Ten: Slowly But Surely

"Ahhh," Scott sighed, as the nurse withdrew the IV and taped a square of gauze on his hand. "No more pincushion."

She grinned. "Oh, but this comes with a price, I'm afraid." She gestured to the door where an orderly about Virgil's size walked in with a wheelchair. He parked it next to Scott's bed, then stepped aside as she helped Scott to peel back the bedclothes. "Nice socks, by the way."

Scott wiggled his toes in the silver and blue socks (with red toes and heels) Gordon had gifted him to go over the 'thrombo-embolic deterrent' hose he'd worn while sedated. "Thanks. 'Get well' present from my brother." Words were beginning to come easier now, but short phrases and one-word answers were still his preferred method of communication. "What's my mission?"

As they'd done the previous day, the orderly guided him into a sitting position, and the nurse gently moved his legs until they were dangling from the side of the bed. Apparently today was graduation day, because the orderly eased him from the bed and into the wheelchair in one smooth, skillful motion. "Your mission," said the orderly, "is to use the restroom."

"Oh." Scott felt his face grow hot. "Okay. I'll sure try."

The nurse helped him to put his brightly colored feet onto the footrests, then tucked a warm blanket over his knees. "You've been taking care of business just fine with the portable unit since the catheter came out," she reminded him, only causing his blush to deepen at the memory. "You've done so well that now it's time to take a field trip."

"Oh," he repeated. "Sure. Let's go." He was a little nervous, since going to the head meant standing up, and he hadn't done that in what, three weeks? And had a healing abdominal injury besides? He really didn't want to end up in a heap on the tile, but he supposed if they thought he could, he would be equal to the challenge.

Seeming to sense his hesitation, the orderly squeezed his shoulder. "Don't worry. I'll be there to help."

"Uh-" Well, he thought, he shouldn't be so embarrassed; it wasn't like he had anything anyone hadn't seen, and other than the socks and the breezy hospital gown, he was practically naked anyway. Still, the thought of having to prove his kidneys were functioning properly with someone watching wasn't a fun one.

However, he was pleasantly surprised to find that yes, all was in proper working order, even if the orderly had had to turn on the faucet in the restroom to encourage things to begin flowing. All in all, he was much cheered by the time he settled back into the wheelchair, and was even more encouraged to see Virgil waiting just outside his room.

"Hey stranger," Scott called, holding out a hand that was slowly regaining its steadiness. "How'd it go?"

Virgil grabbed his hand and squeezed it, then leaned down to kneel at his eye level. "It went okay; the fire's ninety-eight percent contained, and the local folks have it under control. Alan got a little singed, but he's alright. He's alright," Virgil repeated, as Scott felt tears well up.

Before his injury, Scott's insides clenched when any of them got hurt, but he'd been able to work through it-especially if they were able to walk away under their own power. Now, just the thought of Alan in pain brought on a wave of panic. Dr. Morton had warned him that his emotions would be on the raw side for a while, so with effort, he forced himself to take a deep breath and believe Virgil. "Okay."

"Good." Virgil glanced up at the nurse and the orderly. "We still on for Scott's little field trip?"

The nurse nodded. "Absolutely. He did very well in the restroom."

Virgil raised an eyebrow. "Did he, now?" He grinned, and Scott felt his cheeks warm again. "Well, that's progress. Does he have a curfew?"

She checked her watch. "Hmm. How about two p.m.; he'll be ready for a rest by then."

Scott frowned. "Hello, m'down here." He had always detested having people talk about him while he was in the room as if he couldn't hear them, and he'd been awake long enough to already have a bellyful of it. To his chagrin, the three grouped about him only laughed. "S'not funny," he grumped.

The orderly took a step backward, and Virgil released the brakes of the wheelchair to take up his position behind Scott. "Okay, then: This Thunderbird is go."

"Have a good time," called the nurse as they wheeled away.

"Where to?" Scott asked, just a little uneasy; if he remembered correctly, he was the one who usually did the driving.

"You'll see," Virgil said enigmatically. "Just sit back and relax."

Since he had little choice but to comply, Scott did so, taking in the sights and smells of the hospital as they went. They passed a steaming trolley that smelled of broccoli, and he had to swallow against a sudden wave of nausea. Nurses in scrubs all colors of the rainbow flitted to and fro. A bright bouquet of balloons with legs walked toward them, proving to be a young boy with his father following close behind. Somewhere, someone coughed repeatedly. The ring of a telephone was abruptly cut off when someone answered. Overhead, the tannoy requested Dr. Brackett, call 209.

All in all, the whole experience was sensory overload for someone who'd spent over a week in suspended animation and two weeks in and out of reality, and Scott was relieved when they turned down a less populated hallway.

"Here," said Virgil, halting their progress to come around and help Scott put on a pair of aviator shades he'd produced from a pocket. "This'll help." He tucked the blanket more securely around Scott's legs, then resumed his position and wheeled Scott toward an automatic door. The glass retracted with a quiet hiss, and Scott took in his first lungful of fresh air since he'd touched down in Christchurch.

They strolled through a garden studded with abstract topiaries, rolling past rose bushes and lush green hedges. In the middle of the garden was a fountain made up of a massive rounded stone set in a wide pool, water welling from the top of the stone to cascade down its curving sides. The musical burbling of the water was lively, but soothing, and Scott felt his anxiety drain away. "Beautiful," he sighed, settling back against the headrest.

"It is," Virgil agreed, setting the parking brakes and sinking down on a bench beside Scott's wheelchair. "I thought you'd like it out here."

Scott opened his eyes behind the mirrored lenses and tipped his face to the canopy of endless blue above their heads. "Nice to see the sky." He smiled. "Can't wait."

Virgil shifted, frowning slightly. "Can't wait for what?"

Scott dipped his head to give his younger brother a look over the sunglasses. "To be back in it."

"Oh. Well, don't count your Thunderbirds before they're hatched, big bro." Virgil cleared his throat and looked away. "It'll be awhile before you're tearing around with your hair on fire." He turned back and gently patted the inch-high crop of stubble on Scott's head. "Have to get some more hair for that."

Scott wanted to flip him off, but his hands couldn't figure out what to do. He settled for sticking his tongue out at Virgil instead. "Comedian."

"Yup, that's me, just a barrel of laughs."

Scott frowned at the flat, unamused tone coming from his usually amiable brother. "What's wrong?"

"You've been through some tough stuff, Scooter," Virgil hedged. "You're gonna have to take it one step at a time."

A small brown bird flitted to a stop on the top of the fountain, scooped up a few beakfuls of water, and then flashed away. Scott followed its progress with his eyes for a moment, feeling the familiar ache in his belly as electricity raced up his spine.

A memory began in his hands and swept all through him: Gripping hard, a shove and a pull, bare fingertips flicking switches to give him more more more, g-forces pressing him into the padded seat at his back. The taste of oxygen, sunlight glinting from the plexiglass overhead, banking, turning, the stomach-drop ecstasy of a dive-and then the slap slap slap of metal against metal, voices frantic in his ear, watch your six, I can't shake 'em, I'm hit, I'm hit, mayday, mayday-

"Scott!"

He looked up into Virgil's face, trembling all over. His throat felt raw, and he realized he couldn't feel the sunshine anymore. "V'rg?" Mayday, mayday-

Warm hands on either side of his face brought him back from the crazed spiral into terror. "Look at me, Scott. You're safe."

Other hands were pressing him gently into not a hard padded seat but a mountain of soft pillows, and he glanced over to see the nurse that had sent them on their outing. Her face was composed, but there was worry at the back of her blue eyes, and she took up his hand to press her fingers against it.

"Ow!" He squawked. "What-"

"Sorry sorry sorry," she chanted, then retrieved a pair of blunt scissors from her pocket and snipped a length of clear tape to paste over the IV. "There. You should be feeling a bit more comfortable in just a minute."

He tried again. "What…" Something huge and heavy pressed him into the pillows, and the world slid away into nothingness.

OoOoOoOoO

John crossed holographic arms over his ghostly form. "So what happened?"

Virgil glanced over at Scott to make sure he was still asleep. He was, thanks to the sedative dripping into his veins, and Virgil let out a slow breath.

"I dunno," he admitted, dropping his head into his hand and raking his fingers through his hair. "One minute we were outside enjoying the sunshine, the next he's screaming 'Mayday, mayday.' I had to bring him inside so they could sedate him."

"Sounds like the time he was shot down," John murmured, almost to himself. "Something must have triggered a memory."

"I guess, though I'm at a loss as to what it could have been, or I wouldn't have taken him out there." Virgil stared at his space monitor for a long moment. "I dunno about this, Johnny."

But John was already shaking his head. "Early days, Virg. Early days. It's just the sedative working its way out of his system. Dr. Morton said that his brain scan was clean." He watched Virgil for a few heartbeats. "It scared you, didn't it."

"You're damn right it did," Virgil snarled. "I know he can't help it but-wow. He was terrified. I didn't know how to help him, it was like he couldn't hear me."

"Have to give it time, big V." John raised an eyebrow. "I think you're more impatient for him to get well than he is, and that's saying something."

Virgil couldn't help a rueful chuckle. "I'm all for helping out, but this being in charge gig? Just isn't me." He looked over at Scott again, thankful that the conversation was going unheard. "I don't want this job to become permanent."

He was glad that John knew what he meant without either one of them having to say it. I want Scott back like he was. "You're preaching to the choir, brother mine." The clear turquoise eyes were wells of calm amongst the barely-visible freckles. "Still. I'll be here for the duration if you will. Okay?"

The love and support in John's tone transmitted clearly over the hundreds of miles between them, and Virgil nodded. "Okay."

There was a clatter and a thump in the background of John's transmission, and a feminine voice broke in from off-screen. "Hey, anyone home?"

Virgil grinned. "Looks like you've got company."

The elfin features of Captain Ridley O'Bannon popped into view of the camera as John moved halfway out of frame. "Hey, Virgil. How's Scott?"

"Hi, Ridley. He's doing better. We had a small setback today, but he'll be alright."

She gave him a smile as she removed her gloves and tugged off her arming cap. "I'm glad to hear it." She ruffled her short hair into a charming halo of dark curls. "I'm due for some leave in a few days, do you think he would mind if I came by to say hello?"

Virgil glanced at John, who gave a nod. "I think he'd like that-just don't take it personally if he doesn't remember you at first."

"I won't. Let me know if Global One can be of assistance while you guys get up to speed. I talked with Colonel Casey this morning; she sends her best, and said the GDF is just a call away if you need them."

International Rescue and the GDF hadn't always seen eye to eye in the past-especially with his hot headed older brother considering them more of a hindrance than help-but he made a mental note to call Colonel Casey and check in with her. "Thanks, we appreciate it. I think now that your spaceman is home, we're gonna start getting back in the swing of things."

"Sounds good. I'll let you two get back to your conversation, I just wanted to say hi." Ridley glanced back at John, and Virgil might have imagined it, but it seemed like her voice gained just a bit of a knowing edge. "Shall I go fire up the squash court?"

"I'll be right there." John sent her on her way with a fond smile, then turned back to his younger brother, one ginger eyebrow raised. "'Your spaceman'?" he muttered.

Virgil snickered. "If the magnetic boot fits."

"Subtle."

"John, she's beautiful, she's single, and she adores you. She wants to get hot and sweaty with you in a small, enclosed space. If you don't know what to do with that set of circumstances, then I give up."

"Oh, you'd be surprised. Thunderbird Five out."

OoOoOoOoO

A few hours later, Ridley lay with her back pressed against John's bare chest, tucked against him in his bunk as they watched the stars float by. The ends of his copper flick, wilted from their exertion-both on and off the court-brushed her skin as he dipped his head to press his lips against her shoulder. "I missed you," he murmured.

She twisted in his arms, curling her hand against the back of his neck to bring his mouth down to hers. "I missed you, too," she replied, the words hot against his cheek. "You had enough going on, I didn't want to distract you."

He smiled down at her. "You would have been the best kind of distraction." He sobered, tracing her lower lip with the tip of his index finger. "I'm glad you didn't see Scott like that, though. It was...painful."

"I can imagine. I was so glad when you told me he was awake." She lay back to gaze up at him, the fingers of her right hand playing along the high ridge of his left cheekbone. "The thought of you and your brothers having to go on without him…" She shook her head, eyes filling with tears. "I don't even want to think about it."

John covered her hand with his own and brought it down to kiss her fingers. "We don't think about it much either," he admitted. "It's just something we live with, and if it happens, we have directives in place to keep us moving forward. It's why Virgil's our acting Field Commander-a job he never sought, but one he'll shoulder to the best of his ability."

Ridley smiled up into the ocean-blue eyes above hers. "You're proud of him, aren't you."

"Immensely."

"Make sure you tell him that."

"I will."

"I'm proud of you, too." She twisted to lay fully on her back, arms threading around his neck. "Mr. Interim President."

John shrugged, a smile playing about his mouth. "Fancy name for listening to people talk about what they're going to do with Dad's money."

"It's a lot of money," she corrected him. "Someone has to talk about it." She pecked a kiss on the end of his nose. "And someone has to listen. I'm glad it's you."

He slid his arms under her shoulders and cuddled her close. "I just hope I get handed my pink slip soon."

"I know," she murmured against his temple. "Me too."

OoOoOoOoOoO

Two days later, Alan was humming lightly to himself as he wheeled Scott along the hallway, exchanging smiles with those they passed. "'Morning," he chirped to a young woman in the royal blue polo shirt and dark slacks of a volunteer. She blushed, nearly dropping the stack of linens she was carrying, and hurried past with a giggle.

"She was cute," Scott quipped, twisting in his chair to smirk up at his youngest brother. "Go get her number. Just park me, I'll wait."

Alan laughed. "You don't think she was looking at you?"

Scott rolled his eyes. "Like this?" He pointed at the bristles on his head where his super shiny coif once resided. "Don't think so."

"Hmm, you are looking a little pasty," Alan agreed, eliciting a snort from Scott. "Okay, are we here? Yeah, I think we are."

Double frosted glass doors parted as they approached, admitting them into a wide, sunlit space with views of the treeline beyond the hospital. A row of exercise machines stood against a mirrored wall, surrounded by treadmills, stationary bicycles, gym mats, and brightly colored inflatable balance balls. Near the middle of the room, a therapist guided a young girl sporting a flexible blade below her right knee between parallel bars, and an elderly gentleman used gnarled hands to pedal a tabletop cycling machine. Both wore expressions of intense concentration as they put their bodies through their paces, and Alan felt something in his midsection twist uncomfortably. Scott had always been a man of action, almost never at rest unless he was actually asleep, and seeing how noodly his legs had gotten in just a few weeks made the hair stand on the back of Alan's neck. He stifled a sigh as Scott watched the little girl pick her way across the rubberized mat with longing. This was not going to be fun-for anyone.

A twenty-something man with dark wavy hair hanging to his shoulders got up from a workstation and walked toward them with a friendly smile. He jabbed the tablet in his hands a few times. "You must be Mr. Tracy," he said, holding out a hand. "I'm Enzo, I'll be your physical therapist."

"Scott," said the man in question, shaking Enzo's hand, then jerked a thumb at his beaming chauffeur. "This is my little brother, Alan."

"Hi," said Alan, reaching around Scott to shake Enzo's hand as well. "You're American?"

Enzo nodded. "My wife's a Kiwi. When we visit the 'States, everyone always gives me the business about my 'accent', but I can't hear it." He consulted his tablet once more. "So today we're working on stability and coordination."

"Looking forward to it," Scott sighed, making Alan's gut twist even tighter. "Need to move."

Enzo raised an eyebrow. "You may want to rethink that once we're done, but I like your enthusiasm. If you'll just follow me over here-?"

OoOoOoOoO

Two hours later, Scott sank back into the wheelchair, his whole body quivering with exhaustion. Alan shot him a worried look, but he ignored it and accepted the towel Enzo handed him to mop his sweaty face.

"Same time tomorrow?"

Scott laid his head back on the headrest and held out a hand for a shaky fistbump. "You better believe it. Gotta get back up to speed."

"You will, don't worry." Enzo caught Alan's eye. "Make sure he rests, okay?"

Alan threw him a mock salute. "Will do, even if I have to rock him to sleep with real rocks."

Scott threw his towel at Alan, who yelped and dodged. At the last instant, Alan snagged the soggy fabric out of the air and offered it to Enzo. "I believe this belongs to you," he said, holding it away from him as if it were toxic.

Enzo laughed and accepted the towel from Alan, then tossed it into a laundry hamper. "I'll be surprised if he's still awake by the time you get to his room. He worked his butt off."

Alan rolled his eyes. "That's my big brother, all right."

Scott pointed to the door. "Home, Parker."

OoOoOoOoO

He didn't remember falling asleep, but when Scott woke up, he couldn't move.

Sweat broke out all over his body; what had happened? His arms and legs wouldn't respond, and he felt himself begin to hyperventilate. He had to get up, he had to get away, had to get home, he couldn't-

"Easy, honey." His grandmother's face came into his field of vision, her eyes worried but her smile kind. "It's all right. Take a deep breath."

"Grandma?" What was she doing all the way out here in the desert? Had they captured her too? No, he'd been all alone when he'd been shot down, tumbling and rolling until he yanked the eject handles and been sent sailing into the hot blue of the sky. Then came the hard jolt of his parachute opening, no sound except that of wind and his own harsh breathing as the ground came up to meet him. He landed with a heavy thud, tossing up a plume of blinding, stinging grit, limbs tangling in the lines of his chute. He lay in a crumpled heap until feet came running, voices shouting in a language he knew but speaking too fast for him to catch. Rough hands jerked him upright and-

"Scott. Look at me. Breathe." She put one hand on the side of his face, the other on his chest, and took an exaggerated breath. "Come on, sweetie. In, out. In, out. There you go."

Hospital. Injured. The faces of his family. He glanced to where Gordon's medal glimmered from its nest of blue satin, groping for the memory of the day his little brother had stood on the podium. His grandmother saw where he was looking, and moved her hand from his chest to retrieve the medal. The golden disc seemed to radiate calm as he ran his thumb against his brother's name. This happened, he reminded himself. I was there. Slowly, the harsh voices in his ear gave way to the roar of a crowd, pride welling in his heart until his eyes filled and the towering dunes blurred into a riot of color and motion. Gordon, clad in a red, white, and blue warm-up suit, bent to humbly accept first a bright bouquet, and then the medal as its ribbon settled around his neck. The anthem swelled and as the Stars and Stripes descended from the rafters, they sang with all their might, Oh say can you see-

Reality clicked back into place, and his muscles unlocked. He groaned as pain flattened him back against the pillows. "Ohh, man. Enzo kicked my ass."

Grandma raised an eyebrow, though whether it was at his language or his non sequitur, he wasn't sure. "Who's Enzo?"

"My physical therapist." He drew a ragged breath. "Sadistic bastard."

Again, she quirked an eyebrow, but made no comment. "They're bringing your dinner in just a bit, so let me have this." She gently withdrew the medal from his fingers and laid it back in its box, giving it a fond caress of her own before turning back to him. "The doctor said to limber up your hands a little before they get here."

He duly applied himself to the exercises, following his grandmother's motions as he rolled his wrists and clenched and stretched his fingers, and soon there was a soft knock at the door. "Come in," he called, shaking out his hands.

The door opened to reveal a young girl with dark hair and bronzed skin, wearing a blue shirt and black slacks and carrying a tray. There were several lidded plates on the tray, and she smiled through wafts of steam as she navigated her way toward him. "Dinner time, Mr. Tracy."

He sat back and let her set the tray on his table. "Hey, I saw you today. I was with my brother."

She gave a little gasp and blushed to the roots of her hair. "Yes, he was pushing you in the hallway!" She giggled. "Is he here?"

Grandma gave Scott a knowing smile and popped the lids on the dishes. "His name's Alan. He's not here at the moment, but I'll tell him you said hello."

"I'm Bibi-Beatrice, actually, but everyone calls me Bibi." She pointed to her nametag. "Gosh, he's soooo cute." Her eyes went wide. "I mean, uh,-"

Scott laughed. "We'll tell him. Right, Grandma?"

"Right." She unwrapped the plastic spoon on his tray and stirred the bright red-orange liquid in the steaming bowl. "Nice to meet you, Bibi."

The girl gave a little wave and practically floated out of the room, leaving the two Tracys chuckling. "Where is Alan?" Scott asked, eyeing the contents of the bowl dubiously.

"Haiti," Grandma said without hesitation. "Typhoon season is well under way, and John said this one was a doozy."

"Oh." Scott wasn't entirely certain how he felt about being safe, warm, and about to have a hot meal while his brothers were probably cold, wet, hungry, and exhausted. "I didn't even hear him leave."

"He said you were pretty tired after your therapy session," Grandma said, dishing up a spoonful and blowing on it for a moment. "Here, open up."

After a brief hesitation, he did as she bade, letting the flavor roll around on his tongue for a moment. He swallowed gingerly, a little surprised that he recalled how to do so. "Hmm, not bad. Tomato soup?"

She picked up the card on the tray. "Even better: Pureed spaghetti and meatballs."

He gulped. "That's...not right. Tastes pretty good, though." He bent to examine the rest of the dishes on the tray. "What else we got?"

"Let's see." Grandma consulted the card once more. "Strained carrots, oatmeal, and-ooh, nice-banana custard." She grinned and dipped out another spoonful of 'soup.' "This reminds me of when you were little. Your mother got you a spoon that looked like an airplane, and I would say 'Zoom zoom, Scotty, here comes the airplane, open the hangar!' And your little mouth would just pop open." She held up the white plastic version of his long-ago utensil. "Zoom zoom, Scotty, here comes Thunderbird One, retract the pool!"

"Grandma," Scott groaned, but once again did as she told him. They giggled and snorted their way through a few more bites, and then she offered the spoon to him. He hesitated for a brief second, then carefully curled his fingers around the utensil and proceeded to get his dinner into him with only a few slip-ups.

Fifteen minutes later, his grandmother saw his fatigue and took the spoon from his shaking hand. "You did good, honey," she praised. "I'll take over for a bit."

He took a few more bites with her help, and then held up a hand. "Scotty's full, Grandma."

"Aww, that's my good boy." She put down the spoon and opened the wet wipe on the tray. "Let's clean up that cute little face."

Scott heaved a long-suffering sigh and rolled his eyes, but he was smiling as he let her wipe away a trace of banana custard from his chin and the blob of oatmeal that had landed on his chest. "Thanks, Grandma."

"You're welcome, sweetheart." She tidied the tray and set it aside, then poured a cup of water and stuck a straw in it. He reached out and took it from her, carefully folding his fingers around the cup, and was pleasantly surprised when he didn't fumble it all over himself.

"That was...actually not bad." He handed back the cup and settled onto the pillows. "I mean it, Grandma. Thank you. For everything."

She leaned forward and kissed his cheek, then took his hands in hers. "I won't lie; we were scared, but you managed to get through it." She smiled. "You're tough. I knew you'd come back to us."

"Not all the way back, yet," he frowned. "Everything takes so long. Hard to get my thoughts together."

"Sweetie, you had a head injury," she reminded him. "A piece of your skull was pressing into your brain, and your brain was swelling. Dr. Morton put the bone back where it belonged, but your brain needed to heal. That was why they put you to sleep, in order to rest it."

"Oh." Memory flickered: Similar words from a doctor in a long-ago hallway, fear and pain and the thought please don't take my little brother running like a litany underneath the doctor's quiet, intense speech. "Like Gordy."

"Right. Thankfully, you were out for ten days instead of six weeks. Not that anyone's keeping score; I was worried sick for you both." Her smile returned, and she kissed his knuckles, giving his fingers a light squeeze. "I'm just glad I got to keep both of you."