Authors Note: Thanks to those who took the time to review the last chapter. Please feel free to let me know your thoughts, I'd appreciate knowing which aspects of a story readers enjoy as well as those aspects which haven't invoked such enjoyment.
Chapter Fifteen – Confrontation
Scott's frown deepened as Virgil's struggling suddenly stopped and he turned to Alan's vacated seat. Concentrating on his brother's lips, Scott tried to work out what he was saying. "Can you turn it back up Sam?" He enquired.
The blonde man obliged in time to hear a soft moan. "Virg… Virgil?" Hacking coughs could be heard faintly as the voice called out again weakly. "Virgil? That you?"
"Mark?" Virgil's reply was much clearer though still as rough. He squinted against the vast amounts of steam loitering around him, in an effort to see. "You alright?" He gasped out.
"I ... I'm stuck." The dim reply came, clearly panicked. "The … the steering wheel it's trapped my legs…" Mark could be heard choking, coughing on the oxygen he so readily needed. "I ... can't feel them." He spoke again but it wasn't clear enough to be heard; a mumble that the microphone wasn't powerful enough to detect. "You got to help me Virgil, please!" Suddenly Mark shouted. It seemed shrill compared to the soft, faint tones they'd be listening to.
Virgil was still struggling with his own breathing, but nevertheless took a few obviously painful breaths. His voice wasn't as clear as when he had his helmet on but still, when he spoke it was clearer than Marks. "Just calm down Mark and stay still." Virgil encouraged. "We'll be alright. They'll be coming to get us out right now." He struggled against his harness, showing no signs of giving. "We'll be fine." He repeated, less enthusiastically. "Just sit tight."
The sound of both engines whining to a stop emphasised the otherwise morbid silence that hung in the air. The hissing of steam and ominous but erratic creaking of metal around them where the only sounds to break it. The perceived silence seemed ironic when there was so much happening around them. Virgil found his mind wandering to subjects of no relevance and tried hard to refocus on getting out.
"Virgil?" Eventually Mark shouted out once more. "Virgil, you're still there, aren't you?"
"Yeah." Virgil realised his low, exhausted response probably wouldn't have been heard. "Yeah." He repeated louder. "I'm still here Mark." He continued to tug at the restraints relentlessly.
"I don't want to die." His reply could be heard.
Scott frowned at his brother's tortured expression as Virgil's writhing halted. He took a few minutes to swallow and control his breathing. The panic held in his eyes was disturbing enough. However, Scott could see that Virgil was beginning to accept the fact that he wasn't likely to get out of that chair. As a result, his attempts at breaking free were becoming feeble. Scott presumed the mixture of the shock and physical exertion had exhausted his brother to the point of miserable acceptance.
"You're not going to die Mark." Virgil shouted back. "We'll get out of here. We just have to sit tight, until they can come and get us out." Scott found himself holding his breath unconsciously as he focused on the way Virgil's lips trembled. Virgil's tone was a far cry from his usual confident and secure demeanour. He was frightened and timorous "They'll get us out, you'll see." Virgil muttered. He began struggling again. Twisting and turning around in the chair, desperately thrashing about for an escape.
"Virgil, Virgil!" Mark was screaming, the panic in his voice unmistakable.
Virgil stopped, taking in deep breathes again as he turned away from the camera in Mark's direction. "Yeah?" Was all he could manage this time.
"I … I can smell…. I can … I think…." There was a crackling sound that reminded Scott of a firework being lit and then silence. Horrible deafening silence.
"Mark?" Virgil called. "Mark, you still with me?"
Mark's only reply was sudden but loud incoherent screams, ear piercingly shrill.
Scott watched his brother's face drop. The colour drained from his cheeks until he looked ill and his eyes bulged. Suddenly Virgil was reaching across, as far as the restraints would allow him. Stretching every muscle in his body, despite the merciless pain it brought him.
"The extinguisher." Sam muttered, glancing at Scott and John's equally horrified frowns. "There's a fire extinguisher behind Al's seat; that's what he's reaching for."
Virgil was muttering incoherently as he cursed, unable to reach the fire fighting equipment. He swore, before controlling his panicked breathing, taking a moment to compose himself in the confusion. He tried again, whimpering as the pain exploded in his chest and his frantic attempts proved futile. "Damn it!" He growled, lashing out and hitting at the interior where the fire extinguisher was poised, mocking him. The camera wobbled slightly as the impact of Virgil's fist reverberated through the framework of the car.
In the background, Mark could still be heard. "Virgil please! I'm begging you, help me!" He was crying out, gasping for breath between his sobs. "Help me!" His pleading dissolved into gut wrenching sobbing. The chilling cries echoed around the morbid mood that hung in the room. More distressing than words could ever be.
Scott watched Virgil halt his reaching for the extinguisher and turn slowly to face Mark, gasping as he did. "Mark!" He shouted as he leant forward in his chair, reaching an arm out. As if, somehow he could contact the trapped driver. Suddenly Virgil's eyes bulged further, the terror and revulsion in them clear to see. He began to shudder with the shock at the horrific scene he watched.
"No!" Virgil screamed. Screwing his eyes shut tightly he suddenly cowered back, bringing his hands up to cover his face. A loud bang rocked the car and Virgil pushed his body against the furthest corner of the seat. As the rumbling came to a stop, the camera focused once more. He hesitantly removed his trembling hands, his breath coming in laboured gasps. The way he reached the back of his hand up to his mouth, coupled with his stark white complexion Scott was sure he was going to vomit.
Instead though, he closed his eyes and pushed his head up against the headrest of the seat. Breathing deeply and fumbling once more with the golden clasp that held his harness in place. His void emotional expression became more concerning to Scott than the fear and desolation he had seen in his brothers eyes before. Now there was nothing; Virgil's face portrayed absolutely nothing. The medium that had informed Scott so accurately became only a blank canvass. Vacant spaces filled eyes that had before, portrayed so much intensity and emotion. It was almost as if in that moment, Virgil had just switched off all emotional reaction to the situation; and that, Scott found more disturbing then anything.
Scott wasn't sure whether the moisture making rivers down his brother's cheeks was sweat, tears or possibly both. "Got to get out." Virgil was mumbling. Most of it was confused and inarticulate jabbering, however parts of sentences were decipherable. "Got to … got to move." He let his head fall forward, lacking the energy to control the movement anymore. His eyes kept wandering in the direction of Alan's seat, but he never let them linger long.
Turning back, he struggled again. The car filled with steam and he began to cough, further hindering his escape. He was clearly confused and disorientated. "Got to…. Got to…." There was a gentle moan as his eyes rolled back and his head lolled forward. The only thing holding him in place; the restraints, still holding strong. In that same moment, shouts in the distance could be heard as rescuers approached.
Scott watched the rise and fall of Virgil's chest for a few moments but his breathing didn't seem to even out. In spite of that, the older man remained mesmerised by the screen, too shocked to display any real reaction. He wasn't sure how long he'd been watching it, before a hand reached through the open window to Virgil's neck. Slowly but surely, holding two fingers there for a while. "This one's alive." He heard the shout, presumably from the hand that searched for Virgil's pulse. Now gently holding his brother's limp head back against the seat with both hands. "Hey, there's still power in this car, what's that red light?"
"It's a camera. Must be running straight off a battery, hold on…" With that, the picture went snowy and they were left to stare at a blank screen.
Silence reigned for a very long time. Shocked, stunned, traumatised silence.
John swallowed. "Poor Virgil." He sighed. At a loss of what else to say, he turned to his oldest brother. "Scott? Scott, are you alright?"
It was only when Sam reached out to the pilot's shoulder, he responded. "Hmm, what?"
"He asked if you were okay." Sam repeated, a concerned frown directed at Scott.
Scott nodded, getting to his feet. "I'm fine." He quickly composed himself. The devastation faded away as he masked his own feelings with assertion of authority. A technique years of practice had taught him was always effective. "Has anyone else seen this?" He asked, pushing down the screen of the disc player with a little more force than was necessary.
Sam shrugged. "The investigators will have taken a copy. I presume that's why it started where it did and not from the beginning."
Scott nodded. "Right, here's what we do. Don't mention this to anyone okay?" He ordered. "And I mean anyone. That includes Virgil, and especially Dad and Alan."
John and Sam both nodded. "What are you going to do Scott?" John asked nervously.
"I think it's about time Virgil and I had that talk you suggested John." Scott said his own voice shaking on the inside, but confident and determined on the out.
"Scott," John was saying softly, quick to dissuade his brother from doing anything rash. "I don't think we should rush into doing anything. Sit down and I'll get you a drink; we'll talk about this. We need to think it through. We don't want to make things worse."
"Worse?" Scott questioned incredulously. "And how the hell could we make things any worse?" John glared at the terse response before pushing passed Scott. "What?" Scott called after him.
"He's right Scott." Sam seconded. "Just give yourself a minute to calm down. Yeah? You're upset." He suggested, getting to his feet and gesturing to one of the chairs. "Here, sit down."
"I don't need to sit down." Scott growled. "Just do as I say and forget you've seen it. I'll handle it."
John returned. "It's not like it's something we can just forget like that. Here," He held out one of the glass tumblers in his hand to Scott, who looked up at him. Instantly he shook his head, but John pushed the amber liquid into his chest further. "Drink it." He affirmed. Not really needing any more incentive, Scott took the proffered drink. John went on to pass a glass to Sam before taking a hold of his own and calmly sitting down.
Scott watched the display of cool composure, a little surprised at John's calmness. He gulped down the scotch in the glass in his hands and placed it on the side. "I'm going to …"
"No you're not." John spoke over him. Not meeting the older mans annoyed glare. "You're not going anywhere yet." Scott's eyes widened at his usually tame brother's command. Had he not been in total shock at John's attitude, he would have returned fire succinctly. However, John carried on, already anticipating the question that was to follow. "Virgil didn't tell us about this for a reason and you care about him as much as I do. So you're not going to go in there, guns blazing and make a hash of this. The last we thing we want is to upset him."
Scott's eyes and jaw hardened at the truth in his brothers words. "I'm listening." He settled for silently controlling his sense of outrage and letting John go on. Somewhat stiffly, he occupied the opposite chair to his brother and prepared himself to listen.
"Okay," John sighed, leaning back in the chair he occupied. "Now the way I see it, if Virgil would have wanted us to know, he would've told us." Scott began shaking his head in disagreement but John went on anyway. "I think we should let him deal with this; he'll come to us in his own time. He knows where we are when he's ready."
"No." Scott disagreed immediately. "He shouldn't be left on his own. He needs to know we're here for him."
"He knows that Scott." John countered. "And he's managed okay for the last two days."
"Has he?" Scott fired back quickly. "You haven't seen him John! I've lived in the same room as him and I'm telling you, he's not coping." He sighed. "You suggested I talk to him, but I put it off. I was too worried about Alan, and I thought he'd talk to me if he needed it that much. Well, right now I'm thinking it's as good a time to talk as any, don't you?"
"And you think that's a good idea now?" John looked up to him, shaking his head. "I don't know about you but I'm still trying to get my head around this."
"Me too." Sam joined their discussion, his voice portraying his sadness. Scott and John both turned to the young mechanic. He'd been so quiet they'd almost forgotten his presence at all. "Poor Virg," Sam sighed. "What I don't understand is why he didn't say something. Why didn't he tell one of us?"
"He was probably trying to protect Alan." Scott thought aloud. "If he ever found out … He'd be devastated, he'd … Well, it doesn't matter because he's not going to." Scott insisted. "No one breathes a word of this outside this room, not even to each other. Got it?"
"That still doesn't answer the question. He could've told any one of us in confidence without Alan ever finding out. Why didn't he?" John frowned as Sam nodded in Scott's direction.
"I don't know." Scott shrugged. "You've seen the stress we've all been under, maybe he didn't want us to worry. That's not really the point, is it?" He sighed, running a hand over his hair. "It shouldn't have had to come to this. I knew something was wrong, we all did. We were just so wrapped up in making sure Al was okay, that nobody ever said or did anything about it."
"That's not fair." John told him firmly, "This weekend hasn't exactly been a walk in the park for any of us. We can't blame ourselves, what's important is what we do now."
"We've let him down John." Scott helped himself to his second glass of scotch. "And I'm not going to sit back and force him to deal with this on his own. I won't let him down again; once is one time too many in my book."
"This isn't about you." John sighed too, leaning forward in his chair. "It's not about us; it's about Virg and what he wants." He sat back. "Scott, I know I'm not going to stop you from doing whatever you're planning to do. I'm just asking that you think this through, for Virgil's sake."
Scott sat back with a groan. "I know and I am doing this for Virgil's sake, John. Trust me, let me handle this."
"I can't stop you, just… Just go easy with him, Scott. He's been through enough already." John leant forward, his tone becoming pleading. "I know you're mad that he didn't tell you, but I'm sure he had his reasons."
"Reasons?" Scott shook his head sadly. "What reasons? He lied to me; he told me at the hospital he couldn't remember."
"He might not have lied intentionally Scott." Sam reassured the elder Tracy. "You hear about people blocking traumatic experiences out all the time. He was scared; anyone could see he was petrified that he was going to die. And he did lose consciousness in the end; maybe he really doesn't remember."
"Or maybe he doesn't want to." Scott murmured. "Besides, it's not just that he lied to us. It's that he didn't trust any of us enough to confide in us."
John found himself wondering how readily 'us' could be substituted for 'me'.
"This is my point." He sighed, waving the hand that held his glass of scotch in the air. "This isn't about us. It isn't about him lying to us or not confiding in us; it's about us not giving him the opportunity to tell us the truth." He paused. "Virgil, for whatever reason, obviously didn't want us to find out. We should respect that it's his decision to make."
"Not anymore, it's not." Scott said portentously as he got to his feet.
"What are you going to do?" Sam asked frowning.
"Something I've been putting off too long already." Scott smirked sadly. He made his way to the exit hurrying straight out into the hallway. Giving neither of the blondes he left in his wake, a chance to say anything else.
Suddenly he was out in the cool of the corridor and as he leant back on the closed door, he screwed his eyes shut. He took in a deep breath, puffing his chest out before blowing the air out slowly. He felt sick. It wasn't just Alan's recycled opinions about him, it wasn't just the fact that Virgil had hidden this from him and it wasn't the fact that he was responsible for holding it all together. It wasn't even Alan being shaken around like a rag doll, or Virgil desperately fighting against restraints that held him so forcefully. The very pictures he saw when he closed his eyes, knowing it would haunt him for a long time yet. No, it wasn't one or the other; it was all of it. He could handle Alan's opinions and he could handle Virgil being stubborn, but this? This was too much. He pinched the bridge of his nose hard, steeling himself to take the first few steps of a very long journey…
XxxxX
Having searched the gardens and still not found his brother, Scott headed back to their room somewhat deflated. He was more than a little concerned that Virgil might've disappeared again. He tried to put his mind at ease by reassuring himself that Virgil knew he'd been foolish to go on that walk. He'd paid the price too; his ribs hadn't responded well to the exercise. Scott sighed as he stood outside their shared room, fiddling to get the access card out of his pocket.
Internally Scott was cursing himself, thinking he should have trusted his instincts. Deep down he'd known all along that there had been something wrong with his brother. Something he couldn't put his finger on, and something that Virgil was trying to keep from him. He kept thinking that if he'd just pushed a bit harder or not let Virgil keep avoiding the subject. Then maybe, his brother wouldn't have had to deal with this alone. Instead, he had been too busy worrying about Alan. It wasn't so much that he's missed the signs, but more the sheer magnitude of them.
He sighed again, swiping the key and watching the small indicator turn form red to green. Truth be told, he only had himself to blame for the guilt he felt now. Virgil, and to a certain extent the others had made him feel as if he was over reacting. As a result, he'd led things slide that he knew now he shouldn't have. He was tired of being the one to be pushed away, tired of being told he wasn't needed. So, with one more hearty sigh, he stepped into the room. Determined to bring some kind of resolution and order to this mess.
He automatically scanned for any signs of life but to begin with, the room appeared bare. That was, until he caught sight of a pair of legs hanging over one arm of the large sofa and distinctive chestnut hair poking over the side. He felt a certain amount of the weight on his shoulders lift in the form of relief. Unfortunately, the majority of that heavy burden, namely impending conflict, remained and he headed for the small mini bar. Deciding another drink would relax him enough to confront Virgil about all the half truths and deception.
"Hey." He said softly, as he reached for a bottle of Scotch and poured himself a glass. He was surprised at how much his hands trembled. Maybe John and Sam had been right, maybe he was in shock himself. "I thought you were still down in the garden. How did the sketching go?" He chose his words carefully, wanting to appear as normal as possible and not alert Virgil to any undercurrent in his voice. Taking a hold of the bottle by its neck, he ambled over to the sofa. "Virgil?" He called out as he approached the back of the chair. Surprised that he hadn't had some kind of response from his brother, at least an acknowledgment of his presence. "Virg?"
As Scott made his way around to face his brother, he couldn't help but notice that Virgil's head seemed to be lolled to one side. Nor could he help the panic inside of him that surfaced. "Virgil?" He repeated, rushing to circle the sofa.
Scott came to stand in front of his brother, looking down on him with a worried frown. He slowly took in the way Virgil's legs dangled over one arm of the couch. How his back rested against the other arm, his head supported by several cushions. Slowly Scott's vision travelled up to Virgil's head; his eyes tightly closed, and his face relaxed and impassive. It was only when Scott noticed the small pen-shaped object in Virgil's hands; a digital radio, that his worry lessened. He spied the tiny wireless earphones that went with it and let out a sigh of relief.
He watched Virgil dozing peacefully for a few minutes; loathe to rouse him. He was just summoning up the will to do so, when something else caught his attention. He hesitated, his hand inches from Virgil's shoulder. Dumping the scotch bottle he'd brought with him on the table by Virgil's feet, he picked up the open sketchpad that rested on the matching table at his brother's head.
Scott studied the picture carefully. Art had never been his strong point and it wasn't something he appreciated in the same way Virgil did. However, he knew his brother had the same gift their mother did and had realised at a young age that Virgil could have had a promising career in the arts. Virgil however, knew their father would frown upon the idea and had opted for engineering instead.
It took Scott a few minutes to realise what the sketch in front of him depicted. He frowned as he adjusted his handing of the sketchpad until it made sense to him. Two sets of fingers reaching out to each other, just inches from touching. And in the hands of both of them came two very different scenes. Nestled in the hand that reached up was a raging fire, human in form. Its hands were raised in the air as if it was in pain and supplicating to the other depiction. Portrayed on the back of the other hand was a nondescript figure. It was huddled into a small space in one of the corners of the barred enclosure it was imprisoned in. Its arms were wrapped tightly round its legs, and its head hidden. It was cowering away from the bars that were confining it and the raging personified fire that implored it.
Scott's frown deepened and he looking up at his brother to check his eyes remained closed. Flicking the sketchbook back a page, he studied the next sketch and the next. Finding them all of a similar message and continued theme; the two hands almost meeting. He flicked back a few more pages to reveal more doodles and sketches that Scott termed dark or morose, to put it mildly. He ran a hand over his face as he realised the true impact this accident had had on his brother. Closing his eyes in regret, he flickered through the sketchbook again, more slowly. Needing the time to build up the courage to turn each page. The more pages he turned, the more he comprehended Virgil's distress. The poignant sketches that had been so carefully constructed portrayed his brother's agony, Scott thought, a little too effectively. He shuddered, wondering how Virgil had concealed this from him.
"What are you doing?"
The words startled Scott and he very nearly jumped at them; shattering his silence and taking him by surprise. His head snapped up in time to see Virgil remove both of the earpieces. Scott assumed he'd already turned the music off that he was listening to.
"I err, it fell on the floor." Scott snapped the hardback book closed roughly and placed it back on the table. "I was just picking it up." It was a lie and not a very good one at that. When he looked up at Virgil's face, he could see his brother knew that too.
"Right." Virgil was nodding. He leaned over cautiously and deposited both the earpieces and the radio on the table, alongside the sketchbook. Scott watched him carefully, he seemed content to play along with his lie but the older man frowned; it was unusual. Looking at Virgil's sketchpad was the equivalent of reading John's diary; an offence that there was no atonement for.
"I didn't disturb you, did I?" Scott gestured to the discarded radio. Hoping to move the conversation on and not allow Virgil to capitalise on his encroachment.
"No," Virgil shook his head. "No, actually I thought you'd be up here. When you weren't, I didn't have the energy to look anywhere else so I figured I'd wait here for you."
"Are you tired?" Scott questioned anxiously. "You're feeling okay, aren't you?"
Virgil sighed softly. "A little sore, but I'm fine." He paused. That was a lie; he felt terrible. His ribs hurt and he was shattered. Just the short walk to and from the garden had not only exhausted him, but it had made him breathless. A breathlessness that didn't seem to relent with rest. "Actually, I wanted to apologise." He carried on regardless, continuing to hide the extent of his discomfort.
Scott's frowned. "Apologise?" He asked. "What for?" He sensed this would be a long conversation and felt uncomfortable stood where he was. Tapping Virgil's legs he indicated for him to move them and sat down, placing his brother's outstretched legs back in his lap.
"I didn't mean to be so short with you earlier, when I came back with Dad." Virgil paused, looking to his hands guiltily. "I was frustrated and I snapped. You didn't deserve that, I'm sorry." He said finally.
Scott sighed, placing his half consumed glass of scotch on the table. "It's okay." He shook his head. "I know everyone's pretty tense at the minute. You and Al are under a lot of strain right now."
"That's no excuse; I shouldn't have let it get to me." Virgil told his brother firmly. "I'm sorry."
"Was it really that bad?" Scott asked, after a short pause. "The interview?" He expanded.
Virgil shrugged. "Worse, I don't think I did much for our case." He muttered looking longingly at the glass of scotch Scott had placed on the table. "Y'know, I thought I'd prepared myself, but …." He trailed off. "It was horrible. They made out that Alan was some kind of spoilt brat, that Sam was incompetent and that I was some kind of victim of my brother's obsession with success." He sighed again. "And I didn't do a lot to disprove their theory." Virgil concluded sadly. There was a pause and Scott was about to jump in, when he continued. "They twisted everything I said!" He exclaimed. "And when I tried to explain what I really meant they twisted it even more." He let his head loll back against the pillows he'd strategically placed around him.
Scott let him talk; watching him screw his fists up into balls at the frustration he felt. He closed his eyes as a wave of sadness overcame him. "I know this isn't much consolation right now but Sam and Alan said the same thing."
"That just makes it worse!" Virgil exclaimed. "I was expecting it to be bad but not that…" He stumbled over the right word. "Antagonistic." He sighed again, half hoping to improve this breathlessness that only increased when he spoke. He wheezed a little, trying to breathe deeply but only really succeeding in pulling on the muscles in his chest. "When I walked in there, I couldn't possibly understand how they could sanction an inquest into Mark's death. It was an accident, pure and simple." Virgil paused and this time it was long enough for Scott to jump in.
"And now you think they will?" He asked, worried at the possibility.
Virgil's answer came in the form of another mournful sigh as he began fiddling with his fingers. "I don't know if Alan would cope, he's pretty strung out at the minute. Hell, I don't know if I would cope." He said unhappily, his gaze drawn back to the scotch.
"We'd get through it." Scott assured him. "The kid's stronger than you think and so are you." He squeezed his hand where it rested on Virgil's calf causing the younger man to smile forlornly. "Do you really think they will?"
Virgil pulled an uncertain expression, tugging his lips together. "Honestly, I just don't know Scott." He said miserably, not moving his gaze.
"You can't drink, not with the pills you've been taking." Scott told him with a sympathetic frown.
"Who says I want to?" Virgil said defiantly.
"I know you." Scott replied. "I know that look."
"What look?" Virgil matched his brother's frown, boldly inviting his brother to explain that comment further.
"That, 'I'm wound up and I need to relax with a drink' look." Scott told him with a smirk of amusement. "You're more like Dad than you think." He commented, knowing the observation would gratify his brother.
"I've got to admit; I could do with one right now." Virgil acknowledged with a sad but knowing smile.
"Well drinking yourself to oblivion isn't going to help with the investigation. Or the possibility of an inquest and it certainly won't make you feel any better." Scott raised an eyebrow to drill his point home.
"Firstly, I never said anything about multiples; just one would be nice. Secondly, you're not exactly in a position to comment. If any one of us is an advocate of Dad's 'Scotch cures everything' policy, it's definitely you." Virgil returned with a smirk of his own, not having missed the comment about how he was feeling. He was pretty sure this was going to turn into another one of Scott's attempts to talk him through the crash. Virgil had other ideas though; Scott had given him all the ammunition he needed by looking at the sketchbook and he planned to use it.
"If it bothers you, I won't drink either." Scott said in response to his brother terse comment. Gulping down the remainder of the amber liquid and placing the glass tumbler alongside the bottle of scotch, he sat back.
"Don't stop on my account." Virgil shook his head, indicating he really didn't mind and truthfully, he didn't. In fact, he doubted if all the scotch in the world multiplied by a thousand could make him feel any better.
"Trust me," Scott replied. "You're not missing out on anything. It sure as hell isn't making me feel any better."
"Who says I want to feel better?" Virgil asked cryptically, looking up to where Scott had rested his head back on the sofa and closed his eyes. Popping his eyes open, he sat forward obviously surprised by the comment. Virgil continued. "And how would you know what constitutes better anyway? How would you know what I'm feeling?"
Scott frowned. "You're right, I don't." He studied his brother, knowing only too well that he was heading into volatile territory. "And I'm not likely too while you don't tell me."
Virgil chortled a sarcastic laugh, turning to his brother with a smirk. "I don't need to tell you." He said shrewdly. "You've seen the drawings." He gestured to the sketchbook and watched Scott squirm slightly.
The older man sighed sadly. "I thought you'd be angry." He commented, watching his brother calmly tap his fingers and take deep breathes.
"I am." Virgil replied quickly. "You, of all people, know how I feel about my drawings; they're personal."
Scott could see Virgil was trying to remain as calm as possible, which didn't always equate to Virgil actually being calm. In fact, sometimes it was worse. Virgil hardly ever got angry; even John's temper was more easily ignited.
Angry Virgil was not good, but angry, quiet Virgil was a recipe for sure disaster.
"I didn't mean to pry." Scott began. "I know they're private. I'm sorry, but I was getting desperate. I'm worried about you Virgil; you're hardly eating anything and you won't talk to me. So what did you expect me to do?"
"Respect the fact that I don't want to talk about it." Virgil suggested, the edge to his voice maintained with half an effort.
Scott sighed. "I can't do that." He muttered. "I'm sorry but I can't let you go on like this."
"Like what?" Virgil asked, tiredly looking away from his brother. A patronising smirk threatening to tug his lips into formation.
"Bottling it all up, it's not good for you. How many times have you told me that?" He paused but it seemed no answer was forthcoming from the chestnut haired man. "This isn't how you do things Virgil; it's not how you deal with things."
Virgil laughed again, condescendingly. "Don't tell me how I deal with things! You don't know anything about how I deal with things." He shook his head and reached out for the sketchbook. "Here." He tossed it to his brother. "Take a look if that's what you want, or have you already had a good look?"
Scott picked the book up from where Virgil had thrown it, half in his lap, half on his brother's legs but he didn't open it. "Virgil, I know you're mad. I shouldn't have looked at the sketchbook but don't you see how worried I am?"
"Worried?" Virgil shook his head. "You're not worried about me. You feel helpless because you weren't the one in the car when it spun. And you feel inadequate because there isn't anything anyone can do to change the situation. What's more; it's out of your control and we all know how much you hate things being out of your control. You're the one that wants to feel better, that's why you're drinking..."
"What I want is for you to talk to me." Scott raised his voice, cutting off the further insults his brother was about to make. He frowned in surprise at the outburst, feeling stung from the truth in parts of it.
"Talk to you?" Virgil shook his head vaguely. "Well what do you want to hear Scott?" Virgil paused, shrugging. "You've seen the sketches, what do you want me to say? That I watched him burn alive. That he was calling out to me to help him. There you go; I've just told you. So now you can pat me on the back and tell me everything's going to be okay. Just like you did when I was ten years old. So long as it makes you feel better." He added.
"Virgil." Scott closed his eyes, shaking his head and sighing. "I thought we were going to talk about this, properly."
"What is there to talk about?" Virgil frowned. "Isn't that what you want me to do? Spill my guts so you can tell me it'll be okay? I'm giving you the ideal opportunity to play you precious role Scott. So, come on, if it's so important to you that you treat us all like kids, get on with it." He paused to watch a mixture of bemusement and outrage settle on Scott's features. "Tell me it'll be okay, that it'll get better; time heals everything and that none of it's my fault. Isn't that what you want us to do? Play vulnerable so as you can feel fulfilled playing big brother."
"No, that's not true or fair. What I want is for you talk to me, I'm trying to help you." Scott sighed, watching his brother's angry attempts at snubbing his support. "I don't understand why you're so intent on withdrawing from anyone who offers you the remotest amount of support."
"You're trying to help me?" Virgil mulled the words over sarcastically, eventually shaking his head. "No Scott." He disagreed. "You feel guilty because I didn't come running to you, ready to pour my heart and soul out on your shoulder." Virgil paused, swinging his legs of Scott's lap with some effort. With a groan of exertion, he got to his feet. "Well, this might be news to you Scott, but we've all grown up. Maybe it's about time you tried that. Look, I'm a big boy now; I can look after myself."
"Really?" Scott questioned, purposely choosing to ignore the other comments. "Is that why you disappeared for three hours yesterday? You could barely stand up when you got back; you only just made it to the bed before you crashed out. Is that what you call looking after yourself?"
Virgil softened instantly. Reminiscent of the state he'd returned in, and the guilt he'd felt at his brothers worry. For a moment, he was set to back down in the knowledge he'd been foolish yesterday; Scott had every right to be angry with him for the way he'd treated his brother. Suddenly though a new wave of frustration struck him, and he realised that he wasn't the only one with cause to feel guilty.
"And snooping through someone's private belongings, is that what you call helping?" Virgil replied, turning the situation around completely and pacing the small area in front of the sofa.
Scott sighed. "I said I'm sorry."
"Yeah, so did I." Virgil returned quickly.
Scott closed his eyes, his head lolling against the sofa once more. "Look…" He exhaled again. "Sit back down." He gestured to the seat Virgil had vacated in favour of pacing the floor, albeit slowly.
"Scared I'll make a run for it?" Virgil retorted. His tone was daring more than it was angry but Scott felt his brother's frustration and annoyance.
"I don't think you're in any condition." Scott said softly, noting how out of breath Virgil had become just from his slow pacing. Virgil looked up to him, hating to admit the fact that Scott was right and he really did need to sit down. Slowly he complied and gently descended back into the space he'd only just relinquished. He leaned against the back of the sofa with a painful sigh, concentrating on righting his wheezy breathing. Scott, by contrast, sat forward in his chair so as to get his brother's attention.
They watched each other, each silently weighing up the other. Consequentially Scott began to wonder if he was capable of resolving the very conversation he'd just instigated. John had been right; this should've been about Virgil and his inability to cope with the situation. However, Virgil's earlier comments had hit a little to close to the mark. Now, it was most definitely not about one or the other, but both.