ponytails.
"Okay, just move back a bit, yeah, there we go." It was a man's voice, one that echoed in Virgil's mind. Familiar but not immediately placeable. The top of a face rapidly became a little girl as she was dragged backwards. A man came into view with an arm around the girl's waist. He leaned down to say something to her, too quiet to hear on the camera, but she bounced a couple of times and then stood beside where the man knelt.
Virgil recognised that face. It was the man he had helped over the line as they swung above an open mine.
"So, uh, you don't know me personally, but I thought I'd make this video – no, Sara, just keep still for a bit, yeah? – to thank you. I've got two daughters – one's asleep while my wife has a rest, she's real little still, just gone two months so still not sleeping through the night – and this here is Sara. Sara, how old are you?" The little girl held up three fingers, overcome with shyness in the face of being asked a direct question on camera. The man's smile held every bit of pride and pleasure when he glanced over at her.
"That's right, you're three, and you've just started kindy and you're making lots of friends, aren't you?" The girl nodded. The man turned back to the camera.
"I just thought I'd let you know a bit about me. I've got my two daughters, obviously, and my wife, and we're considering getting a D-O-G but it'll depend how long my wife's parents stay in town. I've been working in the mine for the past six and a half years or so, never seen anything like last week." The man glanced at his daughter quickly and Virgil caught the fear on his face that disappeared when his daughter looked back at him. "I know what it took to get that rope up, I know the risks you faced, and man, it was incredible. Your courage in the face of that danger, it was incredible. And you did it like it was nothing. And you made sure I got home." The man swallowed.
"Daddy, are you crying?" asked Sara, reaching out a hand to her father's face. Her father caught her hand in his and held it gently before turning back to the camera.
"I just – I don't know what I'd have done. You're my hero, you're my girls' hero – just – thank you, man. Thank you. From the bottom of my heart." The man whispered to the little girl and she waved at the camera with a smile that showed off a missing front tooth. The man kissed her cheek and then reached out to stop the video.
Virgil lowered his head into his hands.
-000-
Virgil, having been essentially in-charge of the sickbay for a couple of years now, knew all of the monitors like the back of his hand. While he suspected Alan and possibly John would have the wherewithal to know how to turn off the main alarm system – installed for good reason – and install a subroutine, he doubted either of them had any strong suspicions that he would actually leave this time.
But leave he did. As soundlessly as he could.
The sickbay doors slid open and Virgil peered around carefully. As much as he loved his brothers, there were only so many hours he could spend in a bed doing nothing. And besides, he had something to achieve. A mission. Essentially. And that was definitely worth escaping – leaving – the sickbay for. He would still be able to look his erstwhile brothers in the eye when they next ended up bandaged and bruised on one of those beds and tell them no it isn't hypocritical that I'm not allowing you to leave. Because his leaving was for good reason and far more important than a 'Virgil, I want to go swimming'.
But now to actually find the target of his mission. Virgil knew where it would be and, heaving a deep breath that pulled on his stitches, he set off up the stairs. It was a long way that seemed to get longer with every step.
Virgil pushed open the door to Scott's bedroom as quietly as he could and glanced inside.
Scott sat on the edge of his veranda, his legs swinging off the edge, the sun beginning to set in the distance across the water. He turned, noticed Virgil standing there, and then turned back to the open air.
"You can come in," came the voice across the room. Virgil did so. If this had been Gordon or Alan's room, or even John's, it would have been a minefield to walk across, but Scott in all of his disciplined glory had everything in its place and the floor as clean as glass.
"Hey," said Virgil, slightly breathlessly, slipping down beside Scott but not looking at him. Scott did not glance over either but he did shuffle over to make room for Virgil and offered him a pillow to put against the side of the balcony to rest against. They sat in silence for some time, enjoying the sunset and perhaps enjoying each other's company a little too given that the previous encounters – while Virgil had been conscious at least – had been coloured by some shouting, some accusations, and at least one thrown piece of crockery.
"So I've been thinking," began Scott, before he was interrupted.
"If Gordon were here, he'd say 'don't hurt yourself'."
"I'm so glad you are here to say it in his stead," said Scott dryly.
"Now you sound like John."
"Virgil, please. What I'm trying to say is I stand by what I said in the sickbay–"
"Yelled."
"What?"
"What you yelled in the sickbay. You were loud enough that dad was worried you'd had a coronary."
Scott sighed.
"Look – and don't interrupt because I want to say this," he held up a hand to silence Virgil and, low and behold, Virgil found himself going quiet. Scott's face was serious. "I stand by what I said. But the tone and the words I picked were out of order. I had no right to be calling you selfish."
"Because you would've done it too?"
"Because I … might have done it too," said Scott looking like he had swallowed a lemon. "On some reflection." Virgil hid a grin. They both knew full well that Scott definitely would have hidden any injury he so chose if it had benefited the rescue in any way, and they both had years of evidence to support that.
"John talked to you, didn't he?"
The sour look did not disappear. In fact, it grew stronger.
"Maybe."
Virgil laughed.
"It seems our blond space-loving brother is the only one of us that has any sense." Virgil leaned back against the cushion and raised his eyes to the sky. "Maybe we're just two very selfish people, doing our best."
"I think we're a house of selfish people – John excepted," replied Scott, looking somewhere beyond the horizon. He paused. "Did you know it turns out the 'road rash' as you called it on Gordon went all the way up his side and back? He had to sit for almost an hour as Alan picked gravel out of it and he hadn't told anyone about that either?"
Virgil sat bolt upright. Scott laughed and reached over to push him gently back against the pillow.
"Maybe it's genetic," said Scott, still chuckling. Virgil glanced over his shoulder back at the door and frowned. Gordon had kept his mouth shut about that one. But he sighed to himself.
"You know, I've thought about what you said." Virgil stared out at the ocean, feeling Scott's gaze on the side of his face. The thing about Scott was, he may be loud when he was angry but once it was out in the open he calmed down relatively quickly and was able to reflect back on what he had said. Often relatively objectively as well. Such reflection limited to hindsight had gotten him in trouble many times before, but more often than not – not that the Tracy boys would always admit it – the anger was justified in the moment. It was honest at least, even if it did not always come out right. Scott and Virgil were similar in that way though; strong tempers leading to reflection that led them both to coming to a more sensible conclusion. In fact, they were similar in most ways.
Virgil felt a stab of sympathy for his father.
"You were absolutely right." Virgil took as deep a breath as he could manage. "It was selfish. I put dozens of people at risk including my family, and all because I was," he screwed up his face, scowling at the pinking skies, "too proud to admit to being hit by those rocks, too desperate to be useful, too selfish to let anyone else take my part in the rescue. Even when the rescue was over and you all asked if I was okay, I was too proud even then to admit to being … well. Possibly dying." He finally turned to face Scott and gave a small chuckle. "And I'll freely admit to being too worried about you being worried. You were right about that too."
"Well," said Scott, recovering from the surprised look on his face and somewhat smoothly transitioning into an expression closely resembling smugness, "I am a pretty good leader sometimes."
"You've had lots of practice. Sometimes I forget how long you've been doing this." He paused. "Dinosaur."
"Hey!" A hand reached for Virgil and pinned him against Scott's side, careful to avoid his bandaged gash and bruised ribs but still tight enough that Virgil was stuck.
"Not the hair, not the hair," said Virgil breathlessly, trying to squirm away without moving too much. The hand headed for Virgil's hair but diverted at the last minute to the backs of his knees where Virgil screamed in a totally deniable high-pitched fashion and kicked out at the eldest Tracy son. Scott avoided his feet and laughed, a low rumble that echoed through Virgil's chest.
"You have more than one weak spot, Virge," said Scott, and Virgil glanced up to see the grin sober slightly. "And you have failings just like the rest of us."
"Not like John," said Virgil. "He's perfect."
"Yeah," said Scott laughing, "but he's boring. You, meanwhile, just … try not to get yourself killed because of your exciting issues."
"I'll try," said Virgil.
The sun touched the horizon and the sky lit up red.
"You escaped the sickbay, didn't you?" said Scott finally.
"Yep."
On a more personal note, I grew up reading a lot of fan fiction that involved people hiding injuries out of good intentions or pride, either worked. But with the job I work in now, I've seen first hand the damage hiding injuries can do – whether to the person because they don't receive the medical treatment they need in time or at all, or to others whose lives they take into their hands pretending to be okay. Virgil here was lucky; no one suffered in this story because I don't like to see people suffering and in this story I am the boss. But this is a self-reflective piece and a lesson to myself, who has hid injuries, that sometimes it does far more damage than good!
But anyway, enjoy!