Warning: Possible trigger for religion (Catholicism).

Two: Three Minutes

"Virg-"

The comm went off for the third time in as many minutes, but once again he swiped it away, sending it back into silence. He didn't mean to shut John out; Scott was his brother too, but he just needed a minute. Just a minute to process what he'd been given and what they could have lost, all in the same terrible moment.

Like a holographic jack-in-the-box, John's form popped back into view, eyes blazing, body rigid. "Don't," he snarled.

"Sorry. Been a lot going on." Virgil pinched the bridge of his nose with his right hand, willing his breath to slow. He would not lose it. He would not. Breathe.

"What's Scott's status?" John continued, hands dancing in the air. "I've lost his bio readings, so either the suit's malfunctioning or he's not wearing it." The sea-glass eyes drilled him mercilessly, demanding an answer.

Something snapped in Virgil's chest at his brother's tone. Ice water ran through his veins, and when he spoke, he was surprised that his breath wasn't fogging on the air. "Docs confirmed what we suspected: Internal bleeding from blunt force trauma to his abdomen, caused by being crushed under several hundred pounds of falling concrete. He may have a skull fracture as well;

they're going to do a scan ASAP."

John's eyes squeezed shut and his jaw knotted, but he said nothing, except: "He's in surgery?"

"Yeah. Been there for about half an hour. They had to restart his heart first."

John's already ghostly visage paled. "Oh, God."

"Right after he told me I was the boss."

Virgil was all too aware of his own heart thudding in his ears as John weighed all the implications of that statement. "He transferred chain of command to you?"

"Yeah, I guess he did." The weight of the words hit him like a two-by-four between the eyes, and Virgil tipped forward to rest his elbows on knees and head in his hands. "He did," he echoed.

John was silent a moment, then: "Virg, I have to loop you in as Field Commander." It was said quietly, but once again, the words thudded into Virgil's body as if they were hammer blows.

"Just gimme a minute, Jay." They didn't have a minute, not really, but he just needed a few more seconds to get his head in the right place.

"That's about all you've got, but I'll make sure you have it," John replied. "I'm shutting off your comm for three minutes. After that, we need you back in the game."

Virgil raised his head to smile thinly at John through tears. "Thanks, Coach. I'll be ready."

John dipped his chin once, and disappeared. In five seconds, the iR symbol of Virgil's comm switched from green to red, with a 'STANDBY' message in place of 'ACTIVE.' Virgil knew that at that moment, he would be giving Gordon and Alan a brief update, and that both would be anxiously awaiting further info.

As he stood contemplating the double doors that had swallowed Scott and his entourage, Virgil found himself digging into one of the pouches on his baldric that had not seen the wear and tear of the others. Though space was at a premium, he had always sacrificed one spot for a particular item, and he brought it out now, to drape it across his gloved palm.

A rosary. His mother's rosary, with smooth glass beads the color of Scott's eyes, linked together by a sturdy silver chain, ending in a silver crucifix.

Heavy, fragrant smoke. The itch of lace around his neck. Red letters bleeding on an onion-skin page.

Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me...

A tiny smile flitted over Virgil's face; he wondered how many times his mother had held her 'Jesus beads,' as a pre-schooler Alan had called them, and prayed for her five rambunctious boys. He groped for the words she murmured just below his hearing, but they were too far gone for recall, and he ended up closing his fist over the sacred object and holding it against his lips, then his forehead.

"Scotty's in trouble, Mom," he whispered. "We need him back."