By the following morning, Scott pinned the entire episode on dehydration. He felt fine when his alarm went off, and nothing changed as he dressed and stretched for his run.

He left his room, moving silently along the hallway. He loved the island at this time of day. It was a rare moment of peace before it came a centre for chaos – whether as headquarters for International Rescue or a base of operations for the Tracy family. Neither were peaceful.

Movement out of the corner of his eye made Scott turn. He grinned at Gordon, who smiled back, a towel thrown over one shoulder. Gordon was calm at this time of day. He needed the swim to focus his mind, turning him into the whirlwind of energy he was known for. Scott wondered if the rest of the family ever saw him like this.

They made their way through the villa, Gordon stepping back to let Scott open the doors leading outside. The air was refreshing, and he breathed deeply as he walked past the pool.

Gordon tossed his towel on a lounger.

"See you at breakfast?"

Scott nodded, pausing to watch Gordon slip into the pool with barely a ripple. Knowing he could watch Gordon swim for hours if given the chance – his brother had an elegance in the water that Scott didn't understand – he instead turned and made his way to the beach.

The sun had crested the horizon, bathing the beach in soft, golden light, but it was still cool at this time. Scott rolled his neck, stretched out his body, and started to run.

Ten minutes later, he stopped. He bent over, hands on his knees and eyes squeezed shut as he focused on breathing. With baby-steps, he shuffled into the shade of the cliffs, needing to get out of the sun.

His headache was back with a vengeance. One moment he'd been fine; the next, his skull was splitting open. Scott stretched out a hand blindly until it rested on the rock-face, refusing to sit down. If he did, he wasn't sure he'd get back up again. He'd barely started his run, yet his legs were trembling as if he'd pushed himself too far. A few steps didn't account for this; he couldn't blame it on the exercise.

Wondering if he was better working through the pain, that getting the blood flowing would make him feel better, Scott straightened up. He wondered how many times he could tell himself he'd moved too fast before he believed it was responsible for the wave of dizziness that accompanied his actions.

But he had no excuses ready for why he threw up as soon as he was upright. He was hot – hotter than he should be - and his forehead was damp with sweat when he wiped his hand over it. His head pounded with each beat of his heart and his throat was burning. There would be no morning run for him.

Feeling miserable, Scott turned and slowly picked his way back up the beach. Gordon was still moving effortlessly through the water and Scott had a flash of envy even while feeling grateful his brother didn't notice him slip back inside.

Grabbing some water, Scott took a mouthful to calm his throat, then rested the cool glass against his forehead. He felt better already.

He drank the rest walking back to his room, then headed for the shower. Just because he couldn't run didn't mean he had any intention of the others finding out. He'd go through the rest of his usual routine, and they'd be none the wiser.

He stepped under the jet, winced and turned it down. A few seconds later and he adjusted the temperature again, then again. But no matter how low he went, it still felt too warm. When he suddenly realised he was shivering, Scott gave up and snapped the water off.

He dried then pulled on a pair of loose shorts. He didn't see the point of dressing properly until he knew what his temperature was doing. As he reached the door, he paused. If he truly didn't want the others knowing, he needed to stay out the way until Gordon had come in, then emerge when he heard movement elsewhere.

Not in the mood to do anything productive, Scott sat on his bed. After a few seconds, he toppled back so he was staring at the ceiling.

A few seconds after that, and he was fast asleep.

"-ott? Scott?"

"Mm?" Scott opened his eyes, wincing as bright sunlight flooded his room. He groaned, turning his head from it. He felt someone stand up from his bed, then the room dimmed as the curtains fell across the window. Scott felt his eyes relax, and his head ease accordingly. Able to look up, he saw his father watching him in concern.

Urgency flashed through Scott.

"What's wrong?" He pushed himself upright, preparing to rise. He'd only sat down for a few moments; something must have happened for his dad to have stopped by his room. A hand on his shoulder stopped him rising further.

"It's mid-day, son." His father's voice was gentle as he sat back down. "Even Virgil's up."

"But-," Scott stared. He could've sworn he'd only just sat down. "I went back to sleep?"

"It appears so." His dad sighed, watching him closely. "Is everything alright, Scott?"

"Fine."

"Now the truth."

Scott tried not to squirm at the look he was being subjected to, but then his dad spoke again.

"I know you've got a headache. What else?"

"Nothing," Scott mumbled, not sure his father believed him. The intensity of the man's stare hadn't lessened, and Scott felt like a ten-year-old caught red-handed.

"So, it's just a headache?"

"Yes!"

"Well, at least you're admitting you have one," his dad muttered. Scott flushed, sitting up. This time, he was allowed.

"I'm fine, Dad. Honest." He met his father's gaze head-on, adamant he wouldn't be the first to look away.

He lost, unable to resist the temptation of the plain bedspread he was currently sitting on.

Luckily, his father only sighed, and stood up.

"Get something to eat, Scott. Then I want you to relax for the rest of the day."

"I don't need- I'm fine."

"I'll turn that into an order if I have to." Although his dad's tone was mild, Scott swallowed. That wasn't his father speaking, but his commander.

They hadn't reported Virgil's leg. If anything came up and he was under orders to rest, he didn't have the grounds to stop Virgil being out there without him. His brother was sensible; he wouldn't go if he couldn't handle it, but without the medical record to back him up, there'd be nothing Scott could do.

He scowled at his father's satisfied chuckle, watching as the man left the room. He couldn't tell if he'd been bluffing or not, but it had worked.

Scott stood, blinking rapidly as he tried to focus. This was getting annoying now. He hadn't been properly ill for years, and certainly hadn't missed it. The dizziness soon passed, though, and Scott headed out, still not seeing the point of putting a shirt on. He headed to the kitchen.

He glanced through the door, and promptly tried to turn on his heel, but-,

"Oh no, you don't." Virgil had seen him. "Get your ass in here, Scott."

Scott stopped. Virgil had a mug in one hand, and his hair sticking up in all directions from where he'd just dragged his fingers through it, yawning. But he still looked more alert than Scott felt. Not, however, that he intended for Virgil to know that.

He faked a smile and entered.

"How's your leg?"

"Sit." Virgil didn't give him a choice: the hand on his shoulder, the pressure and the stool behind his knees saw to that. Scott sighed as he sat down, before realising Virgil had put his mug reached out, snagging it for himself. The coffee was lukewarm – Virgil had obviously been waiting for him – but that didn't stop Scott finishing it.

"So?" Virgil prompted when Scott didn't say anything. "Why've you only just woken up?"

"Bad night," Scott lied. "Thought I'd sleep in."

"Bull. Gordon said you went out for a run like usual, but were asleep before he got inside."

"Since when do you believe Gordon over me?" Scott asked, incredulous.

"Since you're ill and Gordon wouldn't lie about something like this. You came in early and fell back to sleep, didn't you?"

"So? Aren't I allowed a rest now and again?" Scott couldn't help snapping, putting the cup down and standing up. They all made such a big deal out of nothing!

No matter what his father and brother thought, he was fine. If he needed a slightly easier day than normal, well, he didn't see it was such a crime. He took a step towards the door.

"That's not going to work, Scott."

Scott glanced over his shoulder at the sympathetic tone in Virgil's voice. His brother had taken a step forward, his expression matching his voice. Virgil held up a hand before Scott could argue.

"Look, I've spoken to John: we know you're not going to back down. So, come with me to the infirmary, I'll give you something for your headache, then I'll leave you alone, deal?"

"You're kidding." Scott couldn't help sounding suspicious.

"I'm not."

"It'll keep you off my back?"

"I swear. Let me help, alright?"

Scott nodded, albeit reluctantly. It was a sign of how bad he was feeling but this offer seemed too good to be true.

Virgil was instantly by his side, making him blink. Had he always been able to move that fast? Scott dragged his feet as they headed towards the infirmary, but it was partly for show. If he was honest, he wouldn't mind something to stop his head pounding. Virgil still seemed convinced he was going to flee in the opposite direction though, never moving more than a couple of paces away.

When they reached the infirmary, Scott paused in the doorway. Virgil rolled his eyes as he brushed past, but didn't speak. Knowing John was also involved made Scott hesitate: he wouldn't put it past them to take one step forward and find the doors remotely locked.

Virgil ignored him, rifling in a cupboard before returning, two tablets in his hand.

"Eat something with them," he instructed, handing them over, "I'll be in Two's silos if you need me."

With that, Virgil left, leaving Scott standing there. His fingers curled around the tablets and he smiled, turning back towards the kitchen. He was grateful that Virgil was giving him space – Scott couldn't honestly say he would've done the same thing if their positions were reversed.

It didn't take long to eat and wash down the tablets with a hot coffee. The food and caffeine, coupled with the pain relief, meant Scott was feeling a lot better an hour later. He considered going to the silos himself, but was unwilling to push his father, uncertain where the line between relaxing and working was supposed to be. There was something he could do though, a job that would keep everyone off his back.

He got what he needed from his room, threw on a shirt, and ten minutes later, was sitting on a sun lounger with his headphones on. Virgil had straightened out the bolts for him a while ago; this was the first chance Scott had had to oil them.

He couldn't turn off his instincts though. While he wasn't sure if it was having four younger siblings, or being the Field Commander for an advanced rescue operation, it took no effort to duck to one side when he sensed Alan coming up behind him. The youngest Tracy pulled a face but laughed, sitting on the edge of Scott's lounger. Scott dangled his headphones around his neck.

"If I didn't know better," Alan began, his voice teasing, "I'd say this was as close as you got to relaxing."

Scott rolled his eyes, returning to the task at hand. The last thing he was going to do was admit Alan was right.

"Gordon? Hey, Gords! Come here! Doesn't it look like Scott's relaxing?"

Scott bit back a groan. Gordon wouldn't be so easily fooled, not given that he'd noticed Scott's early return that morning. The fact that he'd told Virgil already gave away that he was worried. Sure enough, Gordon looked concerned as he wandered over. He glanced at Scott, then shoved Alan.

"Oh, go drown yourself, Al, he's working."

"He's oiling bolts." The deadpan note in Alan's voice made Scott look skyward, but Gordon held their brother's stare.

"And when One needs an emergency repair and all the bolts are rusted? Then what do we do?"

Alan opened his mouth, then realised he didn't have an answer. Gordon gave him another shove.

"Go on, I'll be over in a sec."

Alan walked off, leaving Scott staring after him. Now he was the concerned one.

"What're you two up to?"

"Nothing."

Scott wasn't fooled by Gordon's innocent expression. But then his brother took Alan's spot and sat down. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

"I thought bolts were important?" Scott said. Gordon rolled his eyes.

"If you'd rather have Alan on your case for eternity, I can call him back. But he's right. This is as close to relaxing as you get. Dad told you to, didn't he?"

"Maybe," Scott mumbled, avoiding his brother's gaze. But Gordon stood, squeezing Scott's shoulder. When he looked up, it was to see a sympathetic expression on Gordon's face.

"A bit of down-time won't hurt."

"Your down-time might," Scott retorted. He wasn't reassured when Gordon winked and disappeared after Alan.

His brothers had meant well. But Scott suddenly wasn't in the mood for this. There was nothing wrong with him and he had other things to do than oil a few bolts. He'd just have to prove to the rest of the family that he was fine.

He stood up with no light-headedness, and there was no drastic flare in temperature other than the natural change as he moved back into the house. He slipped the bolts in his pocket, put the oil on the side, and headed towards the silos.

If he offered to help Virgil, his brother wouldn't complain; he could at least satisfy his worry by keeping an eye on Scott himself that way.

Rolling his eyes at his little brothers - all four of them – Scott shivered as he took the elevator down into the silos.

Once down there, however, he continued to shiver. Considering he could feel sweat beading his hairline, Scott told himself it was just his imagination; a change from the heat outside to the cool temperature within.

"Virgil?" His brother's music was coming from Two's hanger, but there was no telling which bay he was in. Each pod had its own space, and Virgil could be anywhere. Deciding he couldn't be bothered walking around them all looking for him, Scott took the steps two at a time to the small observation platform. It overlooked most of Two's area, and Scott was still certain it had been installed just so they didn't have to physically search for Virgil every time.

Spotting his brother by the Firefly, Scott intended to step down from the platform. But something was wrong. He wasn't warm anymore: he was boiling. His hand shook as he took hold of the railing and there was a strange, detached feeling floating in his head, as if he wasn't entirely connected to his body. He swallowed hard, staring intently at the platform, trying to force it into focus, but the entire thing rippled in his gaze.

"Scott?"

Virgil's sounded muffled, and Scott shook his head. He could see Virgil below, but he could have been the other end of the silos for all the good it did him. He suddenly retched, head pounding with such an intensity that he groaned, and it was taking all his strength to stop his legs from buckling.

"Scott, I need you to sit down." Virgil's voice was a calming beacon in his hazy mind. Scott recognised it: the tone his brother used to talk hysterical victims into calming down and following his lead. He'd never realised how reassuring it was until now.

He knew what Virgil wanted him to do. But doing it was the issue. As soon as he tried to move, he retched again.

"Virg?" His voice was a hoarse whisper. He felt stranger with every second that passed and he could've sworn someone had dimmed the lights.

"It's alright, Scott. I'm coming." Virgil's voice was calm but his running footsteps gave him away.

He wasn't supposed to cause issues for his brothers, he was supposed to help, make things right…

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind when Scott lost control.

The whole world swam. A vague thought about being too close to the edge of the platform flickered through his mind, but it was the last conscious thought he had. Everything turned black, and Scott fell into it.