So, I know it's been a very long time since I last updated, and I am really sorry! Life is just in the way a lot of the time, and I honestly wasn't entirely sure where I was going with this fic. I've been super busy with university, and I've been playing a concerning amount of the Elder Scrolls Online. I received a review this morning about this fic which was really kind and I realised how much I've neglected this story and I'm way too far in to abandon it now. So thank you, QuestRunner, for motivating me again to churn this chapter out! It's longer than the others, so I hope this makes up for the appalling wait - I really hope you all enjoy this chapter, and I'm going to work on chapter 23 in the coming days!
baao
Chapter 22:
Exhausted and wanting to go home more than ever, Virgil once again found himself at a New York hospital through no fault of his own (well, the original visit may be debatable in its cause, but Virgil continued to deny it nonetheless). He had quickly spoken to his father after his escape from the bustling crowd outside the crumbling remains of the Tracy Corporations HQ but had promptly been ushered into an awaiting ambulance despite his protests.
Whether Virgil was in the same hospital room as he had been before, he had no idea – they all looked the same with their allegedly calming colours splattering the walls and hard furniture. He scowled at the cheap, cheery painting of sunflowers that hung on the opposite wall to the bed as he swung his one remaining good leg to and fro whilst he waited for the doctors to return with the results of more pointless tests. He was aware that the explosion had most certainly done more harm than good to his still aching body from the night before, but after everything that had happened today, the middle Tracy wanted nothing more than to return home to his family. But, Virgil was glad there was, at least, no mirror in the room; he most certainly did not need to see how much of a child he looked at the current moment in time as he sulked to pass the time.
After what felt like hours of waiting, Virgil's thoughts were interrupted by a tired and rather stern looking doctor barging into his quaint little room. She came to an abrupt stop in front of Virgil, who ceased his childlike behaviour under her gaze.
"So, Mr Tracy," she began, looking through her notes, "my name is Dr. Eastwell and I've been overseeing your care here since the incident at your father's office. How are you feeling?"
"Er, fine, thanks" he replied, a little startled by the sudden intrusion.
"Only fine?"
Her clipped British accent only served to make the statement even more accusatory, and Dr. Eastwell proceeded to peer over her glasses in expectance of a more thorough response from the slightly baffled looking Tracy.
"I mean, yes, better than before" Virgil stumbled in haste to not sound quite so stupid as he just had done – the last thing he needed was to be kept in the hospital further because he answered a question insufficiently.
"Hmm…"
Returning to her notes with a slight furrow in her brow, Dr. Eastwell took to curling her cropped blonde hair with her pen as she studied the results in her hand.
"You were in here just earlier today with a twisted knee and sprained wrist is that correct?"
Virgil nodded.
"And how did that happen?"
Virgil hesitated before answering carefully.
"I fell."
"You fell?" repeated the doctor, glancing back over at him.
"Yes, just a small accident."
She flicked over a page, the sound echoing in the awkward silence of the room.
"This states that alcohol was involved – would this have affected any of the injuries you later sustained in the explosion?"
"No, no, not at all!" Virgil responded, hurriedly "and I wouldn't actually say that I was injured in the attack, more lightly bruised" he continued.
The doctor sighed.
"I wouldn't consider losing consciousness and turning that twisted knee into another sprain to join your collection a light bruising, Mr Tracy."
Virgil flushed as the doctor turned to retrieve something from the corridor.
"It'd be best if you used these for the next week or so" she said, presenting a horrified looking Virgil with a pair of metal crutches, "and support your damaged knee with a brace for another week after that."
Virgil stared at the brace Dr. Eastwell was now holding out to him. In fairness, Virgil had barely acknowledged the fact that his knee had been steadily growing in pain since leaving the bomb site, and once he had arrived at the hospital, he had been given some rather lovely painkillers that had not only suppressed the ache in his body, but had been the most wonderful hangover cure since his didn't seem to plan on leaving any time soon.
"Please don't sit there gawking, Mr Tracy, it'll be better for you if I can place the brace on you now and you can be on your way. We can't have you hogging up rooms – there's been an explosion, you know."
Feeling indignant, Virgil prepared himself to retort but caught the eye of the now smirking doctor.
"Don't worry – I'm not actually going to throw you out, you did pay for this, after all. However, I think you'd be happier if you got to head home now, don't you?"
He breathed a sigh of relief, glad that someone was finally on his side and letting him go home.
"Going home would be the best thing in the world right now" he agreed, allowing the doctor to attach the clunky looking brace to his right knee.
In no time at all, the contraption was in place and Virgil gave it a little wiggle to test his mobility.
"Stop moving so much," Dr. Eastwell scolded, slapping the frame lightly. "Now, is it comfortable?"
"As comfortable as it'll ever be."
"That's good enough for me," came the reply, as she straightened to her full height.
Trying desperately to avoid sounding too much like a child in this moment, Virgil (maturely) whined: "can I go home now?"
"I trust you can make your own travel arrangements?" she asked, looking over her glasses once again. Virgil figured it was a habit of hers.
Virgil mock saluted in response, and he was sure he saw a brief smile grace the doctor's faced before it was concealed with a sigh and she handed him a list of things he should do in order to help his knee heal.
"So, that's everything," she concluded after quickly going over the main points in the information booklet. "You were lucky to escape without any concussion, Mr Tracy, but you are now free to go as long as you promise to rest that knee."
"Cross my heart and hope to die," he grinned, mirroring the said motion in mid-air.
"I'll go discharge you then and I hope, Mr Tracy,"
Virgil glanced up from his knee to see the doctor hesitating at the door.
"I hope that things work out for your family. I can't imagine what this must be like for you, I'm very sorry."
He nodded solemnly in response; in the rush of everything, Virgil had forgotten why he had even been in the Tracy Corp. Headquarters to begin with. He silently berated himself as Dr. Eastwell nodded back, and then vanished behind the door.
"I guess it's time to call the taxi then…" he muttered to himself, lifting his wrist.
"International Rescue, how can we be of assistance?"
Alan responded to the call monotonously, not paying attention to the address of the caller.
"Alan? It's me, Virgil."
Perking up immediately, Alan rushed to the controls in order to see his brother.
"Virg!" he exclaimed, "How are you?"
"Sore, tired, frustrated," his brother answered, clearly attempting to conceal any disgruntlement in his voice.
Alan chuckled; he was glad to hear Virgil's voice again, and even more so to hear his brother's usual grumpiness despite everything that had happened today.
"You looking for a ride home?"
"If there's one available, I'd love one," Virgil responded, his voice perking up at the prospect of returning to Tracy Island.
Alan pondered for a moment – Gordon, John, and Scott were all still stuck in Minnesota and there was no way their father was in any state to fly over to New York to collect his middle son from the city.
"There's a chance that Tin-tin would be prepared to fly over to get you; I think she'd enjoy a break from the house-"
"Only if it's not too much trouble, though" Virgil interrupted hastily, "I can always book another night at a hotel."
Alan laughed, "Dad wouldn't allow that now. He'd probably fly over immediately if I asked him, but I don't think that's the best idea. I'll call Tin-tin and ask her to come get you. Can't promise she won't fuss, though."
"I'll do anything to go home, Al. I'm sick of New York, I'm sick of the press, and I'm absolutely sick of the Hood."
"Well, I can get you away from two out of three," said Alan, "but the fussing you'll get on the island might not be better than the cameras."
"Anything will be better than this," replied Virgil solemnly, "just let me know where and when I can meet Tin-tin."
"FAB, Vig."
Static filled the space station as Virgil ended the call and Alan was left on his own once more.
Scott had had time to think whilst sitting in the sweltering reactor room. He'd thought about the mission, he'd thought about Virgil in New York and wondered how he was faring, he'd thought about how much Alan must be brooding up on Five, and he'd thought about how furious John and Gordon must be roaming the halls of this forsaken power station. John always had a general distaste for Minnesota and other more northern states; he much preferred the rich culture of Paris, or the bustling plazas of Rome over an isolated and cold state such as this. Gordon just hated being cold, so he'd probably like to be in the humid temperature that Scott had found himself in.
More than anything though, Scott had thought about how much he just hated the Hood's voice. Everything about it just reminded Scott of a classic 1960s bad-guy; if his situation wasn't so dire he would've laughed at the absurdity of it all. Instead, he was having to sit here and listen to the man drone on and on about world domination. Really, if he'd wanted to rid the world of International Rescue and then conquer it as if he was from a superhero film then he would've done more and talked less, Scott blearily pondered.
The Hood was standing in front of his camera, waiting for his message to be broadcast across the globe whilst Scott was positioned to the left-hand side of it, he assumed for Hood's dramatic big reveal of one of the pilots of the mysterious Thunderbirds. The Hood's voice was a muffled hum – it felt like he was underwater and his struggle to draw a full breath seemed to only confirm a feeling of submersion. His left ear was currently only allowing him to hear a high-pitched ringing, so Scott took some comfort in that he only had to listen to his captor with his right.
Dragging his eyes from the slightly mucky floor, Scott dared a glance to the door where Gordon had been hovering. His younger brother had disappeared for now, but it was unlikely that he'd stay that way, knowing the prankster. The handle of the door was shaking ever so slightly, and Scott desperately hoped that Gordon was not doing what he thought he was as the Hood's voice increased in volume, indicating that the broadcast was beginning, and forcing Scott's attention back to the centre of the room to witness his own undoing.
"Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen, to the big reveal!"
The Hood greeted the camera with a sadistic smile and outstretched his arms as if he were a showman performing to thousands of adoring fans.
"I can assure you it's all been worth the wait, and I hope you're all as excited as I am. The world has changed dramatically in my lifetime. Like those who have lived before me, life has lots of ups and downs, but we are fortunate enough to live in an era filled with technological advancements and budding organisations which only serve altruistic purposes. However, due to the increase of the horrifying global warming, many natural disasters have occurred in recent years which frequently affect the most vulnerable in our societies. I too have fallen victim to one of these, but I was not fortunate enough to receive the full care and protection that I was promised as a poor man overseas…"
Gordon could hear the Hood start to address his audience and tried to hasten his attack on the door's lock. He decided he was lucky that his enemy enjoyed the sound of his own voice as it gave him extra precious minutes to pick the lock with a small piece he'd found lying around the site.
He'd had to work silently and slowly before, fearing being caught, but now the occupants of the room had their attention focussed on the video feed, Gordon could be a little more reckless.
Suddenly, the lock gave and Gordon reacted quickly to stop the door from opening on its own. He peered cautiously through the dusty window in the reactor but he didn't think he'd been noticed. The Hood was too busy wallowing in self-pity and generating a reaction from the public to notice Gordon; his henchmen were largely focussed on ensuring the stream was working and Scott, well, Gordon wasn't entirely sure what he was concentrating on, but he decided that the elder of the two probably wouldn't mind if Gordon interrupted.
Through the foggy glass, Gordon watched as the Hood slowly began to approach his brother, and he knew he had just mere minutes to act.
Scott could feel the attention in the room shifting to him, and he felt his heart pound faster in his aching chest.
The Hood was taking slow steps towards him as he continued his tirade against the Tracy family and Scott couldn't help but twist his hands in his restraints as one last fruitless attempt to escape.
The Hood was closer now, and he was reaching towards Scott to hold him in place.
"So, people of the world,"
Gordon heard the Hood; he was about the reveal the secrets of International Rescue to the world, the ones that he and his family had tried to desperately to protect, the ones that they would die for in order to preserve their anonymity.
"…I introduce to you…"
Gordon knew this was his only chance. He allowed himself one breath of courage, and then threw himself into the room.
It felt like he was in a dream. The world drifted by in slow-motion, the images floating lazily past his eyes as chaos erupted.
The Hood turned, furious at the interruption.
Gordon burst into the room with the ferocity of wild animal.
Their eyes locked, and it was a stand-off between two fires; the Hood with his blazing, cold eyes, and Gordon, burning with rage and hurt.
The henchmen lunged, charging towards Gordon with bloodlust in their eyes.
One second to react, no mistakes - it was like any other rescue mission.
Gordon raised a gun (and god knows where he got that from), and took a shaky aim at his enemies, his body veering slightly to the left.
One chance, there was no more time.
Scott summoned the last of his energy and swung his leg. It connected, and a body fell with a grunt, and then another.
His chair began to fall, tipping so slowly through the air he could be falling through water.
A bang echoed in the room, ripping through his hazy consciousness to wake him with fierce abruptness. The world went white as he collided with the unforgiving floor and the ringing in his ears threatened to deafen him as his nerves exploded.
And then, as quickly as it started, everything was silent, and all was black.
Please, let me know what you all thought! It's been hard to get back into it so I don't know if my writing is very good in this chapter but I always love reviews! Also, if any of you happen to play ESO in the European server, honestly PM me because I need some people to run around with (my friends are now too low a level for me and I just ruin the game for them :( )
And really, my biggest thanks to everyone who reviews and I love all of you for reading!