Eight: Answered Prayers

He couldn't breathe.

He couldn't see.

Oh, God, help me-

He was being crushed under the weight of the world. He could feel his life slipping away, like beach sand between his fingers.

Sand. Trees. Ocean. Home.

I just want to go home. He lay his head down. Let me go.

"Scott?"

He couldn't draw breath to speak; it came out as the barest whisper. "Dad?"

His father, standing on the beach, trousers rolled above his ankles, linen shirt stirring on the breeze, eyes luminous and kind. "Come on." He held out his hand. "Let's get out of here."

Suddenly he could breathe again. He felt weightless, like he could fly into his father's arms. "Dad!"

Strong arms caught him, holding him close. "Love you, Scotty."

Pain crashed back into him, and he blinked up at a face pale with worry behind scratched plexiglass. "Virgil?"

The worry in that face lifted just a fraction. "It's okay, Scott. I've got you. I'm gonna get you out of here. Stay with me, okay?"

God, his head hurt. Everything hurt. Maybe if he went to sleep, he'd feel better after-

"Scott! Don't go to sleep!" Someone ripped off his helmet, and he drew breath only to choke on smoke and dirt. Coughing, no, no he had to stop coughing. Black spots crawled at the edge of his vision and oh God he sure as hell couldn't throw up, no.

"Come on, Scotty, stay with me." Virgil's hands on either side of his face, making him look up into amber eyes, his father's eyes.

Dad. I wanna go home, Dad.

"I know," Virgil said softly, and Scott realized he'd spoken the words aloud. "I need you, big bro. Stay with me." He turned to yell over his shoulder. "Gordon!"

Then Gordon was there, and he let himself drift for a while. They'd manage it; he'd trained them well. The pain in his head was getting worse. And he was gonna-

"Aw, hell! Virg, he's bleeding internally."

"Fuck, I was afraid of that." Virgil's face popped into his field of vision, colors muted, voice underwater. "Come on, Scotty. Don't give up on us now. We're gonna get you outta here."

Anywhere was better than here, he mused. Although he was either dying or his brain was pumping out a truckload of endorphins, because the pain wasn't biting quite as deep as it had a few minutes ago. "F A B," he managed.

Dizzying motion. A flash of what looked like a war zone, all pillars of smoke and broken concrete. Then the familiar smell of jet fuel and grease and hot metal, and the faintly medicinal taste of pure oxygen. Something soft and yielding at his back, oh, yes. He was safe. His brothers were here. He could sink down into that softness and just not worry about anything anymore.

"Virgil, I'm losing him!"

Don't worry, Gordy. I'm just going home.

"Scott!"

The burden of his flesh fell away.

OoOoOoOoOoO

He crashed back into himself, and it felt like hitting a brick wall at speed. Fuuuuuck, he wanted to groan. That hurt.

"Oh my God, Virg, I think-Hey, Scotty, you back with us?"

Bright blue and yellow, splattered with red, so bright it hurt his eyes. "G...Gordy?"

The aquanaut dashed the back of his hand against his eyes. "Scared the hell outta me, big bro," Gordon said, his voice almost steady. "Don't do that again, okay?"

Scott sighed. "I'll try." Although he wasn't entirely sure he could keep that promise; exhaustion and pain pressed him from all sides; the soft white painless world was waiting, calling. His father was calling.

Scotty...Scotty, I'm here...come home, son…

Wham! They hit something hard, and he jolted back into existence. Motion that felt Thunderbird-fast. A Morse code of light above him, flash-flash-flash. Voices.

"Have we got a name for our friend here?"

Tracy. Scott Carpenter Tracy. Commander, USAF. 883-25-4911.

Wait, that wasn't right. Or it was, but it wasn't. What?

God, if the pain in his head would just shut the hell up for a minute-!

He yelled the first name that came to mind. "Virg...Virgil!"

"I'm here, Scotty. I'm here." A firm squeeze on his fingers, but he couldn't squeeze back. "Everything's okay. You're safe."

Virgil. Dad? No. Virgil. "Th...th'ell happened?"

"Quake. Christchurch. You're in the hospital. You're safe. Everyone else is okay."

Yes, that made sense. He'd been pushing people out of the bank, shoving them through the broken doorway, and then the earth had moved and rumbled and flattened him, slamming his head a terrible blow, and he didn't remember after that. "Got them...in time?"

His brother's smile was like a ray of sunshine. "It was close, but we made it." Hot breath tickled his cheek, his ear. "You let them take care of you, okay boss? I'll be right here."

Yes, Virgil would take care of it. "You're th'boss now."

His duty done, he rose from the table and stepped onto soft, warm sand. His uniform fell away, leaving him in cool linen like his father. Strong arms were around him again, holding him like they'd never let go.

OoOoOoOoO

When he woke up, he was exhausted.

No, not exhausted. Paralyzed. He couldn't move.

Panic bloomed in his chest. Oh, no. No, no, no. Open your eyes.

I'm trying! Ugh, come on!

Light. Finally. Yes. Light. Voices. A long low drone, rising and falling. Television? No, the tones were familiar. He'd listened to that voice go on and on before, had even told it to shut up. Sorry, he apologized to the voice, you talk as much as you want, just let me listen. The longer he listened, even the words became familiar.

"...and in the book. Science is an ongoing process. It never ends. There is no single ultimate truth to be achieved, after which all the scientists can retire. And because this is so, the world is far more interesting, both for the scientists and for the millions of people in every nation who, while not professional scientists, are deeply interested in the methods and findings of science. So-"

"John."

The voice paused. A shape shifted in the foreground: Jean-clad legs uncrossing, a thick, worn book closed over a long slender finger. A freckled arm, disappearing into a deep green thermal shirt. Angular face, high cheekbones, freckles everywhere, God, how had he forgotten about the freckles? Like Mom's had been, with her eyes looking out from the midst of those tiny red-gold spots, blue-green like the ocean surrounding the island. The other hand came up, raking copper strands back only to have them fall forward again. "Scott?"

He'd made it. No more dangling over the cliff, wanting to drop and yet wanting to hold on. He'd have been safe either way, but with every passing moment as he studied his brother's face, he was sure he'd made the right choice.

He felt his face move: A smile, he was pretty sure. "Hi."

The sea glass eyes crested like waves, spilling over onto the freckled cheeks. "Hi. Welcome back."

OoOoOoOoO

-forty-eight hours earlier-

The comm was ringing, and Virgil flung out a hand, groping for the unit he'd set onto the nightstand. Beside him, Kayo stirred and then sat up; she grabbed up the comm and flicked it into life. "Thunderbird Two here," she said, as Virgil pulled himself up on his elbows. "Go ahead."

Ruth smiled up at them. "Good morning, you two. Wanna hear some great news?"

Virgil and Kayo shared a glance, then turned back to Ruth. "We could use some of that," Virgil replied. "What's up?"

His grandmother beamed. "Dr. Morton was just here, and he asked me to tell you that they're going to withdraw the sedation today. Scott's gonna be able to wake up soon!"

Kayo wrapped herself around Virgil, burying her head into his shoulder, and he held her for a moment to absorb this happy news. "That's wonderful," he said when he could be sure it wouldn't come out as a sob. "We'll be over in a bit."

Ruth waved them off. "Take your time. Dr. Morton says this is going to be something of a process. We'll call you if anything changes."

"Okay. Thanks, Grandma." Her holographic form winked out, and now he grabbed Kayo and held on tight. She grabbed him just as fiercely, and they just sat in each other's arms for a long, long time.

"He's gonna make it," she said softly. "We're gonna get him back."

"God, I hope so." He let go, pressing his forehead to hers. "Is it too much to hope that he's the same person I sent into surgery a week and a half ago?"

"Hmm, I don't think that's possible for anyone," she mused, then held a finger to his lips when he would have protested. "What I mean is that no one could go through something like this and come out the same. Not you, not me, not anyone." She sighed, and he made himself relax; of course she was right, and he knew it. "How about we shoot for hoping that he's got the basics down: Talking to us, remembering who we are, and then everything else a little at a time."

"There's something I'm really worried about though," he said, unable to help the horror lapping at the edge of his words. "Kay, what if he can't fly anymore? What if the GDF pulls his ticket*? He'll go crazy."

She looked down at her hands in her lap. "I don't know," she said.

Virgil knew that she was thinking of her own experience. Having a pilot's license was just a foregone conclusion in their family. He'd been sixteen when he'd earned his, and could well remember the wild joy on Kayo's face when she'd climbed down from her first lesson in Tracy Two with Jeff. To take that part of her away would be like snuffing a candle with a sledgehammer.

In truth, it would be difficult to keep any of them on the ground, he thought. The thought of never being behind 'Two's control yoke again made his stomach do a slow, queasy roll. Scott, who had flying in his bones, who had thought of nothing except airplanes since the moment their father had pointed at one and told him what the shiny machine was-well.

First things first, he told himself. Let him wake up and tell us what he needs, and it'll be what it'll be.

*pulling a ticket= revoking a pilot's license