Thunderbirds and the Tracy Family are the creation of Gerry and Sylvia Anderson

Chapter 88

"I believe Lt Tracy told you he had nothing to say," a firm and commanding voice rang out.

Scott spun round and breathed a huge sigh of relief.

"Need a little help here, buddy," the familiar voice asked, placing a protective arm around his eldest brother in an effort to shield him from the intense media glare.

"Just get me outta here, Virg," Scott begged in a low voice, the urgency in his tone more than evident.

The press immediately recognised the second son of Jefferson Grant Tracy, billionaire and ex-astronaut. "Mr Tracy…Virgil….how did you feel knowing your brother had been shot down?" "Did you think you were ever going to see your brother alive again?" Well, if you can't get a statement from one brother, try another!

Gee, these guys were like sharks, intent on getting some kind of a story. Having to deal with the press was something the Tracy boys were getting well used to but even Virgil's normally placid patience was being tested to the absolute limit now by the intrusive and insensitive questioning. "No comment. Now can't you see Lt Tracy has had a long journey….he's not up to answering questions at this point in time," he stated, trying hard to keep a lid on his growing anger.

"We're just trying to make a livin here, Mr Tracy," one journalist explained, hoping it might draw out a more agreeable response and they would be willing to answer some questions.

But Virgil was having none of it. Concerned now for his brother's health by how pale and tired he was looking he knew he had to get him out of here, fast. "A statement will be issued in due course….now, if you'll excuse us," he stated curtly, drawing the attention of the nearby security staff who were already on their way.

Picking up the kit bag, Virgil did his best to shield his brother as they were ushered away from under the intense media glare of flashing lights and persistent questioning, by the security staff that now surrounded them.

"We're very sorry, Lt Tracy…Mr Tracy….that you were caught out like that….but we've been stretched to the limit today. The All Blacks have just brought back the World Cup Trophy….and as you can see, the airport is full of enthusiastic supporters and media…more than we thought there would be," one guard offered apologetically by way of explanation; the All Blacks being the pride of New Zealand and continuing to dominate the world of rugby.

The brothers nodded their acceptance and, after all, what could Virgil say; it was the reason he was late getting to his elder brother. Once away from the bustling crowds and in the privacy of the VIP suite Virgil gave his brother a proper welcome.

"Yeah, sorry I was late gettin to you, Scott…..that was the reason….I just couldn't get through any quicker. I didn't realise so many would turn out," Virgil was quick to apologise. He lost no time in throwing his arms round his brother and holding him, though he was aware not to hold him too tightly. "Gee…it's so good to have you home again, Scott. I…I can't tell you how much we've missed you," he added with heartfelt emotion. He could feel, though, his brother flinch against the embrace but put it down to maybe he hugged him too tightly or he was just tired after his long journey and he guessed Scott had had an emotional departure, knowing how close he and Cass had become.

"Yeah…yeah…me too, Virg," Scott replied quietly, trying to muster some enthusiasm, without much success.

"All right, buddy….let's get you home," Virgil responded with a grateful smile, thankful at last to have his eldest brother back. With his arm protectively round his brother they headed for the private hangar where the Tracy family two-seater jet was fuelled and ready to go. Next stop, a small tropical island haven in the jewelled ocean of the South Pacific.

Away from the public gaze and not feeling he had to look his immaculate best with not being on show, Scott had lost no time in unbuttoning his jacket, removing his tie and opening his shirt, freeing himself from their suffocating effect as Virgil stowed his kit bag in the storage compartment before take-off.

Well on the way now of this, the last stage of his homeward journey, Virgil couldn't help but notice how quiet his brother was. It was more than he was just tired, Virgil thought, glancing across from the pilot's seat to observe his eldest brother, not asleep but staring blankly as his head rested against the glass canopy of the cockpit, lost in some faraway place, in some private hell.

Since he wasn't asleep, Virgil gladly offered to relinquish the controls, hoping the chance to fly the family jet again would take his brother's mind from whatever dark place he was in, give him a sense of familiarity and belonging.

But Scott shook his head. "You're doin just fine, Virg," was the only disinterested reply given.

Now Virgil did have cause to worry for since when did his eldest brother ever refuse the opportunity to fly the family jet, any of them; he loved to fly, so this disinterest was heartbreaking to say the least. He couldn't bear to see his brother in obvious pain, only guessing at the hell he had come through. "Scott…if …if there's anything you want to talk about….anything at all….you know I'm here for ya, buddy," Virgil urged, though he knew this was hardly the time or place with having to concentrate on flying and the instrument panel and to be honest he didn't really expect his brother to open up there and then. He just desperately needed him to know he was not alone.

Scott winced and nodded. "Yeah…I know, Virg….but I don't wanna talk about anything," he responded adamantly and Virgil knew that tone; it meant that avenue of conversation was closed.

"Not forever, Scott…..not forever. I won't leave you in that private hell," Virgil thought determinedly as he glanced sideways at his brother who had returned to gazing out at the azure blue ocean far below. He was astute enough to know his eldest brother was going to need time to readjust to being home and with his family.

Virgil sensed his apprehension and agitation the closer they got to home.

"Virg….you guys haven't organised a welcome home party…or anything like that! I…I just couldn't face it ….I don't want any fuss," Scott had to ask, needing to know what to expect.

"No…no, Scott….don't worry. Dad made sure everybody understood….," Virgil assured him. "….though Grandma did want to make a fuss of you. So…she settled for organising a special tea instead….you know….made you some of your favorite things," he winced sympathetically as though in apology. "You know Grandma when she sets her heart on something…..it's just she's so happy to have you back home, Scott….we all are."

He sighed wearily, knowing he would have to do his duty for his beloved Grandma's sake with not much chance of crashing out in his room after all.

It was late afternoon now when Virgil's words made him catch his breath and almost break out in a cold sweat. "Well, Scott….there she is. Home," Virgil smiled with warm affection.

Home. All the emotion that that one word evoked threatened to engulf him. Scott fought hard the rising well of emotion within him, swallowing hard against the lump that seemed to lodge in his throat as he caught his first sight of the familiar lush green island with its distinctive peak set in the azure blue waters of the South Pacific Ocean; his facial muscles flinching against the strain of keeping his emotion in check. He should have been coming home the usual happy, carefree young man, on leave following his tour of duty, looking forward to seeing everyone; instead he felt distant and withdrawn. And how should he be around his family, how should he react? He was already acutely aware of the strained atmosphere between him and Virgil, though it wasn't on Virgil's part; he had done his best to act naturally around him, trying to engage him in conversation. He didn't want it to be this way but he couldn't help that cold feeling of being alone. How could he tell his brother, any of them, how he felt without telling them why but he didn't want them to look at him any differently, nor did he want their pity. Maybe he was just tired; his head was swimming again and all those flashing lights and questions hadn't helped either. Perhaps that is all that was needed, time to adjust to being home; he hoped so for he didn't want to think he would feel like this forever.

"Tracy One to Tracy Island…..Tracy One to Tracy Island…..come in. We're on final approach….I repeat….we are on final approach," Virgil transmitted with all the confident air of a skilled pilot, following the standard procedure.

"Tracy Island to Tracy One….you are clear for final approach…..," the familiar nasal, base tones of Jefferson Tracy sounded over the headpiece.

"Have you got him! Have you got him with you, Virg!" the young man's excitable voice cut in, unable to wait any longer as he stood beside his father's desk.

Have you got him! Why did that sound so familiar? That was Alan's voice, a young man's voice and suddenly he was back there again; back among the gunfire, the driving rain, 'Charlie' closing in on him, the 'whomp, whomp' of the Huey's rotors. All hell was breaking loose, the crew, someone was shouting as he was dragged into the Huey. "Have you got him! Have you got the 'package'?" "We got 'em….we got 'em. We've got the 'package'." Now he remembered, just before he passed out from his wound. Alan! Alan! What are you doing here? The young gunner, Bud! He was so like Alan, Scott remembered thinking to himself.

"Yeah….I got him. He's right here beside me, Al," Virgil grinned at their youngest brother's barely containable excitement but on looking to his brother Virgil became worried for Scott had broken out in a cold sweat and his breathing was laboured. "Scott! What's wrong! Are you ok, buddy?" he asked, full of concern for his brother's condition.

Scott shook himself free from yet another powerful flashback. "Yeah…yeah….I'm all right, Virg. I was just remembering something…that's all," he assured his brother quietly.

Virgil nodded understandingly, though felt a little unsure of just how 'all right' his brother was. "Tracy One to Tracy Island…..iniating landing sequence and beginning our descent. ETA…5 minutes," he responded, having returned to pilot mode to get them landed safely.

And finally they were down, taxiing towards the concealed hangar set in the cliff face. The little plane rolled in, becoming lost in the vast, cavernous space that was still undergoing construction, much too vast a space for one little two-seater plane or even the other family-sized jet. So why the need for such a huge hangar!

"Yeah…it's pretty amazing, isn't it? Dad is still intent on getting his little 'project' off the ground. Figures in a couple years……!" Virgil smiled with the appreciation of an engineer at what had already been achieved as he caught his brother gazing around at what had been done in his absence.

Could this be what his future involved, the future Cass had seen for him, Scott wondered in reflective thought.

"Come on….everyone's waiting for you up in the lounge," Virgil encouraged quietly, disturbing his brother from his reverie, though he couldn't help his own excitement at the prospect of having his older brother home again. Slinging Scott's kit bag over his shoulder and with an encouraging hand on his brother's shoulder, Virgil guided him towards the internal lift that accessed the villa.

Why did he feel so numb? Why was he finding it so daunting, as though he were been taken to meet strangers? They were his family for goodness sake. Perhaps it was because he knew how excited and happy they would be and expect him to be the same, expecting him to be the same brother he had always been; still, there was no avoiding it so he might as well get it over with.

That morning and, indeed the day before, the Tracy household was a buzz of nervous excitement, a hive of fevered activity, making sure everything was just right for his homecoming. His room was made ready, aired and with fresh bed linen, Grandma and Kyrano cooking up a storm in the kitchen, making all his favorite things for the special tea, for Grandma had no intention of letting her eldest grandson's homecoming go by unnoticed. As promised, when it was known he was coming home, his brothers had been summoned from their various careers, having been granted compassionate leave; Tin-Tin, too, having come home from University where she was studying advanced technical theory and engineering, being considered, very much, a part of the family.

Jeff had carefully warned everyone to take it easy with him, not to expect too much of him, to give him time to get used to being back home. His brothers nodded their agreement but couldn't see the need for such advice; after all, this was their brother. Sure, Scott had been through a rough time, having to carry his wounded comrade for two days through a hostile, hot and humid jungle and getting shot into the bargain. Then, of course, there was that unpleasant 'incident' in the hospital but their brother was coming home a hero, he had been given the Medal of Honor for his brave and gallant actions, why wouldn't he be happy to be back home, among his family! Only Jeff could begin to know the real reason because only Jeff knew the whole story of the hell his eldest son must be in but then, he couldn't tell them, could he!

As soon as he entered the lounge all such carefully given advice went right out the window and Scott soon found himself surrounded and swamped by happy, excited brothers, all eager to embrace him and tell him how good it was to have him back. Scott allowed them to hug him but felt himself wince and stiffen against the warmth of the welcomes or maybe it was because some of the embraces were a little too over enthusiastic, especially from his youngest brothers, Alan and Gordon, causing him some considerable pain from his still healing body.

"Aghhh….take it easy, guys," Scott groaned against the well-meaning shows of affection.

"Sorry Scott…guess we just got carried away," Alan apologised sincerely. "But gee…it is good to have ya back home."

"Yeah…sorry Scott," John and Gordon added.

"Yeah it's….good to be back home," Scott responded quietly, though it was more for their sakes for he knew that's what they would want to hear.

His less than enthusiastic response had not gone unnoticed, however, as John gave Virgil a cursory glance.

Tin-Tin's greeting was a little more sedate, giving her surrogate 'brother' a light peck on the cheek and telling him it was good to have him home. Even Brains, the young scientist, who normally just liked to keep himself in the background was eager to welcome his friend home, though he declined from actual physical contact. Tin-Tin's father, Kyrano, also offered his greeting.

"It is good to have you home again, Mr Scott. I trust the tranquillity and serenity of your island home will bring you much peace," he offered with his customary bow, giving his gentle words of wisdom, almost as if he knew what Scott needed.

Scott winced and swallowed hard at the words. More than anything he wanted peace for his troubled soul and he couldn't help but think it sounded like something someone else might have said but he didn't get long to reflect.

Her aging eyes welling up with tears, Grandma held out her arms to her eldest grandson. "My…you always did look handsome in that uniform, Son….and your Grandpa….he would have been so proud of you…….," she began in grandmotherly fashion and then putting her arms around him, well, as far as she could, given her small frame.

Scott wincingly smiled in his Grandma's embrace, the words, 'proud of you' echoing in his head, stabbing at him like a hot knife. He barely heard her as she prattled on.

"……and I've made all your favorite things. Why…I'm sure they haven't been feeding you nearly enough in that hospital…..and after that fever….why…you're gonna need some good home cookin, Son. Oh my…I was so worried about you….you gave your old grandma a right scare, Scott Carpenter Tracy," she tutted as grandmothers do, though in truth it was just her way of dealing with her emotion.

Frowning heavily at the mention of his fever, Scott shot a glance to his father, unsure of just what she knew of it and not wanting to think she knew of his torture ordeal, although it didn't sound like she did. Jeff shook his head at his son's unspoken question, reassuring him she knew nothing of the origin of his fever.

"Now mother…Scott doesn't want to hear all that….he's just got home," Jeff gently chided; so much for his careful advice about not making a fuss.

"Why…Jefferson Tracy….I can be worried about my Grandson if I want. I'm his Grandma," she retorted crossly, to which Jeff silently gritted his teeth and rolled his eyes.

He should have known better than to try and come between her and her grandsons but his main concern had been to protect his eldest son and try to make this homecoming as easy as possible for him. He had seen it in his son's eyes the minute he entered the lounge, the uncertainty, the apprehension, just wishing he could go straight to his room and be anywhere else other than the center of attention.

Scott sighed wearily. He knew it was just his Grandma's way and now he felt it his duty to smooth things over, even though it was the last thing he needed. "You don't need to worry about me, Grandma. I'm all right. The fever….it was nothing…..and I got plenty to eat in the hospital….honest," he reassured her. "And thank you for making all my favorite things…..I…I can't wait," he added graciously, knowing now there was no way to avoid it.

"Oh you are a good boy….and my…such a brave boy. It is good to have you home again, Son….right back where you belong," she cried with a tearful smile and kissing his cheek when he had bent down to her level.

And then there was his father. Jefferson Tracy had waited patiently to greet his eldest son, to once more hold his boy in his arms, knowing all he had been through. Father and son looked at each other meaningfully before Jeff made a move and then, with one simple, though heartfelt, word of, 'Son', at last, he was in his father's strong, yet careful, embrace.

Scott heard him gasp, gasp out the emotion of finally being able to hold his son, the son he had been deprived off; all the worry, anxiety and anguish of those early days when they first got the news and since coming flooding to the surface. They remained like that for what seemed like ages for it was as if Jefferson Tracy was unwilling to let go of his eldest son, knowing how close he came to losing him, words seeming unnecessary.

Jefferson Tracy may not be big on putting his feelings into words with emotional speeches and he knew Scott would not want that right now anyway but that didn't mean he didn't love his sons with all of his heart as was evident by the way he fought 'tooth and nail' on his son's behalf with General Steve Ryder.

"Well are you two just going to stand around like that all day," Grandma's shrill and faltering voice cut in, breaking the moment of the emotional reunion. "Why….I've gotta get some good home cookin into that boy."

"Yeah….I guess I'd better go and freshen up," Scott suggested quietly, breaking away from his father's hold.

"Hey…we'll come too…and help you unpack, Scott," Alan offered enthusiastically.

"No…it's all right guys…thanks…but…..," Scott had started to say, wanting really to be by himself for a while but with two excitable and eager youngest brothers he didn't stand a chance.

Inevitably Gordon and Alan started to argue over who would carry their 'hero' brother's kit bag with Gordon winning the day on this occasion and before Scott could insist they were heading off to their brother's room. Scott had no option but to wearily follow them, with John going along to keep his boisterous younger brothers in check.

Virgil was about to join the small party when his father called him over and together they watched as Scott left the lounge. "So how did it go, Virgil? How was he when you found him?" Jeff asked concerned.

Virgil shook his head. "It didn't go well at all, Dad. There were fans and media all over the airport for the Trophy….I couldn't get through quickly enough. By the time I got to him….he was surrounding by more media….damn journalists bombarding him with all sorts of questions….cameras flashing in his face….the works. They were there for him, Dad….somehow they knew he was comin in. I had to rescue him…..they were like a mob….and then they were going to start on me. I just told them a statement would be issued later. He looked about all in, Dad…..I'm guessing he must have had a pretty emotional leaving up there in Da Nang……it was the last thing he needed. He didn't say much on the plane on the way over….he didn't even wanna take over the controls," Virgil explained, giving his father a brief synopsis of the events.

"Damn journalists….how in the hell did they get wind of his arrival," Jeff thundered angrily. "We thought with the Trophy coming in and a few fans that that would have provided a good distraction…..he should have been able to slip through unnoticed. You're right….it was the last thing he needed but anyway…you did the best you could, Son…..you got him out of there. And you did the right thing….telling them a statement would be issued later," he nodded approvingly as he clapped his hand on his son's shoulder.

Entering his room he almost felt like a stranger and yet, it was strangely familiar. As he took the time, looking around in contemplative thought while stroking familiar objects with his fingers, he was barely aware of Gordon and Alan's continued competitive streak over who would unpack his bag once they went through to the bedroom. A soft concerned voice broke into his thoughts, as a comforting hand was placed on his shoulder.

"You all right, Scott?" John asked, a kindly smile gracing his slim, fair features.

Scott drew in a deep breath, rousing him from his reverie and gave his brother a weak smile. "Yeah….sure John…..everything's all right. I'm just remembering….that's all….guess it's been a while since I was in here," he replied assuredly. "Say John….help me outta this…will ya," Scott asked, in the hope of distracting his brother from giving any well-meaning advice and referring to his arm being still strapped into the immobiliser.

"Hey Scott….what've ya done to your hand?" Gordon asked, a little concerned that his brother should have another injury, as if what he had suffered already wasn't enough.

Now that John had helped him off with the arm restraint and his uniform jacket the dressing on his hand was clear to see, since before he had kept the palm of his hand concealed against him. Scott had forgotten all about that but he certainly wasn't up to any explanations right now. "Huh….oh that….it…it's nothing. I…I just cut it on something," he responded lamely and headed off to his bathroom to freshen up, before any more questions were forthcoming.

Seemingly satisfied and feeling they were helping their brother, Alan and Gordon began diligently pulling everything out of his kit bag and putting it away, much to Scott's annoyance when he re-entered the room, since he hadn't asked them to and had been intent on doing it for himself later; he wasn't an invalid and didn't want to be treated as such.

"Hey…what's this, Scott!" Alan asked with puzzled curiosity, Gordon joining in with, 'And this!' as both boys pulled out a couple of intriguing items and started examining the contents before he could stop them.

"Leave those alone….I…I don't want anything getting broken," Scott responded testily, his obvious irritation starting to show.

But such is 'youngest brother curiosity syndrome', especially where oldest brothers are concerned, they paid absolutely no heed. "Did Cass give you these?" Gordon surmised, since it didn't take a genius to work out they were of Native American origin.

"Yeah…he did. They were a gift….now leave them alone," Scott insisted, fearful that in their boisterous exuberance something would get damaged; an insistence echoed by John.

"C..o..o..l," the boys exclaimed, along with other such phrases that suggested they were highly impressed. "But what do they all mean, Scott? What's this funny little bird supposed to be, Scott? What's the feather for, Scott? Why did Cass give you these, Scott?"

His head swam with their rapid-fire questions, until….! "Enough already. What is this? An interrogation!" Scott snapped, his irritability factor having reached overload. The word came out automatically, leaving everyone silenced and creating an uneasy atmosphere, as it dredged up unpleasant images. "I…I told you to leave those things alone….and I didn't ask you to unpack either….did I? Now let's go...Grandma will be waiting for us," he continued sharply. And with that he left the room….alone.

"Sorry Scott," the boys called out in apology. "We were only….tryin to help," they added rather lamely but he was already gone.

John tapped his folded arms in exasperation and nodded. "Nice one, guys! But he's right….Grandma will be waiting….so let's go," John ordered, ushering his now squabbling siblings from the room, each trying to blame the other for the upset.

The special tea that evening started off as a rather strained affair, not least because everyone was trying so hard, too hard, to be careful about what they said. The conversation began as polite and awkward with……"So…John…..what've you been doing? Anything interesting!" Virgil asked, trying to sound casual, though genuinely interested for it had been a while since they all sat around the dinner table together so it was pretty natural they would want to catch up on each others news.

After John had told them all his latest then it was, "And you, Gordon…..what about you?" So it went on around the table in the hopes that Scott would feel like joining in and give him that comfortable and secure feeling of being home but Scott wasn't stupid. He knew the awkward atmosphere was because of him, that his silence stood out among the family chitchat and he hated it but, after all, what was he to contribute!

The conversation in his head went something like…..'So…Scott….what've you been up to? Me! Oh…I just rammed a 6" blade up into some kid's chest, had him bleed all over me and watched the fear in his eyes as he died…..and then there was the guy's neck I snapped with my bare hands. Not forgetting…of course watching an old man get his head cut off….and seeing babies being butchered….' Well, it was hardly pleasant dinner table conversation, now was it!

He knew it would be hard, hard to adjust to being back home in a normal family environment after the disciplined military routine of life on a combat-ready operational base but more so after the high-octane adrenalin rush of surviving in a hostile environment. It was a problem many battle-hardened men had to deal with when returning from the horrors of war to their families but with love and support and with time they were able to adjust, though, sad to say, there were those who were never able to.

"Sweetheart…is everything all right? You've hardly touched any of your food. Why…I just knew you were looking peaky," Grandma fussed, concerned that her eldest grandson wasn't eating.

Roused from his far-away thoughts and aware he was the sole object of attention, Scott winced a smile. "No…no…I'm fine, Grandma, honest. And everything looks…just so good….there's no one can bake like you, Grandma," he assured her and, as if to prove it and allay her fears, he forced himself to take a piece of the apple pie he had before only just been playing with on his plate.

Perhaps Alan took it as a sign that his oldest brother had decided to, at last, engage in conversation for there were things he had been just itching to know, so, in his youthful, impetuous naivety he just came right out and asked, obviously not thinking that some subjects would be better avoided right now.

"Hey Scott….what was it like out there? Did you have to eat bugs…..when your rations ran out….you know….like that Survival School stuff!" Alan asked with all the inquisitive exuberance of a young man admiring of his hero big brother and the sort of subject only boys, and youngest brothers at that, would bring up at the dinner table.

"Yeah….like remember the time you dared me to eat worms….when we were kids…back on the farm? Say….ya didn't try snake while you were at it too, huh!" Gordon joined in with a laugh, getting a bit too carried away.

For the briefest of moments everyone else at the table stopped mid-bite, as if suddenly paralysed, except for their eyes, which darted from one to the other then glanced quickly to Scott, awaiting his reaction. It was inevitable; you could almost feel it coming.

It had been a long day already; the emotional leaving, the journey and the physically and mentally draining flashbacks then the ordeal at the airport, had all taken their toll. His head was pounding, he was tired and his irritability factor was, once more, on high overload.

Pushing himself back from the table, Scott stood up. "Questions! What is all this with the questions! Haven't I had enough questions from those doctors…and those damn journalists at the airport! I certainly don't need it from you guys. Now…if you'll excuse me….I'm feelin kinda tired. I'm going to my room…and no….I don't need any help," Scott snapped tersely, finally exploding with pent up frustration. And with that he left the room.

All eyes turned accusingly to two rather sheepish young men.

"Nice one, you guys!" Virgil retorted with obvious displeasure.

"What! What'd we say! We were only talkin about bugs!" Alan argued defensively, shrugging his shoulders and holding out his open palms, as if to say, 'What've I done wrong!'.

"He's been to hell and back…..the last thing he needs is reminded……," Virgil started to reply with exasperation at his younger brothers stupidity, even though he wasn't fully aware of the extent of his eldest brother's private hell.

"That's enough boys," the deep, resonate voice of wisdom cut in. "Now it's no one's fault. We all knew this was going to be hard, hard on all of us. It's just going to take him time to adjust to being home….so we're all going to have to be patient with him….and with each other. Is that understood?" Jeff ordered, looking around the table to make sure everybody got the message, to which the response was, 'Yes Sir', for it was only his father could fully appreciate the true hell his eldest son had been to.

No sooner had he left the kitchen than there was a heavy thud, bringing the family, worriedly, rushing from the table to find Scott collapsed face down, a crumpled heap on the lounge floor.

"Scott!" Virgil called out in alarm, instantly kneeling beside his brother with Brains quickly joining him. Together they began to examine him, carrying out a basic First Aid routine, determining that he was still breathing and had a pulse while everyone looked on in concern.

"How is he, Virgil…Brains?" his father asked anxiously, his face pale and ashen with worry.

They nodded and everyone breathed a huge sigh of relief. During the further brief examination to determine if he'd re-injured his ribs, Scott started to come round, groaning at the intrusion into his left side.

"Oh dear…..he will be all right…..won't he, Jeff?" Grandma cried, clearly upset that this should happen to her grandson on his return home.

Jeff put a comforting arm around her. "Now Mother….Scott's going to be all right. He's had a long and tiring day and it's just all been too much for him….that's all," he reassured her.

Leaving the kitchen and getting only as far as the lounge, Scott's exhaustion and pounding head had finally gotten the better of him and he suddenly found the floor rushing up to meet him, then everything went black. He came round to find anxious, concerned faces looking down at him.

After a more detailed examination in the Infirmary, with Brains examining his eyes and testing his recognitive responses to rule out concussion, Scott was allowed to go back to his room, where he could finally get some rest.

That first night in his own bed, in his own room had felt strange, as it does when one has been away for some time and Scott tossed and turned restlessly, his nightmares continuing to plague him. It was at this point that Virgil had first picked up the story, when he and John had entered his room in the middle of the night to find him drenched in sweat, reliving his horror. It upset Scott greatly to think he could have seriously hurt John but although he was grateful for both John and Virgil's understanding, Scott refused, at that point, to divulge the details of his nightmares, assuring them he would cope and that given time hopefully they would go away.

Indeed, he had learnt to bury his memories so deep that the powerful flashbacks became less and less, until they disappeared altogether and he was able to get his life back on track, though from time to time he was still troubled by nightmares, his 'circle of fire' re-emerging from the earth as Cass told him it would. That is, until a certain impetuous young brother had asked a certain question to satisfy his own curiosity and brought the whole experience erupting to the surface, reminding him of things best left buried.

Early that first morning, around sunrise and unable to sleep any longer, Scott rose from his bed and made his way to the lounge, taking the time to look around him and reacquaint himself with his home while everyone else slept. He stood for what seemed like a long time in front of that drinks cabinet, contemplating whether he would or he wouldn't. Eventually, though, he gave in and reached for the bottle of Scotch he knew would be there. He poured himself a neat, 'two-finger shot' of the fiery, golden amber liquid, a'two-finger shot' referring to the depth of a measure of the drink in the glass, usually the fore and middle fingers. Closing his eyes to savor what he hadn't tasted in a while and taking a deep breath, he slaked it back in one swallow, feeling its warmth engulf him. Pouring himself another he put the bottle back, closed the cabinet and went out onto the balcony to watch the tranquil sunrise, dressed only in a pair of lounge pants and lost in his thoughts as he sipped at his drink. It was never his intention to get drunk for he knew his limit and could hold his liquor and besides that he was still on pain medication so he wasn't stupid; no, all he wanted, for a while, was to numb his pain, apart from the fact it was soothing. His actions had not gone unnoticed however, the figure slipping quietly and unobtrusively back to his room.

A short while later Scott entered the dining area of the kitchen to find the family had already gathered for breakfast. They hadn't notice him come in for his brothers seemed to be intently pouring over what looked like the morning papers, even Gordon and Alan, which was unusual for them since they were always locked in some conspiratorial plot as to who would become the subject of their latest prank. Brains had his nose stuck in what looked like some scientific journal and Tin-Tin was helping Grandma. His father, too, was buried in his usual morning paper; no doubt the stocks and shares page. What was it his brothers were so avidly reading? Then he saw it and his face clouded over in a heavy frown.

"Oh there you are sweetheart. Come on….sit down and let me fix you some breakfast," Grandma urged, having noticed him as she started to serve.

"No….I…I'm not hungry. I'll get something later," Scott replied curtly and turned to leave.

"But sweetheart…..," Grandma called after him.

"I said I'm not hungry," Scott snapped back and with that he was gone.

Heads suddenly shot up and Jeff looked around the side of his paper. "Was that Scott? Why didn't he stay?" his father asked.

Virgil sighed heavily. "Probably because he caught sight of that," he surmised, the direction of his eyes indicating the front page of his father's newspaper, for there, splashed across the front page, was a picture of Scott in his uniform, with one arm in an immobiliser, obviously indicating some kind of injury and his other arm up, trying to shield his face along with the headlines: AIR FORCE'S SHY YOUNG MEDAL OF HONOR HERO REFUSES TO COMMENT, with a follow up of: Lt Scott Tracy, eldest son of billionaire and ex-astronaut Jefferson Grant Tracy finally arrived home yesterday, the gallant young hero hoping to slip in unnoticed but just what horrors did he encounter in that jungle!

Jeff closed over his paper, scanning again the front page then slammed it down on the table in disgust. "Damn it," he swore, annoyed with himself for being so careless.

"And he probably caught us reading the other papers too," Virgil sighed again in realisation.

"Well I don't see what the big deal is….I think it's neat. After all….Scott is a hero. He saved Jez's life… and got shot doing it….so why shouldn't he be proud of that," Alan stated quite categorically, his pride in his eldest brother obviously evident and never one to hide his opinion, Gordon joining in with equal agreement.

"That's enough, Alan…Gordon. The last thing your brother needs right now is to be reminded and he certainly doesn't need to see his ordeal splashed all over the gawd damn papers," Jeff snapped testily.

"But Dad……," Alan started to protest.

"But nothing Alan. We'll issue a formal statement…just like Virgil said…..and then that will be the end of the matter….subject closed. And while we're at it….I want all these papers disposed of….they are not to be left lying around……and there'll be no more papers read at the table….until this blows over. Is that understood?" Jeff ordered clearly and concisely, looking around the table and leaving them in absolutely no doubt as to how this was going to be handled.

The whole family nodded agreeably, though John and Virgil shot each other a meaningful glance, both obviously wondering the same thing.

After breakfast they lost no time in meeting up outside on the balcony, out of earshot of everyone.

"Well….what do ya suppose all that was about!" John asked, voicing his silent thoughts.

"Yeah….I was kinda wondering that myself, John," Virgil queried, wondering why their father should become so ultra defensive and clearly over-protective of their eldest brother. Was their something their father wasn't telling them! "And then there was that nightmare of his last night!"

"Yeah…tell me about it," John replied, remembering only too well his brother's sudden 'attack' and strong grip, though he in no way held him to blame.

"Something happened to him out there, John……I mean something real bad," Virgil mused with concern.

John nodded. "I think you might be right, Virgil….but you know Scott….if he doesn't wanna talk about it! And Dad says we're not to press him for any details," he reminded his brother.

"Yeah….well we'll see about that," Virgil responded determinedly. "I don't intend to let our brother go on suffering alone in that private hell of his."

"I'm right behind you on that, Virgil…..count me in," John stated with equal determination and both brothers 'high-fived' each other; Virgil, very much, glad of the support, knowing that Scott would be far from an easy nut to crack.

The next few mornings followed the same pattern, with Scott rising at dawn, pouring himself his 'two-fingered shot', slaking it back and taking another out onto the balcony. And the same figure sadly watched from the darkened shadows of the lounge before returning to his room.

On the fourth morning, Scott stood, gazing for a moment, at the golden amber liquid in the short glass as he held it up and turned it in his hand before he prepared to swallow it.

"That's not the answer, Son. You won't find it in the bottom of a glass," the quiet and deep resonate voice called out from the shadow of the doorway behind him.

The sudden and unexpected voice made Scott draw a breath and freeze. He knew full well, though, to whom the voice belonged, without turning round; it was unmistakeable. "And what is the answer, Dad! You gonna make it all go away for me….make it like it never happened!" Scott reflected in rhetorical mood. He threw back his head and downed the liquid in a swallow anyway, proceeding to pour himself another and offering to pour his father one now that he had come fully into the lounge.

Jeff shook his head and, dressed in his robe, followed his son out onto the balcony. "It's too early in the morning for me, Son," he replied quietly, wincing as he caught sight of his son's still healing back wound.

Scott winced a smile. "Meaning it should be too early for me too, huh, Dad!"

"I didn't say that….but that's for you to work out for yourself, Son," Jeff continued quietly, all too aware his son was suffering deep mental anguish. "I've been there before…..oh not that I've been through what you have, Son…..but remember when your mother died?" he asked reflectively, which surprised Scott, since he didn't often talk of their mom.

Scott just nodded and took another sip from his glass, after all, how could he ever forget.

"I tried that too…..the early morning drink…when I couldn't sleep…..to try to numb the pain. It doesn't work….it didn't work for me then…and it won't work for you now, Son," Jeff told him, offering his sound advice from his own experience."And would to gawd I could make it go away for you, Son…..but we both know I can't do that."

"Then what am I supposed to do, Dad! How do I make it go away?" Scott agonised, leaning on the balcony rail and staring at his drink as he twirled the glass in his hand.

It was breaking Jeff's heart to see his eldest son in such torment and for all his power and wealth he could not take his son's emotional pain from him. He had had the power and wealth to make the United States Air Force sit up and take notice but all the money in the world could not ease his son's mental anguish.

"I don't know that you can make it go away, Son. But I know you're better than this. You're strong…..you had to be…to survive out there….and I'm damn proud of you for having the guts to survive. Don't ever think any differently," Jeff encouraged his son.

Scott's face contorted with the agonies that were ripping through his soul as he listened to his father. "Please Dad…don't. You don't know what you're sayin…..you don't know….everything."

"Yes…I do, Son," Jeff told him quietly, causing his son to turn and look at him with questioning bewilderment. "I know what they taught you to do, Son. I made Steve tell me….everything," he explained.

The muscles on his now stone cold face tightened as he took another sip from the glass. "And you're proud to have a cold-blooded killer for a son…are you, Dad!" Scott asked dryly, almost as if testing the depth and strength of his father's love for him. "For that's how I did it, you know…..in cold-blood. I took those lives ….and I felt nothing when I was doing it. Just like I want to feel nothing now." He took another sip, feeling its mind-numbing warmth slid down his throat.

Jeff drew a calming breath. It was time to take his son in hand, time to do some serious straight talking and reminding him again of when he first saw his son in that terrible state, when his son could barely bring himself to look at him. "Now you listen to me, Son….and you listen good. That is NOT what you are….and that is certainly NOT who you are. You are Scott Carpenter Tracy….my eldest son……" he began, going on to list all his son's positive attributes. "……and you did what you did because that's how they taught you to survive in extreme circumstances. Now I believe in you, Son…..you have to believe in yourself. You're strong, Son….you're better than this," Jeff continued, nodding at the drink in his hand. "And I know you've seen some pretty terrible things too….but you can't blame yourself…that wasn't your fault…"

"I don't want to talk about that, Dad…..I don't ever want to talk about it," Scott stated adamantly, the muscles of his jaw tightening and flinching.

Jeff nodded understandingly. "I guess when all is said and done…you just have to find a way of living with some things……but this isn't the answer, Son," he finished off and with that he left his son to his contemplations, going back indoors to his room to dress for breakfast.

Scott hung his head, considering his father's wise counsel. Then, he raised his head to look at the tranquil sunrise, looked down at the remainder of the golden liquid in the glass and tipped it over slowly, watching the contents cascade down onto the foliage below. It was the last time he sought solace from an early morning drink, well, for a while anyway, though he did still rise early to head off for a long walk before breakfast. Scott turned and headed indoors to shower and dress.

A lot of the time he sought his own company, often going for long solitary walks along his favorite beach, learning to fight his demons. He spent time in the gym too, where he rigorously kept up his physiotherapy exercises to strengthen his shoulder and back, his brothers often joining him there to keep him company and lend their support.

On the fifth day of his return home Virgil and John, once more, found themselves alone on the balcony, this time observing their eldest brother down below on the patio by the pool. He had been standing at the tree-line boundary for what seemed like ages, gazing up the track that led into the interior of the island, before turning to recline on one of the sun loungers with the pretence of reading a book.

"Is it my imagination, Virgil…or does our big brother break into a cold sweat at the very thought of the interior?" John mused as they watched him. "Remember the other day….when we were going up to the Falls! He was all for coming with us…..he loves it up there…and then he backed off…said he had a headache!"

"No…it's not your imagination, John……I noticed that too. It was right after he took a few steps up that track. Come to think of it….he just seems to stick to the open beach…..I don't think he's even been over to the Roundhouse," Virgil was quick to agree, the Roundhouse only being accessible from the outside along one of the jungle tracks leading from the patio.

"But then maybe that's not so surprising when you think of it, Virgil….I mean….he was two days and nights in that jungle trying to survive….especially the nights. It must've been pretty terrifying….and with Jez the way he was," John surmised logically.

"I guess….but I still think there's more to it. He's not havin those nightmares for nothin, John. We can't let him go on like this….so…whatdaya say! Tonight's the night? We don't leave him until he tells us what's eatin him up," Virgil stated determinedly.

John agreed with a firm nod. "Tonight's the night, Virgil."

Author's Note: To refresh your memory as to Scott's 'attack' on John that first night he had his nightmares check out Chapter 65.