loopstagirl asked:
Can I request 6 with Scott for the whumptober please?!
No. 6: NOT REALISING THEY'RE INJURED
Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms Healed Wrong "It's not my blood."
Liseylou asked for the same: This one looks fun with you know who, he always tries to hide an injury and then things go wrong. "Why didn't you tell us you'd been hit? You almost died."
With thanks to Sineater for helping with how Scott's injured…
Characters: Scott, Virgil
Warnings: Mentions of blood, Injuries, Medical Treatment, Mentions of fighting.
'It's not my blood.'
The words were out of Scott's mouth before Virgil had even asked the question. The medic narrowed his eyes and took in the state his brother was in.
'If it's not your blood then whose is it?'
He couldn't help himself, Virgil stood there with arms folded and a raised eyebrow and Scott momentarily had a flashback to being ten years old and trying to put one over his Mom – not that he could remember what it was he was trying to hide. Mom had stood there with the exact same pose. The only difference was that Mom always had a smile playing around her lips.
But then Virgil had good reason to be frowning.
Scott just shook out his hand and made to walk past his brother, only for Virgil's hand to shoot out and stop him passing. Gently he turned Scott and took hold of one of his hands, examining his knuckles. He frowned more at the state they were in.
'Scott – I don't know what you've been doing but you've dislocated two of your knuckles. If I don't put them back your hand will heal wrong. If that happens then…'
'Yeah, I get the picture, Virgil. Do what you need to do.'
They walked to the kitchen in silence, Virgil trying to work out what the hell was going on with his brother.
They had been in New York for a week of back-to-back meetings and after that first day Scott had disappeared every night and come back in the wee hours of the morning when Virgil was fast asleep. And every morning Scott had been up and gone before he'd had the chance to catch up with him.
Tonight Virgil had plied himself with coffee in an effort to keep awake and had been rewarded with this…whatever this was.
Thankfully the kitchen first aid kit was fully stocked as they all were trouble magnets when it came to injuries. Wiping Scott's hands clean before wrapping them in some ice – Virgil knew better than to force the knuckles back – and set about making some hot chocolate for them both.
No sooner had his back been turned than Scott had, with an audible 'crack', put the knuckles in himself.
'Scott!'
'What?'
'You need to ice the hand to get the swelling down and get an x-ray before the knuckles can be safely manipulated back in – not what you've just done! You could have done a permanent injury!'
Scott shrugged and turned away, but not before throwing a last comment over his shoulder that had Virgil sighing in dismay.
'I've been doing that all week and my hand's been fine.'
'Scott!'
But Scott had gone.
Putting the hot chocolate ingredients away with a heavy sigh, Virgil made his way to his own room, knowing Scott wouldn't be receptive right now. Making himself comfortable he did the only thing he could.
He called John and filled him in on what had happened.
The next morning Scott should have been stiff, but a double espresso with some strong painkillers that were carefully hidden from Virgil, a good hard run downstairs in the gym and a scalding hot shower and he was good to go. By the time Virgil was up and ready for his own meetings Scott was in full flow.
Still, there was a part of him that was looking forward to tonight.
This was his penultimate night, and as such Scott wanted to make it good. There was a voice at the back of his head that told him he was being reckless, that he should just talk to Virgil about how he was feeling…but that was the problem.
Scott wasn't sure when he'd stopped feeling anything. Wasn't sure how he could explain that to his brothers without making them feel guilty or even more worried over him then they already were.
But these last few nights had really helped. For the first time in he didn't know how long he'd actually felt something. It felt…good to let himself go, to be an anonymous face in the crowd.
The place was discrete, by invitation only, and with extremely strict rules. None of the gung-ho stuff some places advocated. This was, after all, therapy.
The knock-on effect had him sleeping better than he had in years, his productivity had increased and the meetings with TI had been going really well.
All in all, Scott felt on top of the world for once.
He knew this couldn't last – there was no way he could fly out every night from the island – so he was determined to make the most of tonight.
Once the day's meetings were over he and Virgil headed out for dinner, a light meal for Scott of lemon chicken pasta and a tagliatelle bolognaise for Virgil, before a stroll back to base. Although he could tell his brother had questions Scott was in a good mood and was chatty, and Virgil cherished this, forgoing the questions he had in an attempt to make the most of a happy, smiley Scott.
The hour was very late when Scott made a move to leave. Virgil had retired to his room, no doubt to get a head start on his last R meetings tomorrow, when Scott crept out of the apartment.
He had on his running shoes, a pair of jogging trousers in a non-descript grey and a hoodie, and a pair of baggy shorts in his bag. Setting off at a light jog Scott soon lost himself to the rhythm of his feet and the anticipation of tonight's therapy session.
…
As soon as the door closed Virgil exited his room. He was already dressed and he made himself a coffee while he waited for Scott to get far enough ahead that he wouldn't realise Virgil was following him. Savouring the warmth he hoped Scott wouldn't find the tracker he'd placed in the bag Scott had come home with last night…or should he say earlier that morning.
Deeming it safe to follow, Virgil listened to John's murmured directions. He eventually came upon a brownstone on the other side of Central Park. The five-floor building was magnificent – and Virgil was sure that he recognised the architecture, but he didn't have time to waste on that thought.
Of Scott there was no sign, but the signal was definitely coming from the building. There was no sign on the door, no sounds from the house at all, and reluctantly Virgil stepped away. There was nothing to tell him what Scott was doing, and he walked back to the park to contact John discretely.
'John, Scott's signal is coming from a townhouse, but I can't see anything that would tell me why he's there without knocking on the door. Have you had any luck?'
'Not really, there doesn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary. According to the records it is owned by one Tyler Durden, but he seems pretty non-descript. A soap salesman.'
'How the hell does a soap salesman afford a house here? It must be worth at least $10 million.'
'Nearer $15 to be exact. I don't know, there isn't a lot of information on the man.'
'Is that suspicious? Should I be worried?'
'Not necessarily. Not yet, anyway. Go home and wait for Scott while EOS and I do more digging. I'll let you know if I find anything that requires immediate action.'
'FAB, John.'
It didn't feel right, leaving Scott there, but he trusted John would let him know if there was an issue and it wouldn't take long to get there if he needed to. He settled in for another all-night vigil, going over his notes for the last meeting of the week and trying hard not to watch as the clock moved from 2am to 3am…
Scott's silent entry backfired spectacularly when he jumped a mile after Virgil spoke. His brother, hidden in the dark kitchen, just about gave him a heart attack.
'You're back then.'
'Jeez, Virg! Give a guy a heart attack why don't you!'
'Sorry, sorry.'
'Why are you still up? And why are you hiding in the dark?'
'I've been waiting for you. I'm worried, Scott.'
'Don't be.'
The light flicked on and both men winced in the sudden brightness. Scott stifled a sigh as his brother checked him over. Only his hands had once again taken a beating, and without a word Virgil once more cleaned, creamed and bound them.
'Scott – talk to me. Please. What's going on with you this week? You've been…'
'Happier?'
The word stopped all conversation dead.
'I – I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that.'
'But you are. Happier, I mean. And I'm so pleased you are, Scott, but that doesn't negate the fact that I'm worried about you!'
'You don't need to be, Virg. I promise.'
'Your hands tell me a different story.'
Scott looked guiltily at his hands for a moment. He'd managed to hide the damage at work simply because Brains was such a great engineer and had created a fast-acting cream that helped with healing both cuts and bruises. Plus he knew that if Virgil had seen the state of his torso…maybe it was time to give his brother something to stop him worrying so much.
'Would it help if I said that every evening I was going out it was to therapy?'
'You…you're going to therapy? Every evening? And coming home like that?'
'Yes. It's very…hand's-on style. And Virgil – it's working. That's gotta count for something, right?'
'I – I guess it does.'
'Good. Go to bed. We got one more day and we'll be outta here!'
He threw his best grin at his brother and was rewarded with seeing Virgil relax.
That relaxed state didn't last for long though.
Unaware that Virgil had changed his mind and had followed him to his room, Scott had stripped off his hoodie and t-shirt to reveal his very bruised torso. It was Virgil's horrified gasp that had Scott's shoulders slumping.
'What the hell, Scott! This isn't therapy, this is outright fighting! I've seen these marks on you before, only I was too young to do anything about it. Now I can.'
And with that Scott was dragged – gently – from his room and back into the kitchen.
There was nothing he could say to appease his brothers – plural because John joined them when Virgil called and now he had two unhappy siblings – so Scott sat on the stool as Virgil liberally applied Brains' bruise cream and checked out some of his more vivid contusions.
Virgil fairly vibrated with anger…and with guilt. He'd been here. How had he not noticed this level of injury on his brother? He was the medic for goodness sake! How long had Scott been doing this? Was this the only time? Was this a secret habit he'd fallen into on all those times he'd come to New York on his own?
The questions chased themselves around his head, but no answers could be forthcoming unless he actually voiced them. But Virgil found he didn't want to. He was afraid – too afraid of the answer Scott would give.
Because Scott was right – Virgil hadn't seen him this happy in a very long time.
The bruising around Scott's torso, particularly the left side, worried Virgil very much. The bruising here was far darker, and there was the niggling concern about his brother's spleen, but when he touched it it only elicited a minor grunt and careful prodding of his abdomen showed it was soft and not filling with blood…
'You should go to the ER and have yourself scanned. Some of this bruising is quite severe.'
'I'm fine, Virgil.'
'You say that, but I would be happier to double check. Some injuries can only be seen on scans.'
'You're worrying too much. I'm fine, nothing that a good night's sleep and a nice hot bath tomorrow can't fix.'
'You seriously didn't just say that.'
'What, John? Say what?'
'That we're worrying too much! Have you even seen yourself? What the hell have you been doing? How do you think Gordon and Alan and Grandma are going to react when they see that? Because I can tell you now, you say that to Grandma and she'll wash your mouth out with soap.'
'Look – guys, I'm fine. I'm tired and I know you have questions, but today was the last time since we're going home tomorrow. If you want, I'll answer your questions then, but please, I just want to go to bed.'
Watching Virgil and John have a quick silent conversation, Scott was pleased when they evidently both agreed to cross-examine him later, and he strode quickly from the room before they changed their minds.
They let Scott go before they carried on their conversation. Just what had Scott been doing was not as pressing as the thought that he'd been unhappy for so long and, while they had known it on some level, it had obviously been worse than they had realised. Both felt guilty for not noticing enough, not engaging with Scott enough to help him themselves without him resorting to what looked like bare knuckle fighting.
Eventually Virgil retired to bed, thankful that his only meeting that day was scheduled for the afternoon, unlike Scott's first one at 9 am.
...
It was a very grumpy Virgil that was woken up at 9:30 am by John blaring his alarm at full volume. But the anger faded quickly at the worry and fear on his brother's face.
'Scott didn't turn up for his meeting and I can't raise him.'
Virgil was out of that bed like a shot, crossing the corridor to Scott's room and flinging the door open.
Scott was still in bed, asleep. No – no asleep, unconscious. Virgil did a quick check over and still Scott didn't stir.
'John, call an ambulance.'
