Sorry for delays, I seem to be having a problem with that I'm getting no emails through whatsoever.

"Scott!"

One glance was all it had taken for Virgil to know he needed to get to Scott, regardless of whether his brother would admit anything was wrong. But it meant Virgil was already halfway up the steps when Scott's eyes rolled. Even as he pitched towards the railings, Virgil darted onto the platform and grabbed a fistful of his brother's shirt. Gritting his teeth, he twisted his hand, changing Scott's momentum and bringing him back the other way – to safety.

There was no reaction from Scott. Virgil grunted as he took his brother's full weight, but there was no space to lower him properly, not with them both on the observation deck. He hooked his hands under Scott's shoulders, looking down into the pale face for a few seconds.

"What's wrong with you?" Virgil demanded, knowing he wouldn't get an answer: Scott was a dead weight in his arms. They lived a healthy lifestyle and were normally so isolated on the island that rescues were the only time they were at risk from infection. This wasn't from the fire – it was too fast, given Virgil knew Scott hadn't felt right while they were out there.

But he'd have to deal with that later. For now, he needed to get his brother comfortable - ideally with something other than him supporting Scott's weight.

He backed up the best he could and, with some awkward manoeuvring, hoisted Scott half over his shoulder. It wasn't secure, but it was enough; Virgil soon had them both back to the silo floor.

He didn't stop there, though. Changing his grip, he hauled Scott into Two's sickbay. If Scott was about to wake up, it'd be easier getting him upstairs when conscious. And if he wasn't… the hover stretchers were right there.

"You need to lay off the pie," Virgil grumbled, half-lifting, half-dropping Scott onto the nearest bed. There was already more colour in Scott's face. Virgil wasted no time monitoring his brother's pulse and, once satisfied, reached for the thermometer. The reading made him wince, but at least it explained Scott's swan-dive. He only wished it could tell him exactly what he was dealing with.

As he turned to pick up the cuff to take Scott's blood pressure, a confused voice called him back.

"Virg?"

Virgil spun with a relieved smile, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder to stop him from rising.

"Lie still, Scott. You fainted."

"What'd I do that for?" Scott grumbled, ignoring Virgil's hand and shifting his weight so he could prop himself up on his elbows.

"You tell me," Virgil said with a grin. "You're the one saying you're fine."

"I am."

Virgil rolled his eyes, saw Scott's colour change again, and handed him a container in time for his brother to retch.

When Scott fell back, panting weakly and flushed, Virgil rested his hand against his brother's forehead.

"You're burning up," he said, concern lacing his tone. "Anything you haven't reported?"

An infected wound could have this sort of reaction. Scott shook his head.

"No."

"You sure?" Virgil knew his brother. But Scott met his gaze.

"There's nothing."

Virgil believed him: Scott's tone was sincere, and he was certain anything that could cause this wouldn't have escaped his notice – they'd been around each other too much over the last few days.

"Well, something isn't right," Virgil muttered, more to himself than to his brother. "C'mon, let's get you upstairs. You need fluids and Brains needs to take some bloods."

He knew it was coming this time, and his hand was already back on Scott's shoulder when he tried lurching up again. It still took no effort to shove him back – which told Virgil more than any test result could. He pinned his brother with a glare and activated his watch.

"John?"

Scott winced. Virgil knew he hated anyone knowing when he wasn't on top of his game, but he couldn't do this alone if Scott was going to be stubborn. As John picked up, Virgil kept a close eye on his eldest brother.

"Can you tell Brains to get a bed ready? Scott just fainted."

There was a slight pause. "Done. He okay?"

"He's conscious," Virgil muttered. "Thanks, Johnny. I'll let you know when I have more news."

Scott glared at him. "I'm fine," he insisted.

Virgil shook his head. John wouldn't go broadcasting it to the entire island, and Virgil would rather not waste any more time when they got upstairs.

"Let me run some tests. Then, if it's all clear, no one else needs to know."

They both knew he meant Gordon and Alan. But Virgil had a feeling it wouldn't be that simple. Healthy young men didn't faint with raging temperatures if nothing was wrong. He also couldn't remember the last time Scott was ill. The checks would put his own mind at ease more than anything.

"Come on," he said, helping Scott up and ignoring his protests. When his brother insisted he could walk on his own, Virgil let go, knowing what was coming. Sure enough, Scott swayed on the spot, and didn't complain when Virgil pulled his arm over his own shoulders, supporting him.

Neither of them spoke as they staggered from the silos. Virgil was thinking hard about what could be wrong. The most logical answer was something Scott had picked up on a mission, but none of the rest of them were ill – and the last rescue before the fire, Alan and Gordon had been out there with them. He hoped Brains could find answers quickly, so they knew what they were dealing with.

Scott said nothing, but Virgil had a suspicion it was because of his bother not wanting to admit how much of a challenge putting one foot in front of the other was right now.

To Virgil's relief, Gordon and Alan were still outside. Their father appeared at the kitchen door, hearing their heavy tread. Virgil grimaced but didn't say anything, just tilted his heard at an unobservant Scott. It said enough, and he shadowed them to the infirmary.

"Virg…" As the doors came into view, Scott realised there'd be no escape. He straightened up, trying to pull away.

Virgil rolled his eyes, tightening his grip and glancing at his dad. It was enough for Jeff to step closer with a warning look on his face, and Scott sighed. He didn't resist as Virgil opened the door, led his brother inside and dumped him unceremoniously on a bed. Safely depositing Scott, he touched his watch.

"Brains?"

"On m-my w-way."

Sending a silent thank you to John, Virgil stood in front of Scott and folded his arms. His brother looked resigned.

"You're not going to let me get out of this, are you?"

"You fainted on me; what d'you think?" Virgil said. Then, "why didn't you tell me how you were feeling?"

"I didn't know I was feeling it."

Virgil snorted in disbelief. Before he had the chance to say anything else, his father touched his arm.

"Maybe the benefit of the doubt this once?" His tone was soft.

Virgil couldn't argue with them both. He sighed, uncrossing his arms and letting himself relax. Brains couldn't have picked a better moment to arrive. Without even looking at them, he bustled about, getting everything ready. Scott was eyeing him with trepidation.

"You've done these loads of times," Virgil said, trying to sound reassuring. Scott gave him a scathing look.

"That's how I know Brains likes to get carried away!"

Virgil smirked, but their dad stepped between them again.

"You're ill, Scott. Brains will get to the bottom of it." There was a no-nonsense tone to his voice. But Virgil wasn't sure if it was an order for Scott to back down, or a request to Brains not to become caught up in his tests.

It worked, though. Scott rolled his eyes, but held out his arm, looking put-out. Virgil caught his wrist, steadying him as he found a vein for Brains. The quicker they got this over with, the better. It took Brains less than a moment to draw a phial of blood; it took even less for him to hurry away, muttering about getting the results as quick as he could.

"Happy now?" Scott scowled. Virgil smiled sweetly as he handed his brother a pad to press against the puncture mark.

"You know you're not going anywhere until I've seen them for myself?"

"What? Virgil!"

By the time Virgil reached the door, Scott was on his feet. But that was for his father to deal with, and Virgil hurried away. He hastened to Brains' lab and - sure enough – the genius was already pouring over Scott's sample. Virgil stayed quiet, not wanting to interrupt. Brains was thorough, especially when one of them was sick.

Virgil shifted his weight. Then tapped his foot, before realising what he was doing and catching himself. When Brains started muttering to himself, not realising he wasn't alone, Virgil spoke.

"Anything?"

His friend jumped. Virgil gave him an apologetic smile and moved closer. Brains made way for him.

"A virus," Brains said.

Virgil looked through the lens himself. It took him a few seconds to focus, then saw what Brains meant. Something was attacking his brother's white blood cells – and it was vicious.

"Any ideas where he got it from?" he asked. "Why aren't the rest of us sick?"

"You may not, uh, be displaying s-symptoms yet," Brains said. Virgil pulled a face: he'd wanted the man to say it wasn't contagious, even though that wouldn't explain how Scott picked it up.

He stepped away again, and Brains resumed his place at the microscope. Virgil bit his lip, but there was nothing for him to do here.

"Let me know if you find anything?" he asked, backing out before Brains could answer. It was a pointless request: Brains would report anything he found straight away.

There wasn't a lot Virgil could do if it was a virus. But he could get his brother's fluid levels up and try to counter the headache and the dizziness. Brains would identify the cause; Virgil would deal with the symptoms.

The infirmary doors opened silently, but Virgil paused on the threshold when he saw the scene in front of him.

Scott was back on the bed, but their father was next to him, a hand on his son's shoulder. The fact Scott was letting it happen told Virgil a lot. He entered, the doors closing behind him just as quietly as they'd opened. As he stepped in, Virgil saw his brother had his head in his hands.

"Getting worse?" he asked softly. While his dad looked up, Scott didn't move. He didn't need to; the tension running through him gave Virgil his answer. He moved closer, putting a gentle hand on his brother's forehead. The touch alone was enough to feel his brother's temperature was still too high. But Scott had already taken medication: Virgil was limited with what else he could do.

"What does Brains say?" His dad asked, standing up. Virgil grimaced.

"Some sort of virus," he reported. "We'll need to keep Gords and Alan out of here until we know more."

"And you?"

He should've known his dad would see through him. Virgil shrugged.

"He fainted on me," he said, "chances are if it's contagious, it's already too late."

He kept his tone light, but the glint in his eye told his dad what words would not. He wasn't leaving Scott, regardless of the risk. Virgil figured it was only because he'd been in close contact with his brother already that meant his father didn't argue.

"He-,"

"He is fine," Scott muttered, cutting off their dad. He braced himself to stand, but Virgil shook his head when their father made to intercept. Some things were easier for Scott to find out for himself.

His brother made it upright, even took a step. But then Virgil was there, grabbing his elbow when Scott lurched.

"World spinning too fast there, Scotty?"

Scott's colour drained; his eyes screwed shut as he nodded – which made him pale even further. Virgil gently manoeuvred him back towards the bed.

"You need to sit down," he said, "and stay there."

Despite his order, Virgil was shocked when Scott sat without complaint, then swung his legs up and lay back. His brother's eyes remained closed as he rested against the pillow. Virgil stared at him, uncertain whether to be suspicious, when a hand touched his shoulder.

"Let him rest," his dad murmured.

Virgil nodded, stepping back from the bed but unable to look away from Scott. He heard his father leave, but knew he was only going to fetch a coffee. He'd be back – and Virgil hoped he brought two drinks with him. Not knowing what else to do, he poured some water for Scott, putting it on the bedside table.

"You should drink something."

"Feel sick," Scott muttered. "Gonna sleep."

"Couple of mouthfuls? Then you can sleep?"

Scott opened his eyes and glared. Virgil bit back a grin. Scott had the power to make men of authority – as well as his brothers – squirm under that glare. Right now, he looked more like Alan pouting than the Field Commander that Virgil was used to.

"Bossy," Scott grumbled, but he reached for the glass. Before Virgil could stop him, he'd gulped down most of it.

"You know what we usually say about sipping…?"

"Now can I sleep?" If Scott registered his words, he gave no sign of it.

Virgil nodded. Satisfied Scott's fluid levels were as they should be, he had no grounds to say no. Sleep was the best thing – he just hadn't expected Scott to give in so easily.

His brother was asleep as soon as he hit the pillow. Virgil watched for a moment, but Scott wasn't feigning it. That, more than anything Brains could come up with, told him his brother was ill.

He moved away again, thinking through various medications that might come in useful. But before he took more than a couple of steps, his watch vibrated.

"How is he?" John asked with no preamble.

Virgil glanced at Scott. "Asleep," he said.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing!" Virgil protested, unsure whether to be offended by John's words. "He had a dizzy spell, laid down and decided he wanted a nap."

"That's good, right?"

Virgil understood John's hesitance. He – like Virgil – understood it was the best thing for Scott. He also – like Virgil – knew how rare it was for Scott to give in. Virgil thought he might prefer his brother fighting him, not that he'd ever admit it.

"I guess," he muttered. "Brains said it's a virus. It's hitting him hard: he's burning up."

"He'll be fine." John's tone was reassuring. "Nothing holds Scott down for long. Make the most of the peace and quiet. Get things ready. You know, the usual; restraints, sedatives-,"

"John!" Virgil laughed before glancing at Scott. He hadn't disturbed his brother. He heard John chuckle and knew it was the response his brother had been aiming for. It had worked: Virgil didn't feel the infirmary was stifling him any longer.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I probably should prepare."

"I'll get Brains to send me the results," John said. "I might identify where he picked this up from."

Virgil nodded. If they could find a source, it would help discover what they were dealing with. That was John's speciality – getting answers.

Virgil's, however, was dealing with Scott. He moved around the infirmary, getting out anything he thought they might need. As he put the blood pressure cuff down to one side, his fingers ghosted over the oxygen mask in the same box. His hand was shaking.

Slamming the lid shut, Virgil turned away. John was right: Scott was going to be fine. There was no need for equipment like that.

"Virg?"

Looking around, Virgil grinned at seeing his father reappear and the two steaming mugs in the man's hand. Virgil took his with a word of thanks, sitting on the edge of Scott's bed. With one leg curled under him, he sipped his drink.

"Definitely sick if coffee isn't bringing him around," he murmured. His tone wasn't as light as he intended.

"Brains is on it," his dad reassured him, pulling around another chair so he could sit by Scott's side. "And I've told Gordon and Alan to stay clear."

Despite his father's calm tone, Virgil noted he hadn't looked away from Scott either.

"What did you tell them?" Virgil asked, intrigued despite himself.

"The truth." His dad looked nonplussed as he frowned at Virgil.

Virgil pulled a face. "He's going to love that."

The one thing Scott hated more than being sick was the others knowing about it. He'd got it into his head that being the eldest meant being invulnerable. How he'd hope to conceal a trip to the infirmary though, Virgil didn't know.

"He'll get over it." His father's tone was dismissive. A sulking son was better than a sick one.

"Yeah," Virgil muttered. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do now – fully aware there was nothing he could do and hating it. His dad read his mind.

"Brains will come up with something," he said, "and Scott will be fine. You've all fought viruses before."

"I guess." Virgil knew he didn't sound convinced.

For all of Scott's pretence, it was rare he got sick – it was usually injuries that landed him in bed. It was unsettling seeing him like this.

Only once his brother was awake and making Virgil's life hell, then he'd believe that he would be okay.