Aftermaths; John Tracy and Virgil Tracy have a fight; John makes a decision

Virgil had wanted to meet Scott's plane on the runway, but their father had been adamant. "Leave him be, for now. He knows where we are." A few minutes later, he went into another room to try and get Julie on the phone. John, Virgil, and Gordon were left in the lounge by themselves. After a moment, Gordon slammed angrily out of the room.

John looked over at Virgil, who was sitting at the piano, elbows resting on the closed cover, chin on his hand. "Do you think I should go and talk to him?"

Virgil slowly raised his eyes to John. John felt like he was being scrutinized through the wrong end of a telescope, reduced to a distant speck in the room. "I have no idea," Virgil said. "Maybe."

John looked down. In the conference room on Grissom, there was a large window that afforded a great view of the Earth. John liked to hang out there in his down time, staring at the planet as it hung implacably in the blackness of space. Sometimes, though, the view would overwhelm him. He would think of all the people, all the life, swarming over the surface at any given moment, the shortness of all of their lives. Go back a century, and it was the same. Go back a millennia, and not much had changed; millions of people in a brief struggle with life that they eventually lost. And the Earth still hung there, serenely spinning, absorbing all. It didn't so much make him feel insignificant as it made him wonder if everything was insignificant. He had found this oddly reassuring, although he didn't know if too many people shared his feelings -- a lot of people on Gus avoided the room. But he found it comforting; the planet would probably prevail.

He doubted it was anything Gordon wanted to hear at the moment.

His father walked back into the room, looking pale. "I've spoken to Julie. She's…" He stopped speaking. "She's exactly as you would expect."

Virgil looked over at his father. His eyes were very bright, and his voice sounded a little unsteady. "Should we…do anything?"

"We'll do whatever we're asked to do, but at the moment…" he broke off and walked over to the window. "Scott should be here in a minute."

Virgil shook his head. "He's going to be…poor Scott."

"Yes. But he'll be all right."

"Yeah. He's pretty tough," said Virgil, trying to convince himself.

"No," Jeff said, with a low note of sadness in his voice. "But he is a soldier."

Virgil looked surprised. John regarded at his father thoughtfully.

"I don't think…" Jeff began slowly. "I don't think Scott should go to England. I'll go. I'll take Brains inst—" He stopped, realizing Brains knew nothing of the accident. "I'll go talk to Brains." He walked swiftly out of the room.

John looked over at Virgil, but he was still sitting at the piano, staring out into space. John shifted uncomfortably on the couch. He remembered when he was in high school, a classmate had been killed in a drunk driving accident. He had known the boy, been friends, although not close ones. But at the funeral, he watched as the boy's parents dissolved under the weight of their own grief and felt like any sadness he might feel was almost unworthy. He felt a little like that now.

They sat in silence for almost half an hour, until Scott came into the lounge. He stopped when he saw them.

"Are you guys all right?"

"We're fine," Virgil said. "Are you all right?"

Scott nodded briefly, and looked directly at John. "How about you, Johnny. You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." John stopped and looked closely at his brother. "Are you…"

Scott cut him off. "Where's Gordon? And where's Dad?"

"Dad's talking to Brains," Virgil said. "And Gordon I'm not sure. He left…he was…" Virgil stopped. "He left."

Scott looked irritated. "Somebody should probably go and find him."

John stood up instantly. "I'll go."

Scott closed his eyes and rubbed the spot between his eyebrows. "No. I'll do it."

"No." John was adamant. "I'll go. Anyway, you should probably go talk to Father."

"Right." Scott took a deep breath. "He's in the lab?"

"I think so." Virgil said.

Scott nodded, took another breath, and walked out of the room.

Virgil looked at John. "Better go get Gordon."

"I don't know what to say to him."

"You don't actually have to say anything, you know," Virgil said.

"I don't mean Gordon. I mean Scott."

"Yeah, I know. I know." Virgil sighed. "I can't think of anything, either. He's the one who…" he stopped. "This is crazy. Go get Gordon."

John headed towards the sliding doors.

"You know, this is why." Virgil said.

John stopped, and turned around. Virgil was standing with one hand on the piano, and his voice was shaking slightly.

"This is why Father wants us to do this thing. Because we feel like this right now. Because a woman who was sweet and funny and kind is dead for some stupid reason, but the next time…the next time we can get there in time and this won't have to happen." Virgil sounded angry. "Do you understand this, John? We're not dealing with the abstract here. This is actual life and actual death. The next time, nobody feels like this. The next time, she won't die."

John looked at Virgil until he was sure that he was finished speaking, and then wordlessly slid the doors open and went outside.

Nancy's death shelved the discussion of their father's plan for a few days. Not that they were unwilling to discuss it, but Jeff decided that he and Brains would go to England instead of Scott, tacking the trip on the end of his Washington trip. Scott had tried to argue – more than anything, he was itching to do something, but his father instructed him to stay and look after his brothers.

No matter that all Tracys had an allergy to being 'looked after', Scott thought, leaning over the balcony,two days after their father had departed. Nobody really knew what to say to each other. Their private grief seem to magnify their worst traits, Scott thought. Gordon was angry, walking stiffly around the apartment, answering any question with a bitterly sarcastic remark. John seemed to be trying to stay out of everyone's way, and Scott assumed he had been roaming around the island, because he hadn't seen him. Virgil had simply reported that he felt sad about it, and probably would for a while, which was normal, and if Scott wanted to talk about it, he was more than welcome. Scott sometimes wondered if one of these days, all Virgil's Zen-like serenity wasn't going to shatter into some maelstrom of destruction.

Julie had sent word that at Nancy's family'srequest, the funeral was for family only. They sent flowers. Scott didn't know what kind; one of the assistants in the head office handled it. Virgil had tried to call Julie, but couldn't get hold of her. Scott didn't want to talk to her. He was afraid she'd ask for details, and he didn't have any that would comfort her. Did she signal for help? Did she look like she was in pain? Did she suffer?

Was she alive when she hit the water? Was there anything Scott could have done?

Far across the ocean, there were a few muted flashes of lightning. Storm season was starting. Last year, Scott and his father had watched while the merest edge of a typhoon passed within a few miles of the island. They got off lightly, with winds of only 90 mph, and a surge of around foot. They stood in the lounge with the lights off, hands cupped around the window, watching the sheets of rain and the palm trees blown almost horizontal. It reminded Scott why people used to think the gods were pissed off most of the time. The glass had trembled under their hands, rattling from the gusts. The next morning, as Scott glumly surveyed the patio he was going to have to spend all day clearing, his father had remarked that he had the house built with the storm season in mind. "A little forethought can avoid a lot of disasters," he had remarked with satisfaction.

But not all of them.

Gordon walked out onto the balcony, stirring Scott out of his reverie. "Virgil says do you want to watch a movie." He leaned on the railing of the balcony and let the wind ruffle his hair.

"If I say no, is Virgil going to come out with that nursemaid look on his face and ask me if I'd rather talk instead?" Scott asked.

"No," Virgil said. "I'm going to take the movie and shove it up your ass."

Gordon laughed as Scott turned in surprise to see his brother leaning against the door.

"Sorry," Scott said, meaning it.

"Go to hell" Virgil muttered, but came out on the balcony. The wind was blowing straight at them, damp and smelling of rain. A thin layer of clouds were scudding across the sky, backlit by the almost full moon. The sky put Virgil in mind of a giant reptile skin.

"Feels like spring," Gordon said.

"Doesn't it? The wind here gets deceptive," Virgil said. "I don't think I'm ever going to get used to the weather."

"I hear that. I miss snow," Gordon said. "I miss fall. I miss leaf piles."

"So says the weasel who always managed to get out of raking and shoveling," Scott said

"I think if it wasn't for the storms, Father wouldn't live here," Virgil said. "It's too comfortable."

"Except for the complete and total isolation," Gordon said.

"Builds character," Virgil said with a grin at his brother.

"And what are we supposed to do with all this character after we've built it?" Gordon asked.

"Keep it 'til you need it," Scott said.

"Sell it," Virgil said. "It's all part of the trust fund."

Scott smiled, but Gordon's expression clouded.

"This is such a waste of time," he muttered, and brushed past Virgil to go back into the house, pointedly pulling the door shut behind him.

Virgil shook his head and looked at his older brother, who just shrugged.

"He'll be all right," Scott said. "It just comes out at strange angles."

Virgil nodded. "And you?"

"You have got to stop asking me. I'm fine." Scott said wearily.

"Well," Virgil said after a minute. "You're not saying anything."

"What could I possibly say that would make any difference?" Scott asked.

"You feel guilty." Virgil said. "That's natural, but it's a very misplaced feeling…"

Scott cut him off. "I don't feel guilty, Virgil. I was in the Peninsula in '22. Do you really think I don't know the difference between accidental death and deliberate death? Do you really think I have the time to go around looking for guilt to take on? Nancy died because of one of two things: plane malfunction or pilot error, but in either case, I'm pretty sure the impact of the crash killed her. It's a tragedy, but it's not my tragedy. None of this has anything to do with me." He looked at Virgil. "She was my friend, Virg, and she's dead. I don't really want to talk about it anymore." He turned back to the ocean.

Virgil was quiet for a moment. "Okay." He seemed about to say something else, but then just repeated, "Okay." He exited the balcony.

The silo was dimly lit. The gantry and long bulk of the rocket were casting strange shadows across the floor. Virgil paused as the door slid shut behind him, letting his eyes adjust.

"John?"

He could hear the ringing sounds of someone walking on the metal scaffolding overhead. "Who's that? Virgil?"

"Yeah. What are you doing?"

There was a pause. "Technically? Nothing. Come on up."

Virgil groped for the handrail. The stairs were against the wall, obscured in shadow. "Why are you sitting here in the dark?" Virgil asked.

"I like the dark," John said defensively. He added, "I'm a little leery of wandering around here and pressing buttons if I don't know what they do."

"That's very sensible of you." Virgil said, coming to the top of the stairs. He could just make out the gleam of his brother's hair in the murky light. He was sitting on the walkway, legs dangling through the railing. Virgil sat down next to him.

"How's it going?"

"Oh, don't worry about me," John said. "I'm fine."

"That seems to be the party line," Virgil said. John gave him a funny look. Virgil waved his hand. "Never mind."

John indicated the rocket in front of him. "I've just been sitting here, staring at it." He shook his head. "I'm still having a hard time coming to grips with the fact that my father has a working rocket in his basement."

"It does take some getting used to," Virgil agreed.

"What did you have to do with this?"

"Nothing. This baby was together way before I ever came on board. In fact, before Scott." Virgil scratched his jaw. "I think Dad had it designed and then he found Brains and Brains knocked three years of development time off it in one big burst of caffine."

"That guy's weird," John said. "No offense. But he's weird."

"Being that smart isn't easy. I knew some people like him at CIT. They could built a particle accelerator in their sleep but couldn't figure out how to operate a toaster."

"It's not that. But he flattens himself against the wall every time he sees me. It's like he thinks I'm going to mow him down or something."

Virgil tried to keep himself from laughing, without success. "Yeah, he did the same thing to me when I first got here. He's shy. You should cut him some slack, though – he's got an IQ that's practically a zip code. Get to know him – he's the same age as you."

John sat up. "He's the same age as me and he designed this thing?"

"Told you. He's a smart kid."

John rested his chin back on the railing. "You're not kidding. Father gave me the plans and told me to look them over if I wanted to. I've read some papers on this type of propulsion and I know that NASA and some other private agencies have been doing some tests, but they've been very preliminary. This thing shouldn't exist for another fifteen years."

Virgil nodded. "Stick around here long enough and you get bored with astonishment."

"Has it been tested?"

"Of course it's been tested. It wouldn't be here if it wasn't."

"Where does it launch from?"

"In here."

"In here? From inside here?"

Virgil nodded. "And lands."

John blinked. "You land this in here? Through the big round thing up there?"

"How did you think we got it back in here?"

"I don't know. I thought you were hiding it from satellite cameras. How do you do it?"

"Ask the astronaut. Better yet, give it a go on the simulator."

"We have a simulator?" John's eyes widened. "We have an actual simulator?"

"Considering that you've never really mastered parallel parking, Father thought it would be a good precaution."

"Shut up," John said absently. "I…" He stopped. "I see what you mean about astonishment."

"Sometimes six impossible things before breakfast is a light day." Virgil said with a smile.

"So…you're really doing this." John said.

Virgil nodded.

John rested his chin back on the railing without saying anything.

"You don't have to hide, you know," Virgil said.

John looked surprised. "I'm really not hiding. I want a little time to think. And also…" he stopped. "This is going to sound very stupid, but…I didn't really want to…crash the funeral, if you know what I mean."

"That does sound stupid," Virgil agreed.

"I didn't know her…you guys did, and…" John shrugged uncomfortably. "I don't have anything to say that doesn't sound completely formulaic."

"I think you worry about strange things, grasshopper," Virgil said.

"You're not really one to talk," John said. "Considering that you just quit your job to become a superhero."

"You're missing the point," Virgil said. "By a couple of miles."

"I guess. Maybe. I still don't completely believe it," John said. "It's like the logical side of me is saying that this is completely ridiculous…and the..." he stopped. "Actually, I can't get past the logical side of me. That's the side with all the ammo." He took a breath. "Virg…I talked to Laidlaw at ISA yesterday."

"Who's Laidlaw?"

"My boss. Look. I know this is a bad time to bring this up and everything, but I've got to get back."

Virgil was startled. "Back to Florida? Why?"

"I live there. I work there. Even if I do decide to do this…completely insane propostion…"

"That's like the third time you've called it that…"

"I still need to go back. International cooperation is all well and good, but it's not the kind of place you can just call in and say you quit."

"Father's not going to be happy about that," Virgil said.

"Well, if he doesn't like it, he can call the President and get him to mobilize a squadron to get me back here," John snapped.

Virgil drummed his fingers on the railing. "John, no offense, but you've really got to come down from the cross at some point. Father may have done you an injustice, but he did not destroy your career."

"Well, we don't know that, do we?"

"Well, I didn't go to Harvard, but I think I'm pretty smart, and I'm fairly sure they're not going to fire the contractor's son," Virgil said. He held up his hand to stop John's protest. "Yes, I know. That's exactly your point. Listen, I know you're a very, very smart kid. But there are millions of very smart kids in this country and not all of them get to go to prep schools and observatories and Harvard. You're not Abraham Lincoln. You're the son of your father. Acting like it's some sort of handicap is embarrassing, John. And I'm getting tired of it."

"Are you finished?" John asked angrily.

"No, I'm not finished. You're sitting in front of the most technologically advanced piece of machinery on the planet, and all you see is an affront. You've got a chance to make a difference in world. You've got a chance to save lives, and all you can say is 'he didn't ask me.'"

"That's not what I said," John's voice was low.

"Yes, you said he was going to invade Fiji. It's what you meant." Virgil said. "I know you don't think this is a bad idea, because this is an inspired idea and you know it. You're just angry because you feel left out, and because Dad interfered in your life. But Dad would have a lot easier time treating you like an adult if you didn't throw a temper tantrum any time anyone tells you what they think you should do. He's your father. He can tell you anything he damn well feels like. You're not obliged to act on it, but you should be respectful enough to listen to him and not act like you're eight and he took your allowance away." Virgil stood up. "You're supposed to be the one who sees through everything. Get your head out of your ass and look at what's in front of you. You can either stay at ISA and build Pittsburgh on the moon, or you can use your Harvard education and your ISA training and your father's money and your brothers' expertise and all this technology and do something that matters with it." Virgil looked down at his brother. "Now I'm finished."

John didn't say anything, and didn't look at Virgil. Virgil waited a moment, and then turned and banged down the stairs. When he reached the bottom, he turned to peer up at his brother. He couldn't see him.

"If you see Scott, tell him I need to talk to him about flying me back to Sydney," John's voice floated down from the gantry.

Virgil was too angry to answer. He let the door slam shut behind him with a metallic clang.