11. Scott – Rehabilitation
rehabilitation: verb
1. to restore to a condition of good health, ability to work, or the like.
Every time something goes wrong, Scott needs a bit of rehabilitation. From the moment the telescopic arm pulls him out of One again, a caesarean unbirth, he needs rehab – right away.
You see, International Rescue is supposed to be infallible. It's supposed to be perfect, something anyone can rely on. But it's not. Sometimes, they don't get there in time. Sometimes they don't hear about the situation early enough. Sometimes armies stand in their way, or governments, or worse – both. International Rescue is supposed to save everyone.
But they don't.
On the failure days, Scott strips off his uniform and tosses it into the laundry suit, to be washed and recycled and reset for the next launch. He steps into a shower that feels like needles on his skin – and that's the start.
When they fail, Scott can't feel anything but the pain of someone else's death. He's died twenty-three times since International Rescue started – or, twenty-three and a half, if you count their father's disappearance, his possible death. Even if he didn't hear the screams, they echo in his mind. The accusations fall like gnarled fingers of justice, looming over him.
You failed! You failed! You failed!
I know, is all he can think. I know.
Because even if it wasn't his fault, even if he was stopped from doing his job by red tape or God himself – Scott would still feel the weight of blame on his shoulders.
By the time he's out of the shower, he's red raw and naked and he stands in the steamy wet room, sucking humidity into his lungs.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
When he leaves the bathroom, he will be rehabilitated – as best he can. He'll hold his head up high and leave. He'll climb into his favourite blue shirt and his slouchy jeans and he'll make sure there's a smile on his face.
Because Alan will have homework to do. Because Virgil doesn't need to have his own maudlin mood attacked by Scott's own. Because Grandma doesn't need any more stress; she's worried enough about all of them as it is.
So when Scott steps out of the clammy air and pulls on his clothes and walks down to the lounge again, he'll seem like he's okay. There will be plaster over the cracks. It'll do for now.
It's not real rehabilitation – but it's as close as he can get.