I think this might be the first time I've consciously sat there and thought 'wow, my bad guy is evil'. Not sure what that says about me...
His footsteps were silent, only the soft rasp of his breathing giving him away as he stole down the corridor. It was a struggle to keep his breathing even considering his thudding heart-rate but Scott knew the only way he would escape was if he remained undetected.
The corridor was dim; harsh, flickering strip lights illuminated the space, but the bulbs were faint and each flicker threatened to send the corridor into complete darkness. As one light trembled, Scott looked at his shadow stretching forward. Did he want to escape?
He wanted to be free of that cell, true enough. But Blag had killed his brothers: leaving wasn't an option. If he got caught, he would be taken to Blag. If he could find the man on his own, however, if he could have that element of surprise…
He broke into a jog. Scott had no idea how long he had been there - they could have sedated him numerous times for all he knew. But urgency clawed at him and it suddenly become paramount that he found Blag and ended it, now. He couldn't wait any longer; his brothers had suffered, gone unavenged for too long while Scott did nothing. He had no idea where he was going, though, the corridor continued in what appeared to be an endless stretch of concrete.
His head started swimming but Scott pointedly ignored the light-headiness that washed through him every time he breathed in. But just as he started to doubt whether this had all been for nothing, something drew his attention. The corridor had twisted without him realising and he suddenly noticed the lighting improving. There was a sharp bend a little further on but beyond that, the steady glow of a light bulb that actually worked.
He slowed to a walk, pressing his back against the wall and trying to stop his shadow slipping ahead and giving him away. His breathing calmed, his heart-rate settled as he shifted his grip on the gun. Edging forward, Scott paused before he rounded the corner. He had no idea how big this complex was or how many men Blag had working for him. But he stopped and listened, intending to have some vague idea of what odds he was facing.
A soft murmur of voices greeted him, men conversing in quiet tones as he edged forward again. It took him a moment to realise the men were speaking in Russian and a shiver ran through him. The evidence they had uncovered before the hangar had implicated the Russians and Scott suddenly wondered how far from home he truly was right now.
It meant he had no idea what they were talking about, though. All he could go on was their tone – and no one sounded alarmed their prisoner had escaped. He didn't know if they were blocking his route out or his route to Blag but knew there was only one way to find out. He took a double-handed grip on the gun, finger already on the trigger. These men were in league with Blag: they were complicit in Virgil's kidnapping therefore, ultimately, in his death. Scott told himself they deserved whatever came their way.
He shuffled forward, took a deep breath, and prepared to step out from behind his corner.
A soft click made him go rigid, but the cold muzzle of a gun was already pressed against his neck.
"Drop it."
Scott's grip instinctively tightened at the voice.
"Drop it!" The gun pressed harder into his neck. But Scott didn't feel it; anger and hatred burning through him.
He held his arm out to the side, his muscles relaxing. The gun against his head eased back a fraction and Scott moved.
He spun fast, drawing his arm back in as he struggled to aim the gun in the enclosed space. But Blag was ready for him, catching the barrel in an open palm. The movement was too sudden and Scott's grip wasn't right; Blag tore the gun from his hand and threw it down the corridor behind him. The clatter as it hit the floor made the voices fall silent.
"That went well," Blag said, his tone conversational as he brought his own gun back to aim at Scott. Scott lunged for it, not thinking about his training or examining the situation rationally. Blag saw his movement, kneeing him in the stomach and causing Scott to stagger back, winded. The men from the room had obviously approached in the few seconds the entire thing had lasted for and before Scott could try to go for Blag again, two took a tight hold of his arms, expertly holding his wrists behind his back.
They bundled him into the room. There was at least a dozen of them, half still sitting around a wooden table, bottles of beer and a packet of playing cards resting on it. It would have been so easy to have taken them unawares, if only he had moved quicker. One man was standing on a stool, attaching a length of rope to what appeared to be an old light fixture on the ceiling.
Scott snarled, trying to throw off the men holding him but they bound his hands behind his back before forcing him to his knees. Another man entered behind them, handing Blag the gun Scott had stolen.
Scott glared even as Blag twirled the weapon around one finger. There was a knowing smirk on his face.
"You were quicker than I expected, I'll give you that," Blag said, his voice still light and friendly. "We gave you enough to take out an elephant but I didn't think it would hold you down for long."
"What do you want?" Scott spat. He knelt up, only the hands on his shoulders keeping him from rising. He refused to be cowed though and ignored them, keeping his attention fixed on Blag. The man's voice might be light, but Scott knew that meant nothing.
"All in good time."
Anger and frustration overwhelmed him. Scott lunged forward, forgetting that his hands were tied. His movement was too sudden for the men holding him and he broke free. But he didn't even make it to his feet before Blag lashed out. The gun was still in his hand when he struck Scott across the face, sending him sprawling. Dazed, Scott gasped as he tried to sit back up.
It wasn't just the pain that stole his breath though. Blag chuckled.
"De-ja vu, Scotty?" he said, his voice too quiet for his men to hear. Scott touched his split lip with his tongue before spitting a bubble of blood out. He refused to look at Blag, refused to give the man the satisfaction of knowing he had voiced exactly what was going through his head. Reeling from a blow, bound, on his knees and at Blag's mercy. It was as if he was sixteen years old all over again.
"Let's complete this little trip down memory lane, shall we?" Blag nodded to someone out of Scott's eye-line. He managed to make it back to his knees by the time a man stepped next to Blag, a tripod and a camera bag in his hand. Scott shook his head.
"Dad's going to kill you," he said, "not pay you."
"Aw, I thought you'd promise to kill me. Need Daddy to protect you?"
"This won't work. You know it won't!" Scott knew that, as mad as Blag was, he wasn't stupid. He had tried this route with the Tracys before and had been stopped. Blag shrugged.
"I didn't ask your father for money back then, Scott. It wasn't about the money, not then and not now."
He nodded to his men. Two hauled Scott to his feet but he let it happen. He was outnumbered; he had to take the first few unawares to stand a chance. To his delight, one unlocked the cuffs around his wrists. Scott took a step, pretending to stumble and clutched at one of the men as if for support.
Then he reacted.
He wasn't certain what happened next. But regardless of how much he fought, he was up against well-trained and well-rested men. He didn't stand a chance. He didn't know how long they continued for once they had him on the floor, but it felt like an age before Blag called them off. The men backed off even as Blag stepped forward.
He drew Scott's hands in front of him. Scott tried to resist, tried to make him let go, but it was as if Blag didn't even notice his struggles as he slipped a plastic tie over his wrists, tightening it painfully.
"You may have grown up, Scott..." Blag said, stepping back and once more gesturing to his men. They pulled Scott to the centre of the room, forcing him upright. Another man climbed back onto the stool, dragging Scott's hands above his head and tying the rope around them. Scott struggled, realising that Blag had intended to bring him here even if he hadn't escaped on his own.
"...but you forget I know you."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I know all about you, Scott Tracy."
Scott stared, his heart lurching despite having already believed he had lost everything. He wasn't a fool; every man had their breaking point and his brothers' deaths had pushed Scott closer to his, emotionally if not physically. If Blag knew about International Rescue, if he demanded information…
"You had quite a colourful career in the Air Force, didn't you?"
It took every ounce of Scott's willpower not to sag in relief.
"I knew you'd fight, that you'd been trained. You should thank me really, I bet memories of our time together got you through training sessions better than anything."
Scott kept his face impassive, refusing Blag the satisfaction of knowing he was right. His instructors had always wondered where his drive came from.
Blag eventually shrugged when Scott didn't say anything.
"I made sure I hired the best. You slipped from me once, I'm not letting you do it again."
Scott would have preferred the man to shout. Or even let his men continue their beating. The casual way he spoke, the carefree way he held out his hand to one of his men was more chilling than any acts of violence.
"We are sending a message, true. But not to your father."
Scott tried to pull back as Blag approached with a length of material in his hand. Someone punched him again, once more making him gasp and giving Blag ample time to gag him while Scott struggled to get his feet back under him.
"Your father is a famous man. A rich man. Famous and rich men have many enemies, Scott. Enemies who would pay dearly to have you in their hands. Attempting to take you hostage as a child may not have been enough to get your father to sign over his business. But once he sees what these men are willing to do to you, even the great Jeff Tracy will be humbled before them."
Scott felt the blood rushing to his face as he struggled to control himself. He would not be ransomed off again, not like this. His father had lost too much already. If he saw what Blag had planned…
Alan still needed their dad. Scott was not going to be responsible for breaking the man.
He kicked out, straining to reach either the camera or Blag. Both were out of his reach though and he was left fighting wildly against the restraints for a few moments. Blag approached when he fell still, panting behind the gag and struggling to draw breath. The man cupped his chin, forcing him to look up.
"It's about power, Scott. It always has been."
The material around his mouth prevented him from verbally answering. Instead, Scott did the only thing left open to him. He headbutted Blag as hard as he could, relishing in the dots bursting across his vision as Blag stumbled back, cursing. This time, he didn't approach again.
Scott struggled, fighting to break free of the ropes. He couldn't let this message be sent out. But then he stopped, the resistance slowly draining from him. Bound as he was, there was no way he could take revenge for his brothers. He was helpless. But if International Rescue had taught him one thing, it was that they never gave up. Not on anyone.
He had seen the water, he had felt the cuffs holding Virgil. His brother wouldn't have stood a chance. John and Gordon had been closer to the explosion than he had as well. He doubted Blag would leave loose ends.
But he knew his dad. He knew the man didn't give up. While he thought Scott might be alive, he wouldn't stop looking for him. A broadcast meant a signal. Signals could be tracked. And high above the earth, finishing John's rotation, Brains would be looking for anything he could to give his boss some good news.
If this broadcast went out, his father had a chance of finding him. Then they could avenge the others – together.
Blag was out of his reach, for now. But even as a small red light blinked into existence on the camera, Scott kept his glare fixed on the man. He stood by what he had said back in Kansas: he was going to kill him. If Blag truly knew him, then he would know Scott Tracy never broke his word.
TBTB
There was someone in the room with him. Virgil kept his eyes shut and his breathing even, though. He knew his family meant well, that they were concerned about him. But if someone else asked how he was feeling, or if he needed anything, Virgil didn't think he could be held responsible for his actions. He didn't want to be left on his own, but he wasn't certain he could face them for much longer, lying there helpless.
He still felt guilty over what he had said to John, despite both of them realising he'd needed the outlet. But what felt worse was that he had meant his words, even if not in the harsh manner they had come out. His family had asked him if he needed anything: he needed Scott. He needed them to find his brother and get him away from Blag before they lost him for good. He wanted them to be out there actively searching for his brother, even if that meant he had to lie there staring at the ceiling while they did so. He wasn't about to stop breathing just because they weren't sitting by his side.
The trouble with feigning sleep was that it gave him far too much thinking time. Whoever was with him either hadn't noticed that he was faking it or they were letting him initiate the conversation. It meant it definitely wasn't Gordon with him, but Virgil couldn't risk moving to find out who it was.
The police had come to question him as soon as his doctors had given the go-ahead. He'd officially met Matt's old partner again, relieved the corruption within the force was being dealt with and that the police were genuinely trying to help now rather than stalling to buy Blag more time.
He had nodded in all the right places when they reassured him they were doing everything they could to track Blag. He did the same when his father had quietly said that Brains was running checks and scans of his own, using technology far more sophisticated than the police had at their disposal.
But it wasn't Brains or the cops that Virgil wanted to be searching. It was John. The bonds between them all were deeper than most families; their line of work meant they relied on each other more than words could say. They would do anything for each other. Virgil knew John wouldn't stop – he would drive himself to exhaustion and beyond searching for Scott. He would hack into networks that Brains wouldn't think of because the man was too inherently good to even think of the darker side of the world. John would, though. John had gone up against Blag before, and lost. He would do whatever he had to in order to find Scott and it was that reassurance Virgil needed right now.
He didn't know how he was supposed to say anything, though. John would understand – he would be feeling the same. But both his father and Gordon would try to make sure he didn't push himself too far, attempting to look out for him in the same way they were doing to Virgil. That wasn't what either of them needed right now. It wasn't what Scott needed.
If ignoring his family was what it took for them to find Scott, then that was what Virgil would do.
"I'd love to know if that actually works."
Virgil's eyes snapped open at the unexpected voice. He twisted his head and, for the first time since the night he had been taken, a genuine smile spread across his face. Matt was slumped in a chair by his bedside, looking pale but bored. He returned Virgil's smile.
"I wasn't sure you were awake to start with," Matt said, leaning forward, "then you kept scowling. If pretending to be asleep actually worked, I'd have tried it every time Nic started correcting the doctors."
Virgil attempted to sit up but his bad wrist wouldn't take his weight. Matt stood up, supporting him without a word until Virgil could rest back against the pillows. Virgil looked at his friend closely.
"How're you feeling?"
Matt lifted an eyebrow and Virgil flushed. There was no reason why Matt wouldn't be as sick of that question as he was.
"Sorry."
It wasn't just that Matt was pale that made Virgil concerned for his friend. He knew the man had been knocked out more than once – he had witnessed what Blag's men had done to him - done to them both - after all. But it was more than that. Matt had tried to save him, pleaded with Blag even while Virgil had begged Scott to make sure Matt was safe. Guilt was an old friend of Virgil's – ever since Scott had been taken in that alleyway years ago. He knew what it could do to a man.
He also understood now why Matt had been taken. It wasn't just in revenge for him helping save Scott the first time around. Blag somehow knew they were friends and knew that Matt had a family of his own. He also knew how protective Scott was – he had known how to play them. Once again, Virgil was reminded that Blag truly hadn't cared who lived and who died, as long as he had control of Scott. It made him feel sick.
"I've been better," Matt eventually answered, his voice quiet, "though probably about to be a lot worse when Nicole realises I'm not in bed."
Virgil grinned again even as he sagged further against the pillows. He looked at Matt's face and groaned.
"I'm fine," he said quickly, pre-empting the question. Matt looked at him steadily even as Virgil felt his flush spread across his neck. He had asked Matt, after all, it was only fair the question was returned. But Virgil realised his fast answer had bordered on rude and he sighed, dragging a hand through his hair.
"Sorry. It's just-"
"Everyone keep asking you that, eh?"
Virgil nodded, appreciating the true empathy in Matt's voice.
"I want to get out of here," Virgil admitted, staring at the opposite wall rather than looking at his friend. The others didn't understand how he felt; they knew he wanted Scott back but didn't appreciate what it was like for him, trapped in a hospital bed and relying on others. "I have to get him back."
"I know," Matt said.
Virgil looked at him and realised Matt did understand. They had both been used as bait, both used to try and destroy Scott. It didn't matter how many times the others told him it wasn't his fault and there was nothing he could have done. It didn't matter how many times Virgil told himself they were right. The guilt still pressed on him and he could tell by the hollow look in Matt's eyes that he was feeling the same.
"I should be out of here by tomorrow," Matt continued. "They've got no reason to keep me in. I'm going back there. Back to the house."
"The police have already been," Virgil muttered. He was both glad and jealous that Matt was well enough to secure his release. But the cops had been crawling over the house since before either of them had regained consciousness. Virgil had no idea what Matt hoped to find that his colleagues had missed.
"I have to do something!" Matt sighed in exasperation. "I know Blag, I know what he is like. I might find something they have overlooked, something they thought was inconsequential."
Virgil knew by the look on Matt's face that he didn't honestly expect to find anything. But Matt couldn't hack into satellites and databases the way John could. This was the only thing he could think of to try and help and Virgil knew he shouldn't deny the man that chance. After all, Matt was right: he did know Blag better than the rest of the officers on the case. If anything had been left – which Virgil knew was highly unlikely – then Matt might find it.
"Good luck." Virgil meant it, but he also wanted the conversation to be over. His frustration was building – Matt was doing the only thing he could and Virgil was judging him for it not being enough just because he couldn't do it himself.
He sighed, hoping Matt couldn't sense his annoyance. But his friend knew him better than that. Instead, Matt bent down and pulled a bag onto his lap. Despite everything, Virgil's curiosity piqued.
"What's that?"
"I'm doing the only thing I can, Virg," Matt said. He tipped the bag onto the bed and Virgil instinctively reached for the notepad before stopping himself and looking at Matt. The man pulled out a set of pencils that he placed next to the paper. "There is something you can do from in here. The cops might stand more of a chance if they could visually recognise the men with Blag, don't you think?"
"Matt-," Virgil had no idea what he wanted to say. His fingers twitched, though, his desire to have pencil and paper in his hand overwhelming anything else running through his mind. Matt was right; the cops had no idea who they were searching for. But Virgil had always had a talent for bringing things to life - even with pencils clearly aimed for children, no doubt the only thing Matt had been able to find in the gift shop.
Matt stood up, his hand resting fleetingly on Virgil's shoulder. "We're going to bring him home," he said, "you have my word."
Virgil nodded, reaching for the paper. Matt pushed it closer and moved towards the door. If he stopped and looked back before leaving, then Virgil didn't see him. Already, his hand was sketching across the paper as he lost himself to the memories of the men who had abducted him and ensured he couldn't escape from Blag.
More than one sketch was violently screwed up and thrown across the room as Virgil felt it didn't capture the essence of the men. But as each person came to life under his careful shading, Virgil felt a weight being lifted from him. It was therapeutic to be drawing again, and the shadow of all that had happened to him slowly started to lift as he was able to vent his feelings on the paper in front of him. It was as if he was so focused on trying to find Scott that he had forgotten he, too, had been through something.
Four men had been completed to Virgil's satisfaction and he had started on the fifth when exhaustion started to press down on him. This had been the longest he had been awake for some time and he was starting to feel it. He didn't notice his hand was slowing or that his grip on the pencil was slacking. He had no idea he was falling asleep until his body suddenly slumped and consciousness gave way to exhaustion.
He didn't hear his dad and brother returning, or the man's sharp gasp as he realised what he was looking at. Virgil didn't feel his dad tease the pencil from his hand and draw the pad away. He slept through the bed being lowered back to a horizontal position and the blankets drawn up over his slumbering body. His father's hand brushed through his hair softly and Virgil sighed in his sleep.
As his dad snatched up the drawings, ordering Gordon to stay with his brother while he went to find Paul, Virgil slept on. For the first time, he had done something constructive to help find his brother rather than be the reason why Scott ended up in trouble. Since waking up, Virgil finally felt he had been of some assistance rather than hindering everyone.
It was enough to make him sleep deeply for a while.