Authors Note: Thank you to those who have continued to review; it's much appreciated, as always. I really do value each and every one of them. I'd like very much to hear peoples comments on my work, so please do continue with the feedback.
Re posted due to spelling, punctuation and grammar changes!
Chapter Eight - Interrogation
"The interview will be recorded. Solely for the purpose of our own records." Ms Dews told Alan as she gestured to the seat on the opposite side of the table.
Alan glanced around the room. The walls were as drab as the corridor and there was a musky, stale smell in the air. He shifted awkwardly in the hard plastic seat and leant forward onto the table; which promptly rocked under the weight of his arms. He watched as Ms Dews methodically removed the suit jacket she wore and placed it on the back of one of the chairs, before sitting down. She pulled the chair close to the table causing a shrill scraping noise, and smiled falsely as she strummed her fingers impatiently.
Her gaze alone made Alan uncomfortable.
Another man entered the room in a rush. "Sorry." He apologised for his tardiness and took a seat without further comment.
"Very well, let's begin." Ms Dews reached forward and switched on the small recording device on the table. "This is a recorded informal interview with Mr Alan Shepherd Tracy, in investigation of the death of Mark Peter Jamison on the eighth of July 2023. The date today is the ninth of July 2023 and the time is …" She paused to glance at her very plain watch. "Fifteen hundred hours exactly. Those present are Caroline Dews, Senior Investigator. Dr Ryan Nickel, Crash Investigator and Alan Tracy, Competent Driver. Licence Number Tango Romeo Alpha Charlie Yankee 04122005, Car 33." She paused, opening the file she had previous placed in front of her, slowly for emphasis.
"Firstly, Mr Tracy, I'd just like you to clarify a few details for me. You are registered as competent to race motor vehicles contained in category E of the Highways Act Amended 2009. Is that correct?"
Alan nodded. "Yes." He squeaked, feeling more than a little intimidated. He cleared his throat determined not to appear anxious.
"And you were here at West Bridge Circuit to race a Ferrari GX10 Series in the Ferrari GX Class. Is that also correct?" Ms Dews asked.
"Yes." Alan replied curtly, sounding slightly more like himself.
"Can you talk us through the events of the eighth of July? In addition, how the vehicle registered to you and that you were driving came to collide with a blue vehicle of the same make and model. Causing serious injury and the subsequent death of Mr Jamison."
It took Alan a few moments to digest the question. "Well, we were out on the warm up for the race." Alan began. "As I came into the bend I changed down to fourth and then the engine started screaming. The car spun. I think we hit the barrier and then bounced back out. We were spinning slower than before and Virgil …"
"If I could stop you there." Ms Dews was saying. "Virgil is your brother, correct?"
"Yeah." Alan replied.
"And can you explain to us, why he was in the car in the first place?" She raised an eyebrow and Alan feel a tingling at the base of his spine. Something akin to dread.
"Err," He struggled. "Well, he helps Sam out with the car. With the err… With the mechanics. He wanted to listen to how the engine sounded and I was worried about my lap times. So he was helping me cut them down."
"I see and he couldn't have done that at any other time?" The question irritated Alan. He suddenly felt as though he should be proving his innocence. As if, he'd committed a crime by taking Virgil out with him.
"I forgot to put the recording disks in the cameras on the car. So when it came to analysing my performance in the qualifier, we had nothing. Virgil said he wanted hear how the engine held up under the pressure of that hairpin bend and I was grateful for the assistance with my lap times." He paused, his anger flaring slightly. "It was only the warm up lap and by race rules I could take a mechanic out with me." He added icily. "Virgil was part of the mechanical team." Alan became defensive, giving cause for an exchange of glances between his interviewers. "Just because he's my brother doesn't affect that fact."
"Quite correct." Ms Dews pointed out. "Section 4.12, amended 2018, I believe. So your older brother was in the car with you. Perhaps you could explain to us now how you escaped this fatal accident with…" She consulted her notes. "Bruised ribs and a badly bruised shoulder. Yet your older brother suffered…" Again, she glanced down. "Extensive and severe bruising to the ribs, shoulders and abdomen as well as the left wrist. He also, I believe, had to be taken to A and E after losing consciousness at the scene."
Alan nodded sadly, hearing the list of injuries just brought back his regret. "I looked down to the revs as we were spinning and they were in the red. Virg …Virgil knew that too and he told me to jump…"
"He told you to jump?" Ms Dews mulled the idea over. "So you, an experienced driver, did as your brother, a mere mechanic, at best, told you and jumped. Leaving him in your car as it spun out of control in the middle of the circuit?" She frowned, shaking her head incredulously and implying that Alan had been erroneous.
Alan shook his head. "No, no it wasn't like that!" He exclaimed, clearly becoming agitated and stressed. Taking a deep breath to control his fast growing irritation, he continued. "I thought Virgil was going to jump too." He continued, feeling the tension build at the base of his neck. "He was unfastening his seat restraint. I just assumed he'd follow."
"But he didn't?" The question came from Ms Dews again. A sarcastic element to her voice.
"No." Alan confirmed, letting out a haggard breath.
"Why is that?" Ms Dews asked.
Alan shrugged. "I don't know. I think probably the restraint locked and he couldn't get it off."
Ms Dews nodded sceptically. "You think the mechanism failed?" She raised an eyebrow. "Your safety records don't indicate you've had any problems before. However, am I correct in thinking that you were missing a team member this weekend?"
Alan nodded. "Yeah, Kenny Malone. He couldn't' make it, he was going to a friends wedding." He swallowed, unable to predict where many of Ms Dew's questions were coming from. He felt vulnerable; like the proverbial piece of meat about to be fed to the lions.
"I see." She flicked over the page of the file in front of her. "So, Sam Marshal assumed the role of chief mechanic. He hasn't held that kind of responsibility before, has he?"
Suddenly it hit Alan exactly what she was implying. "No, but Sam's perfectly competent."
"I didn't say he wasn't." Ms Dews lips curled into a smug grin.
"You insinuated he wasn't good enough. He's one of the best and there isn't a thing he doesn't know about that car." Alan frowned, his tone becoming harsh and angry. Of course, he realised he'd just fallen into her trap of demonstrating not only his temper, but also his 'guilty conscience'.
"Really. By that comment, are you insinuating he knew about the possibility of a fault on the car?" Ms Dews fired back quickly.
"Are you saying that there was a fault on the car?" Alan's voice rose. He calmed himself, once more. "I'm just saying that he's good." He said in a considerably less irate tone.
"Evidently not good enough." Ms Dews quipped. "Your shoulder injury was caused then by you impacting with the ground?" She moved on quickly, not giving Alan the chance to retaliate.
"Yeah. Jump and roll just like we practiced in training." Alan nodded, returning her icy glare.
"How long have you been racing these cars Mr Tracy?" Ms Dews took a deep breath. Alan glanced across to her counterpart who remained silent.
"Just under two years." He replied dutifully.
"That's correct, twenty one months to be exact." She sighed at his imprecision. "And how would you rate yourself as a driver?"
"I don't understand, what do you mean?" Alan frowned, not entirely sure how she was expecting him to answer that.
"I mean you're good. You have the trophies to prove it, and all in such a short space of time. You've got talent; no-one can deny that. Would you say that you are a confident driver Mr Tracy?" Ms Dews frowned, sitting back and expecting an answer.
"I guess so." Alan matched her frown, unsure where this was going. "You have to be fairly confident."
"Confident enough to be a little arrogant about your talents? A little reckless perhaps?" She suggested forcefully.
"No." Alan shook his head in denial. Desperately trying to keep his temper from flaring and letting his anger show. "It was an accident." He stated as calmly as he could.
Ms Dews nodded patronisingly. "We'll be the ones to decide that, Mr Tracy. How certain are you that you put the car in fourth gear? Is it possible that perhaps you thought you'd put the car in fourth gear when you'd actually selected second?"
"No. I put the car in fourth." Alan said adamantly. "I told you, it was an accident."
"Okay and one last question, Mr Tracy. Is it true that when James Matterson was disqualified through an earlier accident, your exact words were 'I guess that's one less for me to worry about'? Was Mark Jamison one less for you to worry about too Mr Tracy?"
"No!" Alan denied vehemently "No! I was joking, I wasn't being serious. Jim's a good friend of mine."
"But Mark Jamison wasn't?"
"We'd had our differences." Alan suddenly felt panicked; allowing her to get the better of him.
"Differences! It was quite a power struggle by all accounts." Ms Dews noted. "A power struggle that you were evidently losing this season."
"No!" Alan sighed, feeling himself become more frustrated and the anger building once more. "That's not true."
"But you'd agree there was some degree of rivalry there?" Ms Dews noted with a certain amount of contempt.
"There's rivalry between all of us, it doesn't mean a damned thing!" Alan exploded angrily at her.
"Do you know what I think Mr Tracy? I think Mr Jamison was close to your car. I think he was trying to pressure you, intimidate you by remaining close to your car, and you weren't about to let that happen. We've seen today how easily your tempers ignited, I think you reacted. Only perhaps your reaction to stop Mr Jamison from embarrassing you has had further consequences to those you had anticipated."
Alan forced every muscle in his body into a tense spasm, at her groundless insinuations. "Intimidation is a tactic; it doesn't mean we have to retaliate to it. It was just a warm up lap. It's not as if we were even racing. We'd already qualified so we would have just gone back to the grid exactly as we were before."
"So you were trying to get in his way? Going too slowly perhaps, to antagonise him? Having a good laugh because he wasn't able to overtake you? You were in front of your greatest rival for the first time this season and he was powerless to get passed you." She gained momentum with each suggestion, becoming louder and more forceful. "That must have been a buzz for you, especially with your brother there to witness it all."
"No!" Alan denied. "One of the reasons Virgil came was to help me get more speed out of the car! It's a race! Why the hell would I go slowly?"
"Perhaps you wanted to draw your triumph out. Make the most of the moment, especially in front of your brother." Ms Dews raised a suggestive eyebrow.
"Virgil's my responsibility when he's in my car." The words echoed in Alan's head and he swallowed back his remorse before he continued. "Do you seriously think I'm going to consciously put him in danger? He could have been killed in this accident, so could I." He fumed.
"But you weren't, Mark Jamison was." Ms Dews finished. "Dr Nickel has a few technical questions. I believe you would be of assistance to him if you could answer them."
Alan nodded wearily. Not ignorant of the fact that she had stressed the balding man's qualification, almost menacingly.
"Mr Tracy." Dr Nickel began, in an accent that he would later find not dissimilar to Parker's. "Alan isn't it? Do you mind if I call you Alan?"
Alan shook his head. He didn't mind at all, as far as he was concerned Mr Tracy was his father and it sounded quite odd. He took an instant like to Dr Nickel's far more relaxed methods of questioning. However, just Ms Dew's menacing presence meant he couldn't settle down, and he remained on edge. He couldn't help but feel anxious at what Ms Dews had discussed with him. Or the way her framed questions intensified his feelings of worthlessness and guilt.
He refocused on what the doctor was saying.
"We're currently going over both the cars for any faults or defects. You were clear of your car when Mark actually impacted it, that's correct?"
"Yeah, I'd jumped by then but Virgil was still in there." Alan paused. "If I'd been in the car when he hit it, I would've been killed."
Dr Nickel nodded. "Without a doubt, it was a nasty smash. Can you tell me what happened after you hit the ground?"
The question came with such a gentle tone, calm and tender. The man reminded him of Virgil.
"I looked up." Alan began shakily. "I could see Mark's car, there was just no time for him to react. I remember looking around for Virgil, then I started to run towards the car when I realised he hadn't gotten out. By then there were stewards there and they pulled me back."
"When you say Mark had no time to react, why was that?" Dr Nickel asked. Frowning as he idly played with the pen in his hand.
"He'd been travelling close to me all the way round. He backed off a bit for those bends but there was no way he could have come round that corner. Not at that speed, and reacted in time to do anything other than crash straight into the car." Alan explained, licking his lips and swallowing, suddenly realising how dry he felt.
"As an experienced racer, do you think he was travelling too close to you?" Dr Nickel asked, sitting back.
"For a warm up lap, yes. But I know what he was trying to do," Alan sighed. "He was trying to intimidate me, make me feel nervous before the race had even started."
"He had a habit of doing this? Intimidating people?" Dr Nickel asked.
Alan hesitated, realising what Dr Nickel was implying. "He was a good driver, more than competent and more experienced than me."
"Is that a yes?" Dr Nickel pressed.
Alan nodded and suddenly Ms Dew's crisp accent interrupted the relaxed atmosphere. Reminding Alan, she was still there, just when he was beginning to relax a little. "For the benefit of the tape, Mr Tracy is nodding."
"You've had a lot of problems with the car this season. The GX10…" Dr Nickel raised his hands behind his head, shaking in admiration. "I have to admit, that was a superb car." The older man enthused. "Tell me about the technical problems."
Alan smiled at the balding man's enthusiasm. "Well, I've had continual problems with the transmission…err, gears, that's been the main thing. Then the starter motor went last month. Ferrari US took it in and did a complete rebuilt on the transmission and starter systems. I've only just got it back."
"I'm presuming it ran okay for the qualifier though? Your chief mechanic, Sam Marshal, he didn't report anything suspicious. No technical problems?" Dr Nickel enquired.
"Well no," Alan said conversationally. "But I'm no mechanic. You'd be better off asking Sam or Virgil that question. As far as I was aware, there weren't any faults on the car. I didn't experience any problems during the qualifier, but I only have a basic knowledge. Sam's the expert." He added icily, glaring at Ms Dews.
"I see," Dr Nickel nodded. "Sometimes, these kinds of things do tend to occur rather suddenly don't they?" The question was clearly rhetoric. "How did you react to the spin?"
Alan shook his head. "Err..." He hesitated. "I saw the revs go sky high and my first thought was the gears so I looked down to check it was in fourth in the gate."
"Was it?" Dr Nickel enquired.
Fatally, Alan hesitated. "It all happened so fast." He shook his head. "I thought it was." He watched Ms Dew's furiously writing an important note and realised he'd told her earlier he'd been sure. He cursed himself.
"Well, we're running some tests on the gearbox, so don't worry we'll soon find out. It's easy to doubt yourself in situations like this." Dr Nickel seemed to understand how he was feeling and was a lot more sympathetic to him then Ms Dews had been. "So what did you do?"
"As soon as I felt the back end go I started counter steering, but it was no use. We were just going too fast. We weren't changing position and I couldn't keep the nose in front of the tail." Alan brought his hands up to the table, entwining his fingers together. The regret and remorse weighed heavy in his tone and he came to a stop.
"It's a front wheel drive, isn't it?" The question was rhetoric and Dr Nickel nodded as he glanced down at his notes to confirm the fact. "So, you were beginning to spin at this point. Did you gas it out?" Dr Nickel's prompted him after a long silence and an askew glance at his colleague.
"Err… No." Alan shook his head. "The revs were so high; I didn't think it would be the best way to deal with it. I hit the circuit breaker and cut the power to the engine." He opened his mouth to continue but Dr Nickel interrupted him.
"Whilst we're on the subject of the circuit breaker. You hit it straight away?" He queried.
Alan nodded. "Yeah, as soon as we started spinning and I'd recovered from the gravity pull."
"It's just that when the emergency teams reached your car, they found both the exterior and interior cameras were still working." As Alan was nodding, eager to clarify, he stopped and waited for an explanation.
"The cameras run off the car battery but they also have a reserve power supply. That kicks in when the battery's cut, that's probably why they were still running."
Dr Nickel was nodding. "I see. I've only completed my preliminary report on the car so far. There are a few things I'm yet to reach, I'm afraid the camera system wasn't on my list of priorities. Anyway, carry on. You cut the power to the engine, then what?"
"If you spin, both feet in." Alan replied automatically.
Dr Nickel laughed, shaking his head. "That's an old one."
Alan nodded, bowing his head. "Yeah, well that was the plan, but the revs were too high." He shook his head in disbelief. "I cut the power. As soon as we were slow enough for the tyres to gain some traction, then I was going to lock the brakes on." Alan swallowed, the memories replaying themselves without command. "The engine was still racing, it wasn't dying fast enough and the revs weren't dropping. Virgil was shouting at me, telling me I should jump, so I did. I thought Virgil'd follow." Alan said sadly.
"So, you locked the brakes on?" Dr Nickel continued.
Alan shook his head. "No, we never slowed down enough for it to have any effect. Whilst we were spinning there was no traction whatsoever, so touching anything could have been fatal. I did what I thought was the safest thing and let it spin out. We hit the barrier, that took a lot of the impact and we slowed down." He bit his top lip in thought. "Do you think I could have recovered from the spin?"
"We'll be asking the questions Mr Tracy." Ms Dews pointed out sternly.
Dr Nickel seemed to ignore her. "To be honest Alan, I'd have probably done the same thing myself. Without the traction, braking wouldn't have had any effect and once you were spinning, flooring it just would have caused a fuel rush, which could have been even more dangerous. Not to mention the fact that the revs were so high. A fuel rush to the engine could, as you say, have been fatal."
"That's what I thought." Alan nodded, reassured by the response.
"Did you really have the time to go through that thought process? I imagine it was chaotic." Dr Nickel enquired, intrigued as much anything.
"It was, but believe me. With my brother sat in the seat beside me, his life dependant on the decision I was about to make. I thought pretty quickly." Alan confided softly.
Dr Nickel nodded in understanding. "When was the last time the safety restraint was checked?" He asked.
"I check mine every time I get in the car, but the passenger one is rarely used. I'd have to check the log." Alan replied.
"Well, I don't have any further questions at the minute but I may need to speak to you again. If you leave a contact number on your way out, that'd be helpful. Thank you for you time Alan." He turned to his colleague. "Any further questions Ms Dews?"
"Not at the minute." She stood up and closed the file, Dr Nickel followed suit. "We'll be in touch Mr Tracy." Alan nodded as she turned away as Dr Nickel held out his hand.
"Interview concluded at sixteen hours fifty two." She switched the recorder off. "I believe your father's waiting outside."
Alan nodded, getting to his feet and hastily exiting the confined space. He had to wonder just how this was going to turn out and the interview process did nothing to diminish his fears.
XxxxX
"Thank you." Scott closed the door softly, tray in hand and headed back into the room. With a heavy sigh, he placed it on the bedside table, perching on the bed where his brother slept.
For a few seconds he could do nothing other than watch. A part of him was concerned at just how long his brother had slept.
"Virgil?" He tried to rouse him. "Virg?" He reached out a hand to the younger man's shoulder but hesitated. Like John, he was reminded of the terrible bruising there and forced himself to grasp Virgil's arm instead. "Wake up."
Virgil murmured, but refused to open his eyes or break contact with the pain free existence he found himself in. "Come on Virg, wake up." He couldn't, however, ignore Scott's constant calling.
Eventually he mumbled, trying to move but afraid to cause himself more pain. "Go away Scott." He grumbled. "Just want to sleep."
"Look at me." Scott's tone was not one to mess with and Virgil begrudgingly prized his eyes open. Scott smiled down at him, bemused. "How are you feeling?"
Virgil swallowed, trying to rid himself of the dry, bitter taste that had accumulated in his mouth. "Tired." He said, half closing his eyes.
"How's the pain?" It hadn't escaped Scott's notice just how much pain his brother was in. He was determined not to ignore it as easily as Virgil seemed to want to. Hence, the food and the bottle of painkillers that sat on the tray beside him.
"If I don't move or breathe then it's fine." He smiled, but Scott just frowned. Not at all impressed by the falsified humour. It would seem Virgil and Gordon really had been spending too much time together recently.
"Why didn't you tell me it was that bad?" Scott felt the annoyance rear up inside of him again, but it was quickly replaced by confusion and frustration at Virgil's behaviour.
"It wasn't earlier." Virgil grimaced. "It's getting worse." He watched the worry smeared across Scott's face intensify, just as he'd expected. "It's my own fault; I should've taken the pills. I pushed myself too hard going out this morning, I was angry."
"Maybe we should get a doctor to look at you." Scott knew the suggestion would be met with hostility, but voiced his thoughts anyway.
Virgil began to shake his head vigorously. "No, I don't need to see a doctor Scott." He paused, feeling far too exhausted to have to explain anything. Sighing as deeply as he could manage without causing excruciating pain, he allowed his eyes to roll slightly as he blinked. "I'm fine; it's nothing a couple of hours sleep won't cure. I just pushed myself too hard."
"Hmm." Scott obviously wasn't of the same opinion. "Well, you missed breakfast and lunch. It's nearly six o'clock now."
Virgil was surprised at this. "Six o'clock? I've been asleep that long?"
Scott nodded. "You obviously needed it. Why don't you try and eat something and take a few of these painkillers." He suggested as he gestured to the silver tray he'd placed on the bedside table. Virgil followed his gaze. "There's some ibuprofen as well." Scott said conversationally.
Virgil raised an eyebrow inquisitively. "What is it?"
"Bread and soup." Scott saw his face fall and quickly added. "But you can have whatever you want." He urged.
"It's not that." Virgil frowned. "It's just…" He trailed off, before bowing his head and trying again. "I was sick this morning." He didn't dare look up for the look of irritation he knew would be dominating Scott's features. "I don't know if I'd be able to keep it down. And it hurt like hell Scott, still does. I don't think I want to risk having to go through that again." He paused. "Maybe I'll just leave it a while."
Scott shook his head. His emotions torn between sympathy at just how painful it must've been, and irritation at the fact Virgil didn't tell him.
"You have to eat Virg." He pointed out, allowing the sympathy to win for now. He was prepared to pile the irritation up with the simmering anger and the helplessness he'd pushed to the back of his mind. Waiting for an appropriate time to voice them. "You haven't eaten since yesterday, when you and Sam were working on the car. Maybe that's why you were sick this morning; maybe you just need something to settle your stomach." Scott suggested. "Aren't you hungry?"
Finally able to stop himself shrugging as a reflex, Virgil just pulled a passive face. "A little, but I'm not sure this is such a good idea."
"Why don't you try some? Just a little bit." Scott coaxed. "You really do need to eat something Virgil. It'll give you some energy and then you can take some pills." Virgil had always had a healthy appetite for as long as Scott could remember. Trying to coax him into eating just a small amount seemed surreal to the elder brother. Even when he was sick, Virgil wouldn't want to miss out on his food. "Its chicken soup, your favourite." Scott smiled encouragingly. "Do you want me to go and get Dad to cut it up into little soldiers for you?"
Virgil smiled; he tried to stop himself laughing but the effort only caused him pain. When they were children, they both used to insist on cutting their bread into soldiers. Something that their father had become very talented at over the years.
"I think I'm a bit big for that now." Virgil smirked.
"Come on, sit up. Just try a little bit. You don't have to eat it all." Scott could see he seemed to be making a breakthrough and continued convincingly.
Begrudgingly Virgil tried to push himself up. However, his weak wrist failed him and he cursed as an excruciating pain ripped through his body, settling in his chest. He felt Scott's hands on the top of his arms before he realised his brother had even moved. "Take it easy." Scott was saying gently, puffing up the pillows behind his brother before manoeuvring him back against them.
Virgil sat back breathlessly. "I'm okay." He pushed Scott's hands away and then regretted it. "Thanks." He added remorsefully as he allowed his eyes to close. Remarkably, the pain seemed to lessen when he was still. It hurt to breathe but apart from that, it was only unbearably painful when he moved.
"You really need to take some of these pills, hopefully they'll help." Scott muttered as he placed the tray in Virgil lap, removing the heatproof cover as he did.
In all honesty, Virgil couldn't deny that he was a little hungry and all the talk of food was making him more so. However, the violent sickness he'd experienced in the morning was painful enough to make him seriously consider if he would benefit from this. If it meant avoiding that discomfort, he would fast for weeks on end, regardless of hunger.
As the smell of the soup filled his nostrils, his stomach lurched. Virgil swallowed trying to dispel the sickness in the back of his throat. Scott watched him with trepidation.
Eventually Virgil raised the smallest piece of bread to his lips but hesitated. "Aren't you having anything?"
Scott shook his head. "No, Dad and Alan are due back. I'm going to go make sure Al's okay and see what they're doing first. I spoke to Sam too; I think he's a feeling a bit down. These interviews are pretty hard going."
Virgil repeated raising the bread, hesitating once more. "You know, you don't have to sit and watch me Scott."
"Eat the bread." It was an order, and Virgil knew it.
Scott got up and made his way to the kitchenette. Pouring a glass of water before emptying out two of the painkillers and setting them down on the side of the tray. He looked up to see his brother was chewing the bread slowly and then swallowing. Quickly blowing out a short breath afterwards.
"I can't, Scott." Scott looked down at the tray. The soup remained untouched but only half a bread roll remained as opposed to the two that had been served. "I feel sick."
"You can't starve yourself Virg. Try some of the soup." Scott could see in Virgil's eyes he'd had enough, but pushed anyway, knowing his brother needed to keep his strength up. "Maybe we should call Dr Williams at the hospital. He said if you weren't feeling better within twenty four hours to call him back." Scott bowed his head, ashamed to resort to blackmail.
"That's a dirty trick Scott." Virgil remarked. A degree of admiration to his tone yet at the same time that comment brimmed with irritation. "Just give me those pills and then I can go back to sleep." Virgil was internally pleading for his brother to agree, but deep down he already knew he wouldn't.
"You've been asleep for seven hours!" Scott exclaimed. "Look, just try a little bit of the soup and then you can take the pills and rest."
Virgil knew his brother was bartering with him. Trying to treat him as he would a child but for now Virgil was too tired to rebel. He reminded himself of Scott's issues with control. Silently he raised the spoon to the bowl while Scott was trying to logically explain his exhaustion.
"Maybe it's the after effects of the sedative that's making you so tired. Dr Williams said you'd be lethargic. Still, I don't think you should be feeling like this." He paused, watching Virgil stir the soup and cautiously sip at it. "I was being serious when I said we should call him." Virgil's icy glare told him that his brother's opinion differed somewhat. "Virg, I don't think you should be in this much pain. I'll bet the lack of food and your marathon run this morning won't have helped."
Virgil looked up, that was a not so subtle reminder for him that Scott hadn't forgotten about the incident. It obviously still remained on the 'to discuss' list. Virgil winced inwardly, that list was becoming a book, a book he wasn't overly keen to open now. Bowing his head, he concentrated on the soup and making it to his mouth without gagging. Refusing to reiterate his views about the doctor.
Successfully swallowing three complete mouthfuls, he lagged back against the pillows once more. "I really can't eat anymore Scott. I'm just not hungry."
Scott seemed to accept he'd done his best. "You'll feel better for it." He promised, confidently. Virgil wasn't so sure but didn't comment. Scott moved the tray out of the way and handed over the painkillers followed by a glass of water. "You really still feel tired?" He asked anxiously.
Virgil nodded, swallowing the pills and hoping they would have some effect. "I guess you're right, it must be that sedative still in my system. That and my 'marathon' run." He added sarcastically as he blinked heavily. "I can't believe I slept for so long."
For a few moments, silence enveloped them both.
A silence Virgil knew he should really be talking through yet somehow he couldn't find the words. Sorry seemed so inadequate but in the absence of anything better he didn't have much choice.
"Scott, about this morning. I didn't mean to snap at you or worry you." He began cautiously. When it came to Scott, he could read his brother as easily as a book. He knew perfectly well that as much as he needed Scott to accept his apology, Scott needed to let his frustrations out first.
"You didn't think I'd worry if you disappeared for three hours?" Virgil was secretly pleased at the angry undercurrent to Scott's tone. The thought had crossed his mind, that his brother would let the concern he knew he would be feeling consume him.
"It was more like two and a half." Virgil smiled. "It took longer than I thought; I just wanted some time on my own to get my head straight."
"And is it straight now?" Scott perched back on the bed. His eyes remained a barely concealed mix of concern and irritation.
"A bit." Virgil could see this was a bigger task than he'd anticipated. "I'm sorry, really I am. I know you must've been concerned…"
"Concerned!" Scott exclaimed, cutting him off with a sarcastic shake of the head. "Virgil you were in a serious accident yesterday, in which a guy died. You could barely dress yourself at the hospital; you could hardly stand, let alone walk without someone helping you. Yet this morning you manage to get up, shower and change, and then decide to go for a three hour walk! I was worried sick." Scott shook his head, taking the few seconds to reflect. "Y'know, we could have lost you yesterday." Virgil studied his glassy eyes, realising it wasn't the first time Scott had had that thought. "Just think about that."
"I know." He said softly. "I know; I was lucky." Virgil considered his wording carefully. "Do you think a single second's gone by where I haven't thought about it?" He licked his lips, feeling suddenly dry. "I know I've been acting like a complete idiot since yesterday. I'm sorry about last night and this morning, but I just wanted some space." He paused. "I needed some space, please try to understand that Scott."
Scott sighed regretfully. "You want air; you go out onto the balcony." He gestured to the curtain covered double doors. "You want space, you tell me to get lost." He shook his head again despairingly. "But don't ever do that again. Because if you do, and I don't kill myself worrying, I'll sure as hell kill you." A smile lurked ominously beneath the concern induced threats, but he refused to let it show.
"I won't be doing it again." Virgil promised. "Believe me; every single muscle in my chest is on fire because I took that walk. The pain just got worse with every step; I've learned my lesson. The hard way." Virgil paused.
Scott couldn't bring himself to say 'good' when it was so obvious how much pain his brother was in. He did want to make clear one thing though before he would encourage Virgil to go back to sleep.
"Virg, whatever your reasoning is for not letting people help, and whatever it is that you need all this time and space to deal with." Scott took a deep breath, catching his brother's eye and holding his gaze. "Sooner or later, we… you, you're going to have to talk about this." He said solemnly, ensuring Virgil understood his insistence.
Slowly and unsurely, Virgil looked to the bed between them before nodding slightly. "I know." He agreed. "I know, just not yet." When his gaze met Scott's again, his eyes were glazed over with accrued moisture. "Please Scott, not yet."
Scott frowned at the glassy eyes coupled with the emotional plea. It was most definitely uncharacteristic of his brother. Only deepening his concern and convincing him that this talk should be happening sooner rather than later. For the moment though, he understood Virgil's distress and he just nodded.
"You should try and get some sleep." He said softly, a smile to match his tone accompanied the words. "Come on, I think maybe we should get you into your own bed." He took the glass out of Virgil's hands and placed it on the bedside table. "I'll help you."
Virgil swallowed. Sam's bed being nearest to the door had been the one he'd crashed on, subsequently falling asleep. Now, as he glanced across to his own bed, it seemed miles away. He really didn't want to have to move but he knew he couldn't sleep in his clothes and began to sit forward. Accepting the fact that since he had to change out of his clothes, he might as well get in his own bed too. Before he really realised what was happening, Scott had his hands on the tops of his arms, guiding him into a sitting position.
"It's okay Scott, I'm not helpless. I can do it." He tried to shrug his older brother's hands off but only succeeding in causing his ribs to protest painfully at any such movement. Forcing him to allow a small groan to escape his lips.
"Yeah, it sounds like it." Scott scoffed as he sat down alongside his brother. "I'm trying to help, let me."
"I'm not an invalid." Virgil said gently, desperately trying not to snap. Not really succeeding.
"I know that, but you don't have to pretend that you're okay." Scott frowned, hoping to resolve this issue Virgil seemed to have developed with accepting help. "Hell if I had those bruises Virg, I wouldn't be able to stand, let alone do anything else."
"You'd try." Virgil pointed out stubbornly.
"You're not me though." Scott frowned, surprised that Virgil would be thinking along that track at all.
"Maybe we're not that different." Virgil surmised with a semi-shrug. He'd had a sinking feeling that this conversation was heading his way.
"Virgil, there's nothing wrong with accepting that you're going to need help." Scott watched his brother's response carefully for any clue as to how he was going to react to the suggestion. "I'm not going to just stand by and let you hurt yourself even more for the sake of your pride." He paused. "It's not necessary. If you're finding things difficult, why don't you ask for help?"
"Don't you think I'm a bit big to have my brother buttoning my shirt and tying my shoelaces?" Virgil shook his head in despair. The things he truly needed help with he felt he couldn't ask of Scott but in doing them for himself, he only increased his pain.
"Normally, I'd say yes without hesitation. But you need to accept the fact that this isn't a normal situation, you're hurt. Give yourself a break, stop being so damned stubborn and just ask." Scott reasoned.
"It's embarrassing." Virgil grumbled, looking away.
"No, what's embarrassing is saying that you don't need help and then realising that you do. For the sake of all that pain, isn't it worth just swallowing your pride?" Scott raised an eyebrow, awaiting an answer.
Slowly Virgil nodded. "I guess you're right. It's just …I don't need someone babysitting me twenty four hours a day."
"We're not talking about someone Virg," Scott defended himself. "Or twenty four hours a day, either. This is me, you've been my best friend my whole life; there's nothing you don't know about me. I just don't want you to be ashamed to acknowledge that you need help, especially from me." Scott shook his head. "This morning, in the shower." He ventured slowly. "What happened?"
"Huh?" Virgil could feel the pain medication starting to sink in and intended to make the most of the much-needed relief.
"I heard you." Scott told him. "It sounded as though you were torturing yourself."
"I'm not going to pretend it wasn't difficult but I got there in the end." Virgil said, frowning and not meeting his brother's gaze.
"Not before inflicting a hell of a lot of pain on yourself though. You don't have to do that, Virgil. I hate this, I hate feeling so useless. Standing by, doing nothing." Scott tried to turn it around so as it seemed Virgil was doing him a favour. The younger man looked up suspiciously; he knew very well what Scott was doing but nodded anyway.
"Okay." He conceded finally. "I'll accept help graciously, but only when I need it." He sighed. "I don't need fussing over Scott. It's a few bruises, that's all." He paused. "I don't need someone watching over me all the time and I certainly don't need all this …" He struggled for the right word, without meaning to sound ungrateful. "Concern. It's uncomfortable."
"It's only because people care, we're worried about you." Scott bowed his head, before smiling a nod anyway, pleased with the outcome. "There's nothing to be embarrassed or uncomfortable about." He reassured his brother. "We all have to accept help sometimes."
"I'll remind you of that one day." Virgil promised, raising his eyebrows.
"Come on." Scott held him by the fore arms and guided him until he was stood on his feet. "Let's get you into bed." Virgil looked up suspiciously.
Maintaining his own weight, he firmly removed Scott's grip and walked somewhat cautiously over to his own bed. "I said only when I need it. I told you, I'm not an invalid." He complained.
Slowly, one hand clutching his injured chest, he sat down on the bed with a groan. "You alright?" Scott regretted the question immediately. Virgil stared at him clearly irritated, before smirking as if to prove his point. "Sorry." Scott lowered his gaze, chastising himself. "Come on, get undressed." He said eventually.
Virgil raised an eyebrow. "Being around all those men in uniform having an effect on you Scotty?" He smirked.
"Funny." Scott laughed falsely. "Do it." Another order.
Scott was secretly pleased at the comment; it was certainly a contrast to Virgil's recent dark mood. However, he wondered how long this would last.
With another smirk Virgil began to unbutton his shirt, albeit slowly. The euphoria of the pain medication was starting to sink in and he blinked furiously to dispel it as best as he could. Scott watched him as he pulled back the sheets and the bedcovers, and plumped up the cushions. Waiting for an indication that he should take over and that Virgil had satisfied his dignity by, at least, trying.
Virgil had half the shirt unbuttoned and was blinking heavily. Unsuccessfully dispersing the mind numbing effects of the pain relief he desperately needed coupled with just how tired he was. Suddenly, Scott's hands enveloped his and pulled them away, gently taking over where he was failing. Before long, Virgil had slipped between the folded back sheets and was already closing his eyes.
Scott smiled to himself at his brother's lack of energy. He was more than concerned about the amount of time Virgil had slept during the day and fully intended on mentioning it to his father. For now though, he watched Virgil's bandaged wrist reach out for the folded covers. His brother's eyes remained closed and his movement seemed weary, as if he didn't really have the energy.
"It's alright." Scott said softly, reaching out for the covers himself. "I've got it." He went to pull the quilted material up over his brother's chest when he caught sight of the mottled blues. The vast array of colouring on Virgil's chest looked suspiciously like the colour pallet his brother used for painting. "Virg, these look worse then they did yesterday." He commented.
"Hmm." Virgil nodded. "Dr Williams said the bruising would continue to come out for weeks." He smirked coldly. "This is just the beginning." He muttered glumly.
Scott frowned; he didn't remember the doctor saying that. He wondered what else he'd told Virgil when he hadn't been in the room. "Do you want me to get you some ice? It might take the swelling down a bit."
Virgil opened his eyes and looked up to his brother smiling. "Yeah, ice. Now you mention it…" He said surprising himself. "I think the doctor may have said something about putting ice on it. I can't remember though."
Scott walked across to the mini bar. "Did the doctor tell you anything else when I wasn't there?" He frowned, concerned at this development. "Think carefully, anything important?"
Virgil frowned too, shifting uncomfortably on the mattress. "I don't think so; everything goes a bit blurry after he gave me that sedative."
Scott nodded, returning with two make shift bags full of ice. "You think they'll charge us for the ice, if we don't drink the champagne?" He smirked, trying not to show his concern.
"Probably." Virgil smirked in return.
"Okay, this might be a bit cold." Scott took one of the make shift ice bags and began to place it one side of his brothers rib cage.
"You don't sa…" Virgil didn't finish as the ice hit his chest and he automatically drew in a deep breath. "Argh!" He groaned as his ribs refused to expand as easily as his lungs.
"Sorry." Scott winced. Virgil panted to get his breathing under control. "I did warn you."
Virgil grimaced. "Just put the other one on." He gritted his teeth.
Scott complied and took a towel from the bathroom, wrapping it over the two ice parcels and holding them in place. "How's that?" He asked as he sat back, his work done.
"Cold." Virgil breathed in slowly through clenched teeth. "But better." He exhaled, his eyes remaining closed.
"Good." Scott sighed. "Can I do anything else?" Virgil cracked an eye open to look at his brother, a carbon copy of the pointed look he'd given him before. "Sorry." Scott shook his head. "I can't help it, you're still my little brother and I'm worried about you."
"You've never bunched me in with the kids before." Virgil frowned. "Normally during your little pep talks I'm 'your equal'." Virgil smirked to himself as he lowered his voice, impersonating his brother. He settled into the mattress, not bothering to open his eyes as he spoke.
"Well, yeah. You are my equal." Scott agreed. "But you are my little brother too." He hesitated. "You're always so …strong, not just for yourself but for me too. I rely on you. I guess, sometimes you don't act like a little brother, so it's hard to treat you like one. You're more than that and you know it." He paused for a few seconds, watching the tranquillity form on his brother's features. "You know, you make me nervous when you're like this. Sick." His honest tone ceased as he truly processed his brother's words.
"Hold on a minute, pep talk? What pep talks? And I don't talk like that! …. Do I?" He glanced up to see his brother's eyes remained closed. "Virg?" He stood, peering over the younger man. Smiling askance at Virgil's shallow but even breathing.
Eventually, he took a hold of the quilted covers. Pulling them up to cover the towel and ice packs, he sighed heavily as he ran his fingers over Virgil's hair. Taking his place and perching on his own bed. He settled in to watch his brother sleep, until the inevitable call from their father. "Pep talks!" He muttered to himself, grumbling. "And I don't talk like that!"