"Are you okay?" Shawn sounded concerned, but Scott barely heard him through the ringing in his ears. "Scott!"
"I'm fine." Scott bit his lip, forcing his attention back to the present. He'd made the decision to bring Shawn here; he had to deal with the consequences now. He glanced at his friend.
"Give me a minute?"
Shawn nodded. He walked away, disappearing around the other side of Thunderbird One, no doubt experiencing the same awe Scott did every time he looked at his 'bird. It was all the privacy he was going to get, and Scott lifted his watch.
"He knows," he said quietly. "Shawn knows about IR."
Gordon would have already passed a message on, but this stopped the pointless questions before they started. The silence on the other end of the line was so absolute that Scott wondered for a wild moment if he'd forgotten to connect. It had been that kind of day.
When his father spoke, his tone was serious, but didn't hold the blame Scott had expected from giving away their secret.
"How do you want to play this?"
Scott felt the pieces fall into place. He trusted Shawn – or, at least, he wanted to. There had been so much bad lately that he needed the reminder there were good people in the world; people who wouldn't instantly try to exploit them.
He took a deep breath. "I want to tell him everything," he admitted. His father would know what he wasn't saying – he wanted to tell Shawn that the entire family was involved, wanted him to see the full picture.
"You're sure?"
This was his last chance to change his mind…
"Yes." He looked around, but Shawn was still out of sight. Hedges surrounded the field – the only way out was to go back past Scott. His friend was doing as he'd promised: giving Scott some space.
"You've always said we need an agent in the armed forces," he continued in a quieter voice.
"A conversation for later," his father said. "Bring him over. Let me meet him properly. John will send you the co-ordinates."
"F.A.B." Scott signed off. Walking around his 'bird, he saw Shawn standing a few paces away, hands in his pockets as he stared at One. After a few seconds, Shawn sensed his presence, spinning to face him.
"So," he said, "what happens now?"
His tone was casual, though his posture was anything but. Scott suddenly realised how this looked. He'd separated Shawn from the FBI, isolated him after revealing one of the world's best-kept secrets. No doubt his friend was trying to remind himself that International Rescue were the good guys, and nothing was about to happen to him.
"Up to you." Scott stood straighter. He needed Shawn to know he was currently talking to the Field Commander of International Rescue as well as the old friend who never took no for an answer. "Go back to the FBI if you want. You hold my life in your hands, but I trust you'll keep my secret."
Shawn's gaze darted across the field, but he didn't move. Scott relaxed.
"Or you can come and meet the rest of my team." He still didn't give away who they were, even though he knew Shawn had guessed.
Excitement shot across Shawn's face before he forced an expression of neutrality. Scott grinned. It would be good to have a friend know who he truly was. He was close to his family, but it might be nice to have a conversation about what he was really up to with someone whose surname wasn't Tracy on occasion.
Shawn looked at One. "I'm not about to vanish without a trace, am I?"
Scott shook his head. "We're in the rescue business," he reminded Shawn. "We find people, not the other way around."
He pressed his palm against his 'bird, unlocking her. "Although you might regret it – she's not built for passengers."
"Are you kidding me?" Shawn's eyes were gleaming as he stepped towards the Thunderbird before glancing back at Scott. He nodded, giving his friend permission and watching Shawn scramble inside. He gave him a few moments to have a look around, knowing Shawn would appreciate the craftsmanship and design that had gone into her. But then he took his seat.
"Buckle up," he said. He showed Shawn the second seat, suppressing a grin at how uncomfortable he looked. There was a small emergency seat, and that was it. Thunderbird One was not built for passengers. But the coordinates arrived from John, and Scott knew they'd only be airborne for a few moments.
It felt he had just taken off when he was initiating the landing sequence. He'd kept low, hoping the FBI were all inside the building dealing with Hamilton and his men, and even if they heard the engines, they hadn't seen him.
Powering down, he unclipped his harness and looked over as Shawn followed suit. His friend seemed nervous – more so than when they had been preparing to storm that complex in Taiwan.
"You okay?"
"Yeah."
"You're not… worried, are you?"
"I'm not only meeting International Rescue but also Jeff Tracy? Who wouldn't be worried?"
"How'd you figure it out?" Scott asked. He wasn't surprised, but was curious.
"C'mon Scott, get real. Why were Virgil and Gordon in Taiwan? Why did your brothers also give up careers and retreat to an island? Your father has the finances to run something like this."
Scott should have known. As soon as Shawn had seen Thunderbird One, everything must have fallen into place. He gave a rueful grin and opened the door. Shawn followed him out, and Scott gave him a moment to gaze at Thunderbird Two in front of them while he locked up. Leading the way, he rounded the green machine and, sure enough, the ramp was lowered, granting access into the pod.
Gordon was by the edge, leaning against the wall with his arms folded. Alan wasn't far off, sitting down but looking more focused than when Scott had last seen him. His father and John were deep in conversation towards the back, and Scott cleared his throat. He didn't want Shawn overhearing contingency plans if he didn't turn out to be as trustworthy as Scott insisted.
John hurried over, grinning. "It's good to see you again," he said. Shawn held out a hand and John shook it.
"You make sense now," Shawn said with a smile.
Scott wondered what had been going through his head. Shawn knew Scott's military background, but he must have been curious why John – with no obvious combat training – had been by his side the entire time.
John gave a terse laugh. He looked relaxed, but Scott knew him better than that. None of them had discussed anything like this. Clapping Shawn on the shoulder, Scott moved towards his father. John would know what he needed and would keep Shawn occupied. Out of the corner of his eye, Scott saw Gordon move forward. No doubt he was already planning how to dig up some dirt from Scott's Air Force days.
Reaching his father, Scott grimaced.
"I didn't know what else to do," he admitted. "Penny didn't know he was there until too late; she couldn't get a message to us and I couldn't get away before he saw me."
His dad nodded, but his expression was serious as he looked at Shawn.
"Can he be trusted?"
"With my life," Scott said. He had done in the past, after all, and Shawn hadn't let him down.
"How about with your brothers'?"
His father knew him too well: risking his own life was one thing; risking his family was another matter entirely. They'd come too far now, though. Shawn knew exactly who International Rescue was. But Scott wasn't worried.
He glanced back at his friend, then looked at his father.
"I trust him."
He wasn't alone. That one glance had shown him John and Gordon were relaxed, and they were both a good judge of character.
"I better introduce myself," his father said. As he stepped forward, Scott thought about Shawn's previous worries and held out a hand.
"Be nice?" he said.
His dad looked at him like he'd gone mad, and Scott stepped aside with a flush. He might be a successful businessman and the commander of International Rescue. But to Scott, Jeff Tracy was just 'dad'.
But right now, it wasn't his father or his friend that made him anxious. Virgil was nowhere to be seen.
He slipped out of the pod, thumbing in the access code to the flight deck and opening the door. Virgil was curled up in the co-pilot's seat, and Scott wondered if he had even put up a fight at not being allowed to fly. Scott stepped in, then saw the blanket around his brother's shoulders and that Virgil's eyes were shut. He turned to leave.
"Don't go."
Virgil's voice was barely a murmur, but Scott heard him as if he'd yelled. He crossed over, perching on the edge of the pilot's seat to be closer to his brother.
Virgil's eyes had opened, and Scott wanted to storm the building and take on Hamilton all over again at the expression on his face. Scott hadn't seen him look this lost or vulnerable for years, not even when he'd staggered from the facility in Taiwan with blood pouring down his side. Hamilton's confession about money had broken something in his brother.
"How you holding up?" It was a stupid question – he could see the answer for himself. Virgil shrugged and looked out of the window. Scott didn't say anything else. Virgil would open up in time, and until his brother was ready, Scott was prepared to wait. For as long as it took.
But Virgil only left him waiting a few moments. He didn't look around, speaking to the window instead of Scott.
"I needed there to be something good," he muttered. "Some personal tragedy, even. Something to justify why someone would do this."
"Not everyone reacts the way Dad did," Scott said quietly. Personal tragedy was why they were now sitting in Thunderbird Two, after all.
"But-," Virgil shook his head, dragging his fingers through his hair and making the blanket slip. "Who wakes up one morning and decides this is what they're going to do?"
"You know there's bad people out there, Virg."
"I guess." Virgil drummed his fingers while rhythmically banging his foot against the chair. Scott frowned.
"What's this really about?"
"Nothing," Virgil scowled, turning away again.
"Virgil." He spoke softly, but it was enough for his brother to turn back.
"I just… I wanted it to mean something," Virgil whispered. "We've always known the danger with IR, but I never thought my death would be nothing more than a business transaction."
Scott didn't want to understand, but he did. They'd made peace with the risks of International Rescue – as much as anyone could, at least. But if they died doing their duty, they'd be saving someone, making a difference. This was completely different, and he didn't know what to say.
He sighed. Standing, he moved forward and tucked the blanket back around his brother.
"You survived," he said, quietly. "And they'll never hurt anyone again. Focus on that, if you can."
He couldn't say that if Virgil hadn't lived, Scott was almost certain he'd also be killed as he tried to avenge him, probably doing something rash and ineffective. Virgil surviving had saved them both.
His brother looked up at him, and Scott was only grateful he didn't look quite as lost as before. No doubt Virgil just needed to say it to someone, and Scott had been the first to turn up. He reached out, tussling Virgil's hair.
"Get some rest, Virg," he said. "I need to save Shawn from Dad."
"Shawn?"
Virgil had either fallen asleep, or had been so lost in his own thoughts he hadn't heard the conversation when Scott had made contact about Shawn's discovery.
"Long story. I'll tell you later."
Virgil nodded. Already, the warmth of the blanket and his comfortable position was sapping his energy. Knowing it was over, that he was safe, meant he had no chance. He was asleep before Scott left the cockpit.
Scrunching his toes in the sand, Virgil enjoyed the evening sun soaking in to his skin.
He couldn't stay inside any longer, couldn't sit around waiting to be cleared for duty. He needed the fresh air, the water lapping over his feet and the cool, damp sand between his toes. A slow walk along the beach held no risk – as he repeatedly told his father and a brother or two.
The waves were hypnotic and Virgil stopped, facing the ocean and letting the ebb and flow soothe him. Every time the water pulled back, Virgil felt a little of his tension go with it.
It wouldn't be long before Scott found him. Virgil knew he'd been avoiding the others since their return, but he couldn't help it. He was ashamed of how he'd reacted and didn't know how to face them. He should have been angry. He was angry, especially at seeing Hamilton choking Gordon, trying to take his brother from him again.
But as soon as the doctor started speaking, Virgil's anger had fled. The same helplessness he'd felt when he'd been tied down took its place, and he'd frozen. If that had happened on a rescue, people could have been killed because he couldn't control his emotions.
He couldn't compare it to a rescue – it was different; it was personal. The frustration of not understanding his own emotions meant he'd kept to himself, drawing away since arriving home rather than have to try and put it into words.
Virgil sighed, once more focusing on the water and calming himself. The view was beautiful, and he vowed never to take it for granted again. But the quiet wasn't helping – it was giving him too long to think. It was time to head back to the house and face whoever was waiting for him.
A twinge in his side stopped him, and Virgil pressed a hand against it. Brains had changed the dressing for a smaller one and was pleased with his progress, even going as far to say the stitches should be able to come out within a week. But the scar would remain – and not just a physical one either.
Virgil shuddered, dropped his hand and continued moving. Even though he had no idea how to look his family in the eye, he didn't want to be alone, either. He needed them.
But he didn't make it as far as the house. Scott was sitting on the steps leading up to the patio, gazing out to sea. Virgil knew his brother was waiting for him, but he sat down without a word.
Neither of them said anything for a few moments. Virgil wasn't sure he was ready for the conversation he knew Scott wanted to have.
Eventually, Scott spoke.
"Did it help?"
Virgil glanced at him, and Scott tilted his head towards the beach.
"I want to say yes," Virgil said slowly, "and it was good to be outside."
"But?"
"But I was thinking too much."
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Scott nod.
"I owe you an apology," Virgil blurted out, surprising himself as well as Scott. His brother looked at him, and Virgil made himself hold Scott's gaze. "I could've got someone hurt back there because I froze. I thought I was ready, that I could do it, but I was a liability. I'm sorry."
"Virg-," Scott started, then shook his head. He reached out, cuffing Virgil lightly. "You're an idiot."
"Thanks?"
"If you weren't grounded right now, I'd make you run the beach just to prove it as well."
Virgil stared. "No! Scott, I can help, I can still fly-,"
"Oh yeah?" Scott smirked. "I'm supposed to trust you'll stay in Two?"
Virgil had no argument – and even if he did, it wouldn't convince his brother. Scott knew him better than that: Virgil would never be able to sit on the side-lines if he thought he could help. He pouted, making Scott nudge him.
"You'll be back out there before you know it," he said. His tone was reassuring, but Virgil still scowled at the horizon.
He knew Scott was right: he wasn't ready for a rescue, nor could he fly there and not get involved. But it felt like he was letting the others down, even though he knew they wouldn't be thinking the same.
"Hey, Virg?"
"Yeah?"
Scott smiled at him. "You have nothing to apologise for. We get it. Hell, I'd have reacted the same way."
Virgil smirked. "You would have punched him."
"John told you?" Scott said, blushing.
Virgil nodded. He hadn't known whether to be entertained or exasperated when John recounted the number of times he'd patched up Scott's knuckles over the past few weeks. Virgil bumped his shoulder against his brother's.
"Thanks," he said.
"For what?"
"Coming after me," Virgil said, shrugging. He knew what it would have cost Scott; knowing Virgil was in trouble and not being able to reach him. If their positions were reversed, split knuckles would be the least of Virgil's worries.
"Idiot," Scott repeated fondly. Virgil smiled, and for the first time in days, it was genuine. Leaning back on his palms, he felt a semblance of peace as he stared at the sky.
"I forget how beautiful it is here," he murmured. Something he hoped never to take for granted again.
"You should bring your paints down."
Virgil nodded. As soon as he could persuade a brother to carry the easel, that's exactly what he'd do. The art relaxed him, but he needed the fresh air and the sunshine just as much right now.
They sat in a companionable silence for a few moments, and Virgil felt at ease for the first time in a long time. It was his grumbling stomach that finally made him move.
"We should get back," he said, reluctant to move. Scott made a non-committal noise, staying where he was. Virgil glanced at him.
"What?"
"We could stay out longer?"
His brother sounded sheepish, and Virgil frowned.
"What aren't you telling me?"
Scott ran a hand through his hair. "Grandma," he admitted, then continued at Virgil's confused look. "I'm gonna scream if she asks me about what cakes to make one more time."
Virgil's lips twitched. He tried to look sympathetic, but as soon as Scott looked at him, he burst out laughing.
"Let her have this."
"It's not like we never have visitors," Scott grumbled.
Rolling his eyes, Virgil eased himself to his feet, glad when his earlier twinge didn't return. He rested a hand on his brother's shoulder.
"She hasn't been able to fuss over one of us having a friend over for years. Give her this one."
He didn't just mean since moving to the island. He wasn't sure Scott had done something as ordinary as having a friend over since their mother had died, and by the time he was ready for it, it wasn't the kind of play-date that involved their grandmother. She didn't seem to care Shawn was coming as much for business as pleasure.
"I'm not a child," Scott said.
"That pout says otherwise," Virgil retorted, heading towards the house. Scott got up, picking up Virgil's shoes before falling into step with him. He tried not to scowl when his brother slowed his pace to match, but failed.
"It'll get there, kid."
"I'm not a child."
"That pout says otherwise," Scott teased.
"Hey!"
Scott ran off, laughing, but Virgil knew better than to give chase. It gave him the chance to pause, looking over the view one last time, before heading inside. Flopping over the sofa, he let his legs dangle off the end and decided the injured card would work in his favour if his grandmother complained about the sand.
Closing his eyes, Virgil rested his head back with a sigh. He didn't want to admit it – not even to himself – but the walk had tired him out.
Leaving Two, facing Hamilton… It had been the right thing to do. But it had exhausted him in a way he didn't fully understand.
Someone entered the lounge and Virgil kept his eyes shut. He couldn't face the concerned expressions, the worried remarks that he needed to take care of himself. But he wasn't expecting a blanket so suddenly settle over him, and he looked up.
"Easy," his father soothed. He tucked the edges in before crouching next to him. "Get some rest before dinner."
Virgil's protests that he wasn't tired were lost in a yawn. His dad chuckled.
"We'll save you a plate," he promised.
As the man stood, Virgil reached out. The only thing he could reach was the bottom of his dad's shirt.
"Are you okay?" his father asked, sounding concerned.
"I'm sorry."
It was one thing apologising to Scott, but his brother had known all along he'd had to do it. He suspected his father had known as much, but Virgil still felt guilty.
"I had to do it."
His father sat down, brushing Virgil's hair back. He only ever did it when they were sick or injured – it was the only time they put up with it, but Virgil didn't say anything.
"I know," his dad murmured. His tone was understanding, gaze gentle. "I knew you had to face it one way or another. I thought… when you were stronger, perhaps. I wish I could have protected you from it – from everything."
Virgil would have also preferred to wait until he'd been in better shape physically, but International Rescue had taught him to accept whatever cards he was dealt. He couldn't look his father in the eye though, afraid of what the man would read in his expression.
"Get some rest." His dad stood up again. "I'll make sure your brothers don't eat everything."
He left. Virgil relaxed, the warmth of the blanket soothing him. He didn't regret what he'd done, even if he hadn't been ready. He'd never have been able to heal, to move on, until he'd faced Hamilton and learnt the truth.
Sitting on the flight deck of Thunderbird Two afterwards, Virgil had wondered if the truth had broken him.
But he was still here. Still fighting.