For once, Scott didn't fight the drip. While it made his job easier, it also made Virgil aware of how bad his brother was feeling. Scott was awake, but he didn't seem entirely lucid, not reacting when Brains arrived or when their grandmother spent a few moments fussing over the blankets. He stared at the ceiling, gaze drifting, unfocused, never settling on one thing for any length of time. Virgil was relieved when he fell back to sleep.
He kept a close eye on his brother, but while Scott's temperature didn't settle, it stopped rising. His colour eased a little as the drip did its job and while his vitals had never been a concern, they returned to more stable levels. Virgil hoped if his brother could sleep for a couple of hours, they might be through the worst of it.
"How is he?"
Virgil jumped, glancing at his watch with a start. He'd promised to keep John informed but hadn't checked in for at least an hour. He'd been too on edge, figuring five more minutes each time just to ensure he wasn't about to jink it and make everything worse.
"Settling," he said, then bit his lip. "I think."
There was no point faking a confidence he didn't feel. John would see straight through him – he always had.
"Any luck tracking down the source?" Virgil continued. "Or even what we're dealing with?"
"Actually, yes," John said. "The rescue in Thailand last week."
"The mud-slide?" It had been a busy week between a mud-slide, tornado and forest fire, and Virgil was losing track of which disaster belonged to which country.
"That's the one. I've been checking local hospitals, and they've had an influx of patients with the same symptoms over the last week. He was in close contact with a lot of people on the ground, would've been easy to pick up."
"Do they know what it is?" Virgil tucked the corner of the blanket back down, needing to be doing something with his hands. Scott twitched but his eyes stayed shut. He'd been getting restless over the last half an hour and Virgil guessed he'd be awake before long.
"A virus. They did the meningitis tests but they were all clear. It's a strain of something I'm not going to attempt to pronounce. I'll send you the details."
Virgil smiled. Even John, with his multiple languages, stumbled over medical terms.
"How are they treating it, and is it working?"
"It seems to burn itself out in a few days," John said, and Virgil could tell he was reading the report as he spoke. "The majority have recovered fine; just a case of controlling their symptoms, keeping them hydrated and flushing it through."
"The majority?"
"You know better than me the dangers of high temperatures," John said softy. "But Scott's strong, and you're dealing with it."
Virgil sighed, staring at Scott. John was right: if most had recovered, there was every chance Scott would. He was healthy, fit, and they had some advanced medical equipment here. But he already was controlling Scott's symptoms, meaning-,
"There's nothing I can do, is there?"
There was no treatment, no cure he could ask Brains to brew up to make Scott better immediately.
"Don't go there." There was a familiar placatory tone to John's voice and Virgil sighed.
"Sorry. I just… I hate I just have to sit here." John would hear what he wasn't saying; Virgil hated seeing Scott like this.
When he next spoke, John's tone was sympathetic.
"You're doing everything he needs right now. I'll contact some of the hospitals and report back if I find out anything more, okay?"
Virgil agreed, squashing the thought that John was able to do more than he could right now. They disconnected, and Virgil shivered at the silence. It was unnerving seeing Scott so still and quiet, even if he was only asleep.
But no sooner had the thought crossed his mind when Scott's eyes opened. No doubt he was as disturbed by the silence as Virgil was. Scott's gaze still seemed unfocused and he frowned as he stared around. With a soft exhale, Virgil reached for the thermometer again. But as he turned back to his brother, he realised Scott was looking directly at him.
"Hey." Virgil smiled, leaning closer. "You with me?"
"Wher'm'I?" Scott slurred, frowning as he looked around.
"The infirmary. You don't remember?"
Scott shook his head. His brother didn't need to ask to know the headache still lingered as pain clouded Scott's eyes. Virgil stood, found what he was looking for and slipped the pain relief into the drip. Scott watched him, his gaze following the tube down to the back of his hand. Virgil knew he hadn't realised it was there until now. Scott's other hand twitched.
"Don't you dare," Virgil warned. "You need it."
The last thing he wanted right now was for Scott to fight him on this. But his tone did the trick and Scott sighed, looking away from the line. His free hand continued to clench though, giving away how unhappy he was about the situation.
"Sorry, big brother," Virgil continued. He sat down again. "That's what you get for fainting on me."
"I remember that," Scott said slowly. "I think I remember being in here, too. I tried to tell you I was fine and got up to go… After that I don't…"
"It's alright, Scott," Virgil said reassuringly. "You've been burning up, it's normal to be disorientated. It'll come back. And if it doesn't, well, you didn't miss much."
He wasn't going to mention Scott's desire to get undressed. The man still had a high temperature; Virgil had no intention of giving him ideas.
But his brother was more lucid now than he'd been for hours. Virgil picked up the thermometer.
Scott closed his eyes in resignation as Virgil put it in his ear. It was a long wait before the tell-tale beep but Virgil took one look and felt an enormous weight lift from him. It was still high, too high, but lower than earlier. It was coming down.
Smiling, Virgil squeezed Scott's shoulder.
"You're gonna be fine," he said. "You get some more sleep, and we'll think about food when you wake up. Deal?"
Scott agreed. Virgil was still trying to recover from the shock of him doing as he was told when the door opened. Their father approached the bed.
"What happened?"
"He woke up."
"M'still awake," Scott mumbled. His eyes didn't open though. Their dad sat down, one hand resting lightly on Scott's shoulder.
"Good to have you back with us, son."
"Didn't go anywhere."
"I'm trying to get him to sleep," Virgil protested.
Scott's eyes opened and he half-heartedly glared at Virgil. "What am I, a baby?"
Virgil would've retorted, but he was too pleased to hear Scott sounding more like himself.
"Go and get some lunch, Virgil," his dad said. He smiled at the pair of them. "I'll get your brother to sleep. I've had enough practice over the years."
Scott scowled while Virgil grinned. If anyone could get Scott into a deep and healing sleep, it was his dad. For once, he didn't mind being made to leave.
He also couldn't deny he was hungry. Breakfast felt a long time ago, and he wondered how Scott and Gordon normally lasted this long.
Promising he'd be straight back, he left the sickbay and wandered through to the kitchen. He yawned as he did so, promising himself he'd make up for the lost sleep once he knew Scott was on the mend.
"How is he?"
Virgil jumped. He hadn't noticed he'd arrived in the kitchen, or that his grandmother was staring at him, her expression concerned. He smiled at her as he slid into a seat.
"Better. He's awake, talking and lucid. His temperature is starting to drop."
His grandmother sagged in relief, one hand resting on the counter to steady herself. Virgil started to rise, but she straightened and turned away. He didn't push it. Their stubbornness hadn't just come from their father, after all, and she was back in seconds, pushing a laden plate in front of him. As she turned away, muttering to herself, he realised she was planning Scott a feast. He didn't mention his brother wouldn't feel like eating a lot for a few days: it was her way of coping and he wouldn't take that away from her.
But she wasn't the only one with coping mechanisms. Everyone on the island had the same training; they could all monitor a temperature and adjust a drip. But Virgil needed to be doing something, and being anywhere else would only result in him worrying. He had to be by Scott's side.
-x-
"C'mon, Virg, let me in." Gordon wheedled, trying to wriggle out of the grip Virgil had on his wrist.
He'd been trying to get in to see Scott for hours. He thought he'd made it this time, even reaching the infirmary doors. But like every other time, Virgil had appeared out of nowhere, an unmoveable mass of brother that Gordon couldn't get past.
"He's got a virus, Gords. It could be contagious."
"It's passing, isn't it? The contagion's probably gone. Anyway, I saw him as much as you before he fell ill, and you haven't caught it. It'll do Scott good to see faces other than your ugly mug."
Virgil let the insult slide – a sign of how worried he was. But his grip loosened and he sighed.
"Don't tire him out," he warned, before letting go. "I'm going to help Brains out for a bit. Call me the second something happens."
"Nothing's going to happen," Gordon protested, "get out of here."
Virgil glared but walked off.
Finally.
Gordon slipped into the infirmary. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. But he smiled when he saw Scott sitting up.
"Hey," Gordon said. He grabbed a chair, swung it around and straddled it, resting his arms on the top as he stared at his biggest brother. "How're you doing?"
"Wonderful," Scott muttered. Gordon lifted an eyebrow and Scott sighed.
"Better," he admitted. He still looked ill and Gordon resisted the urge to press for a more specific answer, knowing how annoying that could be. Virgil had been monitoring everything, and probably knew better than Scott how he was feeling.
"You'll be out of here before you know it," he said in a cheerful tone.
Scott only scowled. "Virgil isn't letting me go anywhere before my temperature is down."
"It's going that way though, right?"
Scott shrugged. "It was. Then it went up again last night. Now I have no idea; he doesn't tell me anything."
Gordon smirked. Typical Virgil. But Scott was flushed, his eyes overly bright. He might've been more lucid than a few days ago, but Virgil was right. Scott wasn't going anywhere just yet.
"Well, you've got me here now."
"Great."
Gordon laughed. "Your enthusiasm is blowing me away," he said. "I could get Al to come-,"
He didn't need to finish: the look on Scott's face gave him the response he wanted. It didn't matter that Alan wasn't a child any longer: Scott still tried to protect him, and that included concealing his own weakness from their little brother. The fact Alan had seen worse on rescues was lost on Scott. Gordon was only grateful he wasn't applying his twisted logic to both of them.
"So," Gordon drawled, hooking his legs over the arm of the chair. "What'd you wanna do?"
He regretted it as soon as Scott looked at him, a gleam flaring in his brother's eyes.
"You know what I really want?" Scott's voice was quiet. Gordon dropped his legs again, leaning forward, intrigued and worried in equal measure.
"What?"
"A sandwich."
"What?" Gordon repeated, incredulous. He hadn't expected that but Scott only shrugged.
"Virg thinks I won't keep food down," he said, "but he's wrong. I'm starving, and I really want a cheese sandwich."
"I don't know-," Gordon began. Virgil tended to know what he was talking about. But Scott looked flushed and ill, and Gordon had come in to help.
"I'd owe you one," Scott said.
"I don't-,"
Wide blue eyes locked onto his. It was hard to look away from the pleading expression…
"Please?"
"Fine!"
It was the 'please' that did it. Scott had bossed him around for years; he didn't often ask nicely. He rarely asked Gordon for a favour at all. And it was only a sandwich… He'd eat it if Scott changed his mind.
He stood up, watching his brother suspiciously. But Scott shook his head.
"I just want a sandwich," he said. "I'd get it myself, but-," he gestured to the line going into his arm.
"Stay there," Gordon warned, stepping towards the door but spinning quickly, expecting Scott to have leapt up the instant his back was turned. His brother slumped against the pillows.
"I'm not going anywhere."
Feeling cornered, Gordon left. He couldn't resist the stuck-in-bed card. He never had. He understood all too well how it felt to want something – to crave it – and not be able to just get it. He wouldn't wish that on anyone.
He moved fast, though. Entering the kitchen at a speed his grandmother wouldn't approve of, he grabbed the bread and snatched up a knife. Familiar footsteps sounded behind him and Gordon turned, the knife held out in front of him.
"It's your fault," he said as Virgil stopped, eyeing him. "If you'd just given him a sandwich-,"
"I did," Virgil interrupted, frowning. "About an hour ago."
"But," Gordon began, "he said…"
He trailed off, staring at his brother. Virgil stared back then, simultaneously, understanding dawned. Gordon swore, throwing down the knife and setting off at a run back the way he'd come, Virgil on his heels. Slamming his hand against the controls, Gordon skidded to a stop as he entered the infirmary.
The empty infirmary.
"Damn it!" He swore, running a hand through his hair. "He knew I wouldn't resist the helpless card."
Ill and feverish, Scott had still played him. Gordon glanced at his brother but Virgil shook his head.
"He was going to try it on someone," he said, but it didn't make Gordon feel any better.
He moved to the door, glancing either way down the hallway. They hadn't passed Scott, but that didn't narrow the possibilities by much.
"Where'd you think he's gone?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder. Virgil shook his head, his fingers already ghosting over his watch. It would take John seconds to track their older brother. Then Virgil paused.
"What was he like?" he asked. "How was he acting?"
Gordon thought for a moment, then recounted everything he could remember about his conversation with Scott. By the time he finished, Virgil was nodding.
"Last time he was like that with me, he wanted to strip off because he was too hot."
Gordon smirked, knowing by his brother's expression there was more to that story than Virgil was admitting. But he didn't say anything; he didn't want Virgil to change his stance on holding Gordon responsible for Scott's escape.
"So, if he's too hot, where would he go?" Gordon said thoughtfully. He looked at Virgil. Virgil looked at him.
"The pool," they said together.
Gordon shook his head, amused and grinning. The feeling quickly faded when he saw Virgil's expression.
"What?"
"He's feverish and hot. Submerging in cold water?"
Gordon didn't need Virgil to say any more. He knew the risks better than any of them. There was a second as they both looked at each other, then sprinted for the door.
Gordon took the lead, his brother on his heels. Running through the house, he leapt over a coffee table even as Virgil skirted around it. He was surprised how fast Scott had moved given he was ill.
"Boys!"
Neither slowed as their father's shout rang after them. Gordon was aware of the man coming to his office door, no doubt wondering what was going on; it had been years since he'd last reprimanded them for running through the house. But he didn't slow; not when he could see Scott through the patio doors. His brother was still on dry land, but right on the edge of the pool.
Gordon threw out an arm, stopping Virgil from dashing outside. Startling Scott was the worst thing they could do right now. Instead, Gordon opened the door quietly and slipped outside, Virgil shadowing him.
"Scotty?" Virgil said, his voice soft. "Wanna come inside now?"
Scott turned, and Gordon cursed himself again for having fallen for his brother's ploy. In the broad daylight, the flush on Scott's cheeks and the glazed look in his eyes was clearer than before. He should've known!
"C'mon, Scott," Virgil continued, his tone soothing, "you'll cool off inside."
"No!" Scott snapped. "Stop telling me what to do."
"Ok-ay." Gordon stepped forward; hands held out placatingly when Scott looked at him suspiciously. "How about I help you out, big brother?"
Gordon sensed rather than saw Virgil also move closer while Scott's attention was on him.
"I'm going in." Scott sounded as obstinate as a child, but Gordon nodded.
"I know," he said, his voice calm.
Then he moved – too fast for Scott's feverish mind to keep up. He grasped his brother's arm in a grip Scott couldn't break, pulling him back from the water's edge. Even as Scott tried to struggle against him, Virgil closed in, taking his other arm. Between them, they manhandled their brother back inside. Gordon let go for long enough to shut and lock the door for good measure before resuming his grip.
"What is going on?"
Their father was watching, gaze darting between the three of them. Understanding dawned even as Virgil tugged Scott forward a step.
"It's past someone's bedtime," Virgil said through gritted teeth. Gordon knew that, like him, he had no intention of letting go until Scott was safely back in the infirmary – where he belonged.