When Scott finds himself unable to attend a rescue, his brothers know they need to confront him about his self-neglect.
“Scott, get dow–”
The transmission was hastily switched off with a flick of the wrist. Scott groaned from his position, huddled on his bed, as the incessant beeping of an International Rescue emergency pierced through the “Do Not Disturb” settings on his communicator.
Was twelve hours too much to ask for? he wondered dimly. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as he slowly sat up. His vision swam in and out as the nausea struck him full force.
Bad idea, retreat, he thought, lowering himself back down again.
That damn beeping was still trying to invade his eardrums. Scott fuzzily wondered if he could convince John to jam all radio frequencies in his room. A clattering of footsteps outside his door shot straight to his head and he doubled over with a groan.
“Scott!” Alan’s voice was high and sharp. “Scott, wake up, there’s an emergency, John is pissed.”
“Don’ say piss,” slurred Scott. “’M on my way.”
“Are you sure Scott?” asked Alan, the worry evident in his tone. “You look like crap.”
“’M fine.”
Alan blindly reached for the light switch and it only took a split second for the lightbulb to imprint its energy into Scott’s head with a sharp pain.
Scott slammed his eyes closed but there were red spots flying behind his eyes, the change too much and too fast, and his body’s response was to make it all stop, to restore Scott to the last moment where all had been okay, when there was no alcohol in his system.
Alan could see better now with the lights on, could see the colour drain from Scott’s face, the shaking in his hands as he tried to draw the covers over his head and the clamminess of his skin. That was all the warning he got before Scott threw up.
“GRANDMA!”
A cry for Grandma was a cry for help, and it was no surprise that not only Grandma Tracy came running around the corner, but Virgil too.
The two of them sized up the situation quickly.
“You boys get going,” said Grandma Tracy grimly. “You’re needed elsewhere, I’ll look after him.”
Virgil pulled Alan away as Grandma Tracy crossed over to Scott’s bed and began to gently extract him from the sheets.
“Is Scott okay?” Alan asked Virgil as they made their way back downstairs. Virgil shook his head.
“Grandma will sort him out,” he replied, but the crease between his eyes only deepened as they entered the lounge room. Gordon sat on the arm of the couch, chewing anxiously on the corner of his thumbnail. He was avoiding John’s glare, one arm folded defensively across his chest. He looked up in relief when Virgil and Alan entered the room.
“Where the hell is he?” demanded John, his expression thunderous from his position hovering above them.
“He’s sick,” said Alan.
“Virgil?”
“I grounded him,” said Virgil, and Alan’s eyes flickered at the lie. “He shouldn’t be flying for a couple of days. He’s not in the air force anymore, can’t have him trying to push through anything he shouldn’t.” Alan only looked more confused but Gordon straightened a little beside him, his eyes widening a little. Virgil ignored his brothers in favour of looking John dead in the eye as he spoke.
John’s face twitched and then settled into the cool professionalism he reserved for when he was required to distance his personal reactions.
“Alan, you’re in Thunderbird One,” he said in a clipped voice.
“What?!” exclaimed Gordon.
“There’s a tsunami heading for the Philippines and Palau,” said John. “They’re evacuating but they still need us onsite ASAP, Thunderbird One has the most manoeuvrability to pick up the desperate cases before Thunderbird Two arrives, and Alan is our best pilot. He’s trained and he’s going.”
Alan nodded and left to prepare for the rescue.
John turned back to Gordon and Virgil when he was out of sight.
“Bullshit, Scott’s sick,” he said, scowling at the two of them. “I thought we were past this.”
“Not now, John,” said Virgil sharply. “Grandma has him, we can worry about him when we get back.”
“Alan’s going to notice,” said Gordon. “He’s not a kid anymore.”
“I’ll talk to Alan,” said Virgil. “But not before we talk to Scott. Let’s move it.”
“FAB,” said Gordon.
***
It was a pale and wan looking Scott who was waiting for them when Virgil, Gordon and Alan returned home, feet and hearts heavy. Alan collapsed onto the floor by Scott’s feet and reached up to pat his knee.
“Alan!”
“’M all good, Scott,” he said with a yawn. “Jus’ too tired t’ move.” He opened one eye and looked up at Scott. “And you?”
“I’m alright, kid,” said Scott softly. The corners of his lips drooped as he watched Alan, exhausted but filled with a spark of good cheer all the same.
“Sure Scotty,” said Gordon patting his shoulder. “Come on Alan, at least let’s get you to your own floor.”
The older brothers watched as Gordon hauled his younger brother out of the room. Virgil could see the look Gordon gave him as he glanced back, disguised by the pause to shift Alan’s weight across his shoulders, the look that he wore in the field that told Virgil that he needed to get his battle gear ready.
“John,” slurred Alan. “t’s John, guys. G’nigh’ John.”
“You got him?” came John’s quiet voice through the walls.
“Yeah,” said Gordon. “Try not to kill each other while I’m gone.”
They didn’t hear John’s response but they knew when he walked in, his presence settling over the lounge room like the stifling, humid air before a summer storm. Virgil watched in alarm at the dark anger looming in John’s narrowed eyes.
“John,” began Virgil, stepping up to intercept him, but John brushed past him without a second glance.
“What the hell, Scott,” he hissed, towering over him. “We needed you out there today, they needed you. How could you do that to us?”
Scott gave no indication that he had heard John, drawing his legs up and tucking the blanket under him. The dead expression on his face was beginning to spread like a disease, his body uncaring of the function it was to perform. Eyes that were unfocused and void of vitality, shoulders and a spine that refused support, hands relaxed when Scott should have been preparing for a fight.
“Are you listening to me?” demanded John. “People died, people we could have saved.”
Scott shrugged, avoiding John’s gaze. “Wouldn’t have made a difference.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“I suppose you’ve run all the simulations of every possible outcome of each rescue?” said John, the waspish tone further souring his speech. “Because I have. And you know something? In every trial where we don’t have to sit around waiting for you, International Rescue gets there before the first building is washed away. International Rescue is there when they are needed.”
John spat his words at Scott like a weapon, his voice the sharp point of a sword, each syllable a gunshot crack in the silence.
“People died because you fucked up, Scott.”
“John, stop,” commanded Virgil. Stepping forward and pulling himself to his full height, his voice rang with authority. His eyes showed the kind of calm certainty that John was used to seeing in his oldest brother, the kind that told him that reassured him that someone had seen the issue at hand. Electricity was still crackling about him as he looked sharply between his brothers, but he quietened under Virgil’s strong gaze and dropped onto a couch opposite.
“Scott, we’re worried,” said Virgil, slowly as he looked down at Scott. “We haven’t seen you like this since…” He trailed off, taking in the way his brother was already flinching away from him. He knew that Scott had never truly grown comfortable sharing his weaknesses with his younger brothers and even those short sentences had been enough to make Scott hunch over and fold his arms across his chest. He carefully sat down next to Scott and reached out a hand to his shoulder.
“I know it’s been a rough couple of months,” he said, choosing his words with care. “But you’ve never outright missed a rescue before.”
“It won’t happen again,” said Scott, looking past Virgil out the window. “It was just the one time and it was stupid.”
“Yeah, it was stupid,” said John with a snort. “This isn’t about a one-off event; this is about a pattern.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your response times for rescues has been steadily decreasing for the last eight months,” said Virgil. “You haven’t slept through a full night since January, and when you are at home, you’re just hiding away from us.”
Scott scoffed at the two of them. “So, what? You’re calling me out because I’m stressed and haven’t caught a break? I should never have given you permission to access my biometrics during downtime.”
“Scott, you skipped a rescue because you were too hungover to move this morning,” said Virgil, impatiently. “Are you seriously trying to wave this off as you just being stressed? Your BAC peaked at 160mg/dL last night, you don’t get that from a couple of beers to relax after work.”
“Yeah, well, I made a mistake,” said Scott. “It happens, you can’t pull me up on that.”
“We can’t afford mistakes like that,” said John, his hackles starting to rise again. “What part of our job being the difference between life and death are you not getting?”
“Easy for you to say,” said Scott, his own temper flaring. For the first time, a spark flashed in his eyes. “All the way up there, your AI ready to take over if you need to step away, what do you know?”
“EOS helps run simulations and filter calls; she doesn’t take over anything. Without her, we’d be out on rescues a lot more, and we’d lose at least 80% of the information I can get you.”
“More of that ‘we’,” spat Scott. “You don’t have a clue, John.”
“Is this an argument anyone can get in on?” asked Gordon with a slight drawl. “Or is it restricted to assholes over six foot two?” He dropped down to sit on the back of the couch beside John and nudged him with his foot. “John, stop making this personal, he’s just trying to distract you from the problem. Scott, shut the hell up, we’re trying to help you.”
“I don’t need help,” said Scott, turning on his brother. “You act like you’ve never been stressed before.”
“This has gone well beyond stressed, Scott,” said Virgil. “Talk to us.”
“About what?” The phrase burst from his lips and there was the look of a caged creature in his eyes. “What exactly do you want me to say?”
“I want you to explain what you meant when you said that what we do doesn’t make a difference.”
Virgil had a way of cutting to the core of any issue, be it with machinery or words.
“That’s not what I meant,” said Scott, irritably.
“No? Word for word, that’s what you said and you are not in the habit of saying things you don’t mean.”
“I don’t, that’s not,” Scott tugged his head down and groaned. “I didn’t mean you don’t make a difference.
“He means he doesn’t think he makes a difference,” said John, eyeing his brother sharply. “Not us.”
Scott shook his head trying to clear away the fog and cobwebs that seemed to have permanently taken up residence inside his brain.
“Look, I’ve done the math,” he said tiredly. “Rescues with me on board are five times more likely to involve a mission failure. And I guess I got tired of watching my efforts go to waste. It’s like you said, Johnny, what we do is life or death and if I can’t cut it, if people die because of the decisions I make?” He shook his head again. “That’s not something I can live with.”
“Okay,” said Virgil. “Okay.”
The brothers sat in silence for a moment.
“So, what do we do now?” asked Gordon, hesitant to take on the role of initiator in this conversation.
Virgil took in a deep breath, unwilling to say what they were all thinking.
“You ground me,” said Scott quietly. “I’m too big a risk, I can coordinate from the island.”
“What, no!” exclaimed Virgil over John’s angry noise of protest.
“Just like that, you’ve been replaced,” said Gordon, shoving John’s shoulder. Scott realised that with his muddled thought process, that was exactly what he had just suggested.
“I didn’t mean it like that, John,” he said.
“No, no, go ahead, my job is so much easier than yours,” said John, his lips twisting into a sardonic smile. “What was it you said? ‘An AI ready to take over if you need to step away?’ It’s a hard job for anyone to screw up, so it’ll be perfect for you.”
Scott flinched as John threw his words back at him.
“No-one is replacing anyone,” said Virgil, firmly. “This isn’t about being a hazard, this is about your health. Scott, you’re off active duty. That includes missions, that includes reports, that includes coordination of any kind. You’re not getting back in the air until you’ve worked this through.”
Scott looked away from Virgil. He had known what his brother would say, knew he was doing the right thing, but it still hurt. Irrational the thought may be, but the pronouncement smacked of distrust and being left behind.
“Look, Scott,” said Gordon, quietly. “You need a break. You don’t see how you’ve changed over these last few months.”
Scott didn’t respond, a hard stare on his face and a tectonic shift held inside with a tight jaw and clenched fists. His brow burrowed into his skin as he closed his eyes, mirrored by dark shadows that showcased his lack of sleep.
His brothers watched as his lips trembled. They watched as a tear escaped from beneath his eyelid. They watched as he folded his arms across his chest. They watched as he swallowed back a grimace and then a sob.
Virgil reached out, gathering his big brother into his arms, and with an awful shudder that ripped through his body, Scott collapsed inwardly upon himself.
Scott was hiding now, as much as he could from his brothers that weren’t so little anymore. He curled in upon himself, clasping his arms even tighter around himself. Virgil’s heart ached to see his big brother like this, horrified to find him at the end of himself and yet still so unwilling to reach out to them.
“We’ve got you, Scott,” said John, walking over and sinking to the floor. His anger had melted away at the sound of Scott’s sobs and he rested his head against Scott’s ankles. Scott couldn’t hear the rest of his murmured words, not even certain if John meant them for his ears.
Gordon squeezed into the space between the arm of the chair and his brother, his own eyes welling up with unshed tears as he watched over Scott.
Nothing, not misery, not anguish, not even despair, lasts forever and slowly Scott began to unfurl himself as his cries quietened with nothing more to lament. The sudden change was an act of submission, his hitching breaths and swollen eyes laying bare the complete exhaustion of Scott’s emotional reserves.
“Scott?”
Scott felt John jump against his leg at the uncertain call and Virgil instinctively tightened his grip around his shoulders.
“Alan.” It was Gordon who responded first, as Gordon often did. “Shit, uh, I mean…” His brother was panicking, Scott could hear it in his voice, torn between checking in on his younger brother and leaving Scott with a shred of dignity intact. Scott knows it’s not a fair choice, knows it’s time to be the oldest once again. After all, it’s Scott his youngest brother is asking for, not Gordon, not Virgil, not even John.
“Get over here, kid,” he said, cracking one eye open and shrugging away Virgil’s arms. “What’s up? Thought you were too tired to move?”
“I slept,” said Alan dismissively, in a manner Scott just knows he’s picked up from visiting John on Thunderbird Five.
He shuffled uncomfortably and Scott sat up with a frown.
“You’ve been crying,” said Alan, looking down at him.
“Scott chuckles, a thin and watery sound. “Yeah kid, I have.”
“You scared me. When you wouldn’t get out of bed.”
Scott winced a little at the blunt sincerity in Alan’s voice. None of his brothers had much cause for subterfuge in their emotions, but Alan was still unpractised in the art of softening the blows they could leave behind. Or maybe, he didn’t care.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I really, really wish you hadn’t seen any of it.”
Alan was silent for a few moments. “I know you’re not gonna talk to me about it,” he said. “None of you ever will, not on purpose.”
“Can’t knock us off our pedestals,” quipped Gordon. “Far too traumatising for a teenager to deal with, much better to have four models of perfection to live up to.”
“Shut up Gordon,” Alan said, rolling his eyes at his brother. “Maybe I don’t want models of perfection. Maybe I just want my brothers. I want Scott to stop all this, and I want all of you to have time for me again.”
The thing about Alan is that sometimes there’s a selfish streak when he talks. It’s unintentional, the product of both youth and being the baby of their family, and they all let him get away with it. The way he demands things so easily for himself, thinking so little about how they happen and the sacrifices made to ensure their existence, doesn’t come naturally to Scott. Scott has lived his life from the opposite perspective, shouldering the responsibility and making the sacrifices willingly. If Alan wants his brothers back, Scott will make sure he gets them.
“We need a vacation,” announces Alan. “A real break, like a week at least. All of us together somewhere.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, okay, I can make that happen.”
“We can, Scotty,” said Gordon. “The whole point is we can.”
Scott watched in amusement as Gordon and Alan began to bicker over the proposed vacation; where they would go, what they should do. Virgil chimed in with his own ideas every now and again, his face breaking into a relieved smile with the return of more familiar territory, providing a buffer between them.
The only person who said nothing was John. Scott nudged him gently with his foot, but he was shaken off.
“I’m still mad at you,” he said and Scott winced. He opened his mouth to reply but John cut him off. “You scared me too.”
“I know,” said Scott. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
John pursed his lips together and looked firmly out the window. “Don’t make promises you don’t know you can keep, Scott.” He looked up at his brother and his eyes softened. “This won’t be the end. A holiday doesn’t just fix a year of self-neglect. You know that, right?”
Scott swallowed, his throat thick with emotion once more.
“Yeah Johnny, I do,” he said gruffly. “But it’ll be a start.”
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