Based on a prompt from i-write-whump

Warning for mentions of blood

Scott sighed. Another ridiculous rescue, another idiotic invention, another near miss. Maybe he should listen to Gordon's idea of charging 'frequent rescuee's' for the service. He shook his head. 1am was not a good time for such thoughts.

Completing post-flight checks and making his way back up to the lounge, he was surprised by the dull ache from his left arm. Damn stupid robot had almost taken it off, but a couple of stretches and he was good. Virgil's voice niggled in the back of his mind - he really should get it checked out - but he was exhausted and, although he knew Virgil wouldn't mind being woken up, his brother needed sleep.

Scott collapsed face-down on the bed, too tired to do anything more than remove his footwear.

Gordon was up for his usual glass of water in the middle of the night. Seriously, why he never thought to take one to bed with him he'd never know, but he was so used to this habit he could navigate the villa without turning any lights on.

A few steps from his room and he stepped in something...yucky. Sticky but slippery enough that he fell with a startled yelp. He sat there for a second, hoping against hope that he hadn't woken Scott up, since he'd just passed his room.

Bizarrely, it wasn't Scott who came out to see what all the noise was, it was Virgil. This caused Gordon to frown. Why hadn't Scott appeared, and why had Virgil?

Virgil, not having the inbuilt echolocation of his fish brother, switched the lights on. It took a few seconds to blink away the bright spots, but Virgil's gasp got Gordon up and turning to see what had caused his brother to go white.

Along the hall was a perfect trail of blood.

It was still tacky, and indeed, Gordon had slipped on it, knowing without looking he'd have a red patch on his shorts.

The two looked at each other, then at Scott's door, where a larger collection of blood shows the source. Muttering curses - and probably worse - under his breath, Virgil charged through the door. And stopped.

Scott hadn't even taken his uniform off. He was curled up slightly on the sheet, but what had made Virgil stop was the fact that the white sheet was not white where Scott was lying on it. How his brother hadn't been aware he'd been bleeding was a major cause for concern, as was the fact that Scott hadn't stirred at all.

The pause was only seconds long before Virgil called John and battle stations declared, worry turning into fear when Scott couldn't be roused and the medscan showing major blood loss from an injury to his upper left arm.

Scott remained unconscious through being moved, through Virgil digging around his arm and pulling out a shard of metal that had lodged itself into the vein, preventing Scott from bleeding out quickly but still meaning he lost a lot of blood. There were a lot of stitches, a need for the synth-blood and an IV. And still Scott slept.

Scott woke up sore and thirsty. He felt like he'd drunk too much and had the mother of all hangovers, but he didn't recall drinking. In fact, he just remembered exhaustion and the need to sleep.

He became aware of a beeping noise, and frowned. He didn't usually set an alarm, he didn't need them, so what was that beeping? It was annoying. Opening his eyes, he stared stupidly at the room.

This wasn't his bedroom.

Why was he in the infirmary? Why were all his brothers - even John - asleep around him? Why was he hooked up to a monitor? Scott tried to sit up, only, when he tried to move his left arm he found he couldn't, and the pain that shot through him caused him to gasp.

This set of a chain reaction so that within 30 seconds of gasping all his brothers were awake and staring at him. Scott suddenly felt uncomfortable.

Virgil, ever the medic, went through a series of tests now Scott was awake without answering the demands to know what the hell was going on. Once he'd finished Virgil nodded to John and the spaceman ushered the others out.

Scott knew he was in trouble, but he didn't know why. His brother came and sat beside him, taking his right hand and squeezing it. The smile was warm and only slightly worried, no anger at all.

'You were injured, Scott, and you lost a lot of blood.' Was he? He didn't remember, and his confusion must have shown as the hand was squeezed again. 'That robot, somehow. Anyway. You passed out in your room and it was Gordon who realised something was wrong.' A slightly haunted look entered his brother's eyes, and Scott squeezed back.

'You've been unconscious for two days.' Scott could almost feel his eyebrows shoot into his hair. Two days! No wonder his brothers were here and worried.

It took another two days for Scott to be cleared from the infirmary. Another three weeks with physio before he was declared fit. Some deep and reassuring conversations with John and Gordon. New protocols were implemented, that any solo mission required a medscan before flying home.

Hopefully, this wouldn't happen again