An Honest Scott Lover!

Sorry this chapter is late. It was fighting back! Scott gets to see himself in a mirror for the first time and it's a shock. Then, to top it all, receives some bad news...

Warnings for this chapter: some swearing, emotional/mental upset.

Earlier chapters may be found on AO3 here.

Chapter 8 - Hiccup

It was the low whimper that woke Virgil.  Opening his eyes, he saw that the sun had almost set and realised he’d been asleep for a few hours.  His eldest brother was still enfolded in his arms, but he was restless; there was a frown on his face and his breathing hitched as he unconsciously shook his head and gave a low moan of denial.

“It’s okay, Scotty,” Virgil soothed.  “You’re safe, I promise.”  He began to hum the lullaby their mother used to sing to them when they were upset or in need of comfort, in the hope it would chase away whatever nightmare was developing in his eldest brother’s mind.

Scott gave a sharp intake of breath, then jerked awake, disorientated for a few seconds until the soft humming penetrated his consciousness.

“V – Virg?” he gasped out.

“I’m here, Scooter.  You’re safe, everything’s fine,” Virgil replied softly, soothingly as he carded his fingers through his brother’s hair.  “You’re perfectly safe, and I’m right here, by your side.”

“I – I thought… I thought I was back…”  His breathing was ragged and he was trembling.

“No, you’re in a US military hospital still, and I’m right by your side.”  He felt Scott  tighten the hold on his arm as if to convince himself it was all true.  “Do you believe me, now?”

“Ye – Yeah.  Sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologise for.  I’m not surprised the interview today has resulted in you almost having a nightmare.  It wasn’t unexpected and that’s why I’m not leaving your side.  I’m going to keep those nightmares away from you as much as I can.”

“Love you, bro.”

“And never doubt I love you… we all do, okay?  Together, working as a team we’ll get you through this, whatever it takes.”

Scott didn’t get a chance to reply as there was a knock on the door which then opened to admit one of the catering staff with dinner.  She smiled at the two men as she placed the tray on the mobile table and then left.

“I need the bathroom,” Scott said, embarrassed.

“Okay, I’ll help you get there and I’ll stand guard outside the door.  Will you be all right in there on your own?”

“I -  I don’t know.  But I – I have to start using it at some point, rather than rely on… you know.”

Virgil nodded and slowly disentangled himself from his brother before getting off the bed.  He turned to face him.  “What do you need me to do?” he asked matter-of-factly, all business like so as not to embarrass his brother further.

“Just help me get there.  I’m not very steady on my legs yet.”

“Sure.”  He held out his arms in readiness.

Scott swept the bedding back off himself, thankful that his pitifully thin legs were clad in pyjama bottoms, but he could tell by the way they didn’t fill them that he had lost a lot of muscle mass.  He took a deep breath and slowly sat up properly, having to use his hands to push himself into a sitting position, then attempted to move himself so his legs were dangling down over the side, but they didn’t seem to want to cooperate and he gave a half huff half sob in frustration.

“Hey, small steps, Scotty,” Virgil said encouragingly.  “You can’t expect to climb a mountain straight away.  Come on, it’s not a weakness to ask for a little help.  It’s a sign of strength.”

Scott took a deep breath, but wouldn’t look at his younger brother.  He just nodded his head and Virgil started a monologue that he was going to take hold of his legs and swing them round, then Scott was to place his hands on Virgil’s shoulders, whilst he placed his under Scott’s armpits to support him.

Within a minute, Scott was on his feet, clutching Virgil’s shoulders tightly feeling a little light headed.

“You okay?”

Scott took some deep breaths in an effort to regain his equilibrium, then nodded, but Virgil saw a lone tear meander its way down his face.

“It’s all right, Scotty,” he soothed.  “I know you’re feeling weak and useless, but it’s temporary.  Look how far you’ve come already.  Come on, let’s get that bladder of yours sorted.”

Scott half sobbed, half laughed at that remark and gave a tiny smile.  He had to lean heavily on Virgil to travel the short distance and by the time he reached the door, his legs were trembling with the effort.

Virgil stopped at the entrance, as if sensing his brother needed to gather some courage to go into the small, enclosed room, even though with the light on, it was bright and airy.  “Ready when you are, he said to him,” and he stood patiently waiting for Scott to gather his courage.

A number of deep breaths followed, then Scott straightened up a little.  “O – okay,” came the slightly nervous response.

“I’ll help you in, then I’ll come out and close the door, but not all the way, so you can see there’s a gap and you’re not trapped in there.  Will that suffice?”

“I – I think so.”

Virgil nodded and they slowly made their way in.  Fortunately, Scott was gazing at his feet, making sure he placed them squarely as he part walked, part shuffled forward, so he didn’t see the face Virgil pulled.  The mirror in the bathroom was uncovered.  Scott had yet to get a good look at himself in one and the younger man was afraid about how he’d take it.  But he couldn’t do anything about it now.  Any steps he made to try and cover it would draw even more attention to it.

Arriving at their destination, Virgil ensured Scott was balanced.  “Okay, I’m letting go of you now.  Can you manage from here?  If not, just say the word and I’ll come back in and help you.”

“This is so fucking embarrassing,” Scott mumbled.

“Hey bro, you haven’t got anything I haven’t already seen!”

“Oh that makes me feel a darn sight better,” came the slightly sarcastic reply and Virgil smiled good naturedly.  “Get out.”  It was said without anger or malice.  The younger man smiled again, nodded then turned around and left, pulling the door too, but not closed so Scott could take care of his ablutions in relative privacy.

It seemed to be going well until Virgil heard a thwump and a cry of pure despair.

“Scott!  Scotty are you okay in there?”

There was no answer.

“Virgil’s heart rate escalated.  “Scotty!  Answer me!  Scotty!”

Silence reigned apart from the muffled sound of some sobbing.

“Scotty, I’m coming in!”  Virgil cautiously opened the door and found Scott on the floor, in front of the wash basin, head buried in his hands, attempting to cry quietly and partly failing.  “Scotty!  What’s wrong?”  Virgil was at his side in an instant.  He forgot all about warning his brother he was coming and hung onto him tightly as he fought against him.  “It’s all right, I’m here, no one’s going to hurt you.  Tell me what’s happened?” he cooed as he listened to his brother gasping for breath as he tried to break free.  “It’s me, it’s Virgil…” he began humming the lullaby again.  It took a number of seconds for his baritone voice to penetrate, but Scott finally stopped struggling and just buried his head in Virgil’s shoulder and sobbed his heart out, breaking Virgil’s heart.  “I’ve got you, Scotty.  I’ve got you.  It’s going to be all right, I promise.”

He began to gently rock his brother as he continued to hum.  It took a few minutes, but gradually the sobbing stopped and Scott remained in Virgil’s arms, trembling slightly.

“I’ve got you,” Virgil repeated.  “Whatever it is, we’ll get through it together, okay?”  He felt his brother slump heavily in his arms as if all the fight had gone out of him, so he shifted position slightly and carded a hand through his hair to carry on reassuring him that he was safe.

Scott’s eyes remained closed for a few minutes and his breathing gradually evened out.  For a brief moment, Virgil thought he had succumbed to sleep, but then he opened his eyes.  Tear filled blue orbs gazed up at him.

“Hi there, Scotty.”  There was pure unadulterated love in Virgil’s eyes as he returned the look.

Scott grabbed Virgil’s nearest bicep in a surprisingly firm grip.  “I – I’m s – sorry,” he muttered.

Virgil shook his head.  “I told you, you don’t have to keep apologising, Scotty.  There are going to be lots of ups and downs.  Now, are you ready to move?”

Scott shook his head.  “N – no…”

“Okay, we can stay here for a bit if that’s what you want.”  He desperately wanted to ask him what had happened to cause this reaction, but didn’t want to push him when he was obviously feeling so very fragile.

It was quiet for a few more minutes then, as Virgil had hoped, Scott provided him with the required information.

“I… I didn’t recognise my – myself in… in the mirror.  Do… do I really look… look that bad?”

“Oh, Scotty,”  Virgil’s voice was filled with pain for his elder sibling.  “Listen to me, please.  You may think you look awful at this precise moment, but let me tell you, you look fantastic compared to how you looked when I first saw you.  You’re improving every day; you have to believe that.”  He noted how Scott rested a hand against his abdomen.

“I’m… I’m scarred, Virgil.”

“I know, but they’ll fade in time.  None of them are too bad, and dad said something about one of his inventors and a special cream he’s made that’ll help reduce their appearance even further, so you’ll be able to show off those incredible abs again.  Besides… you know the girls love a man with scars.  It shows he’s brave and has lived.  Never be afraid or ashamed to let anyone see your scars, Scotty, especially your family.  Now, come on, let’s get you back to bed before your dinner gets cold.  We’ve got to get some weight on you so we can take you home.”

Virgil disentangled himself from his brother, stood up and leant down to assist Scott to his feet, before slowly guiding him back to bed, where he tucked him in, then pulled the mobile table over his lap so he could eat his dinner.

Scott spent the next five minutes pushing food around his plate, his mind too busy churning over what he currently looked like to eat.  He knew he had been injured and extremely ill; they had told him a couple of times that he should have died and he suffered bouts of still wishing he had, especially when he had first become cognisant in the hospital.  Then that Scarlet fellow had paid him a visit and hadn’t held back in the ensuing conversation.  It hadn’t been like a slap in the face, more like a right hook and Scott had taken it all in; but every now and again, the doubt raised its ugly head and seeing himself for the first time in the mirror had most definitely been a shock, as had taking a really good look at his body.  He wasn’t vain, but he’d always taken pride in his appearance and had worked hard to obtain a body that women (and some men) had found exceedingly attractive but seeing the lack of tone, of muscle, the bones almost poking through sallow skin had been too much and he had allowed himself to sink into the realms of feeling sorry for himself.

Virgil was being a rock; the voice of reason.  Supporting him through his depression and wild mood swings and that just made Scott feel even worse.  He was the eldest, he had protected his siblings practically all his life; soothed their hurts, chased away nightmares and now the roles were reversed and he felt incredibly guilty.  When he looked at his middle and immediately younger brothers, all he saw was their love, affection and support for him.  It was incredibly humbling that they thought that much of him.  But the wild mood swings meant on some days he was appreciative of it, and on others he just wished they’d go away, so he could end it all and he despaired of ever getting rid of that feeling and maybe also a little scared.

“That fork doesn’t seem to be heading for your mouth any time soon,” Virgil said, breaking into his thoughts.  “Come on bro, I need to see some food going in.  You do want to go home, don’t you?”

Scott looked at him and saw nothing but hopefulness in the young features.  “Yeah… yeah of course I do,” he finally replied.

“Then eat up; get that food down you.  No weight gain, no going home.”

Somehow, Scott managed to force about half of it down before deciding he’d had enough.  It was bland and almost tasteless, but his digestive system wasn’t ready for anything with some real flavour in it yet.

“That was a fair attempt,” Virgil said as he handed him his water.

Oh how Scott wanted a coffee, but too was currently off the menu.  He was supposed to be resting in between his exercises and physio, not bouncing off the walls… or ceiling!

“Now, how about you get some more rest?”

Virgil’s cheerfulness was beginning to grate on Scott’s nerves.  He really just wanted him to go, so decided the best way to achieve that was to at least try and feign sleep.

“Yes, I am feeling tired again,” Scott said quietly.  “You must be too.  Why don’t you go and get your head down.”

“I’ll go get some once I know you’re asleep.  Grandma and dad will probably be back shortly to take over.”

He didn’t want them back… he didn’t want anyone back.  He just wanted to be left alone so he could wallow in self-pity, loathe the way he looked and felt; drown in the negative feelings; but he knew what his father would say.  Tracys’ don’t wallow, they’re strong, they fight, buck your ideas up, Scott!  Don’t let the side down…  He actually wanted to scream and/or shout to release the bottled up emotions, but he’d spent too long keeping everything locked inside.  It needed to come out, but he didn’t want to let it for fear of being found wanting, of being a disappointment, of being weak.  He’d broken down partly in front of Scarlet for which he was exceedingly embarrassed and vowed never to do that again, not realising that it was that he desperately needed to do if he ever wanted to fully recovery.  It all had to come out; every single, sordid detail of how it all unfolded, what he suffered, but instead he buried it deep, so that it would never see daylight.

There was a couple of things he’d neglected to remember however… The War Crimes Trial that was currently being put together, and his USAF debrief, both of which were yet to come.

His father and grandmother arrived a little later, took one look at Virgil and ordered him back to the hotel to get some food and some sleep.  He went grudgingly.

“How are you feeling, son?” Jeff asked him as he slowly approached the bed and carefully took hold of his hand.

“Tired,” he replied.

“That’s understandable.  Get some rest, it will do you the power of good.”  He squeezed Scott’s hand gently, then let him go.

Scott closed his eyes and attempted to slow and deepen his breathing so his father would think he was asleep.  Several minutes passed, and he heard his father whisper to his mother.

“Looks like he’s sleeping.”

He heard some movement, then his grandmother’s voice.  “No, he’s not,” she said.

Unconsciously, Scott flinched slightly.  He’d forgotten his grandmother knew him inside out, unlike his father who had been absent more time than present and thus was not as familiar with his tells.

“Hey, kiddo,” Sally said softly.  “Do you want something to help you sleep?”

He tried to pretend he was asleep, but Sally wasn’t having any of it.

“I know you’re not asleep, so you can stop pretending.”  She stroked his hand with her thumb and he swore silently, then cracked open his eyes.  “There you are.  Do you want me to see if I can get you anything?”

He shook his head.  “I’ll be all right, grandma.”

“You sure now?”

“Yes.  I’m sure.”

“If you change your mind…”

“I won’t.”

There was a knock on the door, then it opened to admit a nurse.  She was carrying a tablet, and approached the bed, a slightly nervous smile on her face.

“Captain Tracy,” she began, addressing Scott.  “I’ve been asked to inform you that your commanding officer and the JAG team will be returning tomorrow for your debriefing.  They will be here at 10:00 am.”

She paused as she saw the panicked expression appear on Scott’s face, and his breathing hitched.

“This is unacceptable!” Jeff exploded and then froze as Scott hunched over on himself at the loud noise.  He took a deep breath to get his temper back under control and carried on in a harsh whisper.  “He’s not ready for this!  You can’t allow them to put him through this yet!  He’s refusing to talk about it to the therapist.”

“I’m sorry, I’m only delivering the message,” the nurse answered.

“Jeff,” Sally interrupted.  “Calm down, you’re not helping Scotty.”  She was rubbing circles on Scott’s back in an effort to stop him from spiralling into a full blown panic attack.

“Captain Tracy’s therapist will be present to help him through the debrief,” the nurse added.

            “Is anyone else permitted to be in attendance?” Jeff asked, tightly.

“Like whom?”

“Me.  I want to be present to support my son.”

“N – no!” Scott gasped out.  “Not you!”

Jeff turned and looked at him.  “Scott, you’ll need the support of your family for this.  Let me.”

“No… I don’t want… don’t want you to… to hear what… what happened.”

“Son, I already have a good idea from the JAG meeting about what it’s going to contain.  I can take whatever comes out.”

“I’ll let Colonel Henderson and Major Clarke know.  I’m sorry,” she added, then turned and left the room.

Jeff studied his son who was trembling and staring fixedly at a point lower down his bed.  “Son, it’ll be okay, trust me.”

Scott shook his head.  “You – you don’t understand… there’s stuff… I don’t want you to hear… I’m… I’m…”  He couldn’t complete the sentence.  How did he tell his father that he was scared he would be disappointed in him, in the way he had conducted himself.  He had never received the approval he craved; needed from his father.  What he had achieved in his young life so far just wasn’t enough for the great Jefferson Tracy.  If he heard what he might be forced to divulge, he would never hear it; would never be good enough to deserve it.

Jeff could see he was struggling to keep his emotions in check.  “Son, I promise you, there is nothing you could say that will shock me, I give you my word.”  He lay a hand on his shoulder, ignoring the violent flinch before Scott got himself back under control.

“May – maybe not, but… you’ll…”

“I’ll what?” Jeff asked.

Sally could see that Scott was desperately trying to maintain his control, but her son’s questioning was making him escalate again.  “Jeff, stop,” she ordered.

“Mom, I need to know what he is trying to say.”

“Leave it, Jefferson.  It’s something that Scotty is afraid of.”  She paused as Scott shot her a fearful glance and knew she was right.  “Scotty, how about if I support you?”

He shook his head.

“Son, you can’t face this debrief alone.” Jeff cut in with and noted with concern, that his eldest was starting to rock backwards and forwards.

“Jeff, I’m ordering you to stop, now,” Sally hissed quietly.  She gave him ‘the look’ and he kept quiet.  “Scotty, who would you like to be with you tomorrow?  You must have one of us with you, for support.”

Scott shook his head.  “I – I can’t… I can’t inflict…”

“Listen to me, Scotty.  Any of us will volunteer to be with you and support you.  I promise no one will pass judgement—” she paused as she saw him throw a glance at Jeff and the penny dropped.  “How about Virgil?  He was in the JAG interview along with Jeff.”

There was the slightest of nods.

“What?  No!  You’re both forgetting, this is a military debrief.  Civilians will not be allowed!” Jeff came back with.

“They either let Virgil attend, or it’s not happening,” Sally said firmly.  “Scott needs to be as comfortable as possible, and if he wants Virgil, then he will have Virgil with him.”  Sally folded her arms and glared at her son for a few seconds before returning her attention to her eldest grandson.  “Come on Scotty,” she said softly as she adjusted the bedding.  “It’s time for you to get some sleep.  I know it’s going to be a very difficult day tomorrow.  I’ll stay with you tonight, if you’ll let me; let’s see if we can keep those nightmares at bay, eh?”

Scott reluctantly allowed her to get him back under the bedding and even tuck him in lightly, before she kissed his forehead.

“I’ll be right here kiddo.  You’re safe, remember that.”  She sat down by his bedside.

“I’m staying too,” Jeff added quietly as he pulled a chair up and sat down next to his mother.

Sally leant sidewards and dimmed the lights and they settled down on their vigil.

The news of the debrief obviously upset Scott.  He woke up screaming, but not for his interrogators to stop, but begging his father.  Jeff jumped up, wondering what on earth Scott was begging for, but as Scott’s eyes flew open, tears flowing freely, he took one look at his father, and threw himself from the bed to huddle in a corner, his hands clutching his head as he tried to make himself as small as possible.

Jeff looked on horrified and then his heart shattered into a million pieces as Scott sobbed.

“P – please dad… p – pl -please… don’t…”

Virgil has a bit of a meltdown in this chapter; Sally reminisces, Virgil and Scott have the beginnings of a talk...

Earlier chapters may be found on AO3 here.

Warnings for t his chapter: Mental anguish, anger, angst, some swearing and of course... love. Enjoy!

Chapter  7 – The Truth of the Matter

Jeff forced Virgil to go and get some fresh air; take a walk; calm down and get something to eat before he returned to Scott’s room.  The young man wanted a punch bag to vent his anger on at what the officer from JAG had put his brother through, and what had been done to him in Bereznik.  What was worse, he knew it wasn’t over, because he still hadn’t had his debrief of the actual mission.  That was likely to set Scott’s recovery back even further.  All Virgil knew, was that if he ever met Mendelski in person, he would literally kill him!  Which was saying something, considering the gentle man abhorred violence, but seeing the state Scott was in after that interview and the injuries his brother had sustained whilst interned in the camp, he reckoned he could make an exception and rise to the occasion.

Virgil walked for a number of hours to try and relieve the tension, anger and rage, but it didn’t work.  He came back to the hospital, and sat on a bench on the green opposite, raked his fingers through his hair, then put his head in his hands.  He let the tears and the sobs come, hoping they would help lessen the raging torment of emotions flooding through him.

He had admired Scott his entire life; his honesty, his love, his support and his bravery.  Scott may think himself weak and useless at the moment, but in his brother’s eyes he had been so brave to endure that interview… or was it more like an interrogation?  He’d managed to hold it together right until that photo of Mendelski was shown to him, but even then, he’d still managed to answer the questions.

The thought of that man touching his brother intimately made him shudder violently, especially knowing Scott couldn’t do a thing to stop it, strung up like he was.  But it could have been so much worse; Mendelski could have raped him, and Virgil almost lost it again as the horrific vision flashed through his brain.

Oh God!  How he wanted to scream; let all his anger out… but he was in a public place, so he had to hold it in and it was then he wondered and marvelled at how his big brother usually kept his feelings tightly locked down.  Instead, he clasped his hands together and did something he rarely did.  Prayed.  He prayed to their mother and their grandfather, to help Scott; to give him the strength and resolve to get through this; to recover as much as possible; but it was going to be an uphill struggle.

Suddenly, he became aware of someone standing close.  He made a valiant effort to get his emotions under control and looked up into the very concerned face of his grandmother.  How she had managed to find him he didn’t know, but somehow she had.  He quickly wiped a hand across his eyes, but it was too late, she had seen.

Sally sat down beside him and squeezed the hand that was resting on his knee.  “You all right, kiddo?” she asked him quietly.

He shook his head.  “N – no,” he whispered back.

“That’s okay,” she replied.  “Jeff’s told me what went on with Scott.  That must have been… difficult to listen to.”

“Oh God, it was awful, grandma!  Major Clarke was very sympathetic and treated Scott with respect and… well it seemed like he was genuinely sorry to be interviewing him and asking him the questions he did, but… I – I didn’t know that about… about Mendelski… the assaults… the rape.  I know he didn’t do the latter to Scott, but I can’t get it out of my head, of Scott helpless and that man…”  He started sobbing and Sally put her arms around him and hugged him close.

“It’s all right, it didn’t happen, you have to remember that, but go ahead and get it out of your system, you’ll feel better, trust me.”

“I swear though… if I ever find that man, I’m gonna fucking kill him!”  The words were spoken with such venom; Sally was taken aback.  Never had she heard Virgil speak like that and it was then she realised how deeply affected he was as well.  Perhaps he too needed to speak to a therapist to get the anger and pain out.

She didn’t say anything, just continued to hold him until he had regained some semblance of control again, but it would be something to be addressed at a later time.

“Feeling a little better now?” she asked softly.

He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.

“I know you’re still angry and upset, but we mustn’t let Scotty see it.  It will distress him even more.  Now, when was the last time you ate something?”

“I’m not hungry,” Virgil immediately came back with.

“Listen to me, young man.  Scott wants to come home, and if he does, we all need to be on our top game, because it’s going to be rough for all of us, so you need to make sure you take care of yourself, or you’re not going to last the course.  It’s still very early days and we don’t know how quickly Scott’s going to recover.  It could take months, or even years and—”

“There’s a chance he’ll never recover from this.  God, I hope that isn’t the case but… but I’ll take whatever there is left of him, rather than not have him at all, grandma.”

“That’s my boy.  We’re a tight knit family, with a whole lot of love to share.  I’m convinced if we can continue to stick together, we can get Scott through this; we can all get through it and come out better the other side, but to do that, we all need to look after ourselves.  Scott would never forgive himself if any of us made ourselves ill worrying or fretting about him, you know that.  So come on, let’s get something to eat.”

She released him, stood up and held out a hand.  He studied it for a number of seconds, then gave a huge sigh, took it and stood up himself, towering over her.

“I swear you get taller every day!” she joked as she began to lead him back towards the hospital.

“But I’ll never be as tall as Scotty or John,” he came back with.

“No,” she conceded.  “Alan looks like he might, though!”  She looked sad for a few moments.

Virgil saw her pain and immediately asked her what was wrong.

She was silent for a number of seconds, as if remembering something.

“Talking about tall grandsons… I remember when Scotty was born and your mom and dad brought him home.  Grant was so excited to be a grandpa, he was Scotty’s permanent babysitter.  He used to carry him everywhere, your dad hardly got a look in.  Grant said Scott was going to be a tall one.  Even as a baby he was all long legs and arms.  Said he wouldn’t be surprised if he reached six four.  Jeff wouldn’t have that, so they had a bet.  Grant never got to collect his winnings.”  She sighed, lost for a moment in the memory, then pulled herself together and patted Virgil’s arm.  “You were his favourite though… you were Grant’s mini-me in almost every way.  When I look at you, I see him and it makes me feel like I haven’t lost him.  Same features, same colour hair and eyes, same build… if you hadn’t been born before he died, I’d have sworn you were him reincarnated.”

“Grandma… I’m sorry,” Virgil mumbled.

“Virgil, honey.  You have nothing to be sorry for.  I feel blessed to have you in my life, and don’t you ever doubt that; you’re like your grandpa in every way.  My Grant lives on in you and for that I will be forever grateful.”

Virgil couldn’t seem to find the right words to respond with, so instead, he squeezed her hand, leant over and placed a kiss on the top of her head.  “Love you grandma,” he finally managed to mumble.

They made their way to the cafeteria and although Virgil tried his best, he just picked at his food, his mind still whirling with the vision of his big brother being assaulted by that monster.  He just couldn’t get it out of his head and it was beginning to mess with his mind.

Sally reached out and took hold of one of his hands.  “Stop thinking about it,” she whispered as if she knew exactly what was going on in his head.

“I – I can’t!” Virgil came back with.  “He’s always been so strong and… and I just can’t get the vision of him being strung up like a piece of meat, naked, being tortured and that bastard…”  He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping loudly on the floor.  “I need to be with him.”  He turned and almost ran from the cafeteria, leaving a worried Sally frowning after him.

Virgil didn’t slow his pace until he was standing outside Scott’s room, where he stopped, closed his eyes and practiced slow breathing to try and get himself back under control, because he knew, if Scott was awake and aware, he would pick up on his mood and question him about it and he knew he couldn’t bring the subject up again.  At least, not yet.  Not until they were both more ready.  He took one final deep breath, then knocked quietly and opened the door.

Scott was still sitting up in bed, but his gaze was vacant and Virgil’s heart fell through his boots.  Jeff turned his head, saw who it was and carefully got up from his chair at his eldest’s bedside and went over to his middle child, and pulled him back outside the room.

“He’s shutdown, hasn’t he?” Virgil whispered, feeling near to tears, and silently cursing the JAG officer.

Jeff sighed.  “Yes.  At least for the moment.  He just needs to sort through his emotions, then I think he will come back to us.  I have to believe that.”

“Take a break, dad.  I’ll sit with him.”

Jeff looked into his eyes and saw his son was exhausted.  “When was the last time you slept?” he asked gently.

“It doesn’t matter.  I’ll get some later… when you come back, but don’t rush, dad.  I’ll be all right, honestly.”

Jeff wavered in his decision for a few seconds, then reluctantly nodded, patted his son’s arm and walked off down the corridor.

Virgil watched him go, then turned and went back into Scott’s room.  His brother hadn’t moved from his position, so Virgil began a commentary; that he was approaching the bed, and taking hold of his hand, which he did.

“Hey, Scotty,” he said softly, allowing his thumb to gently stroke the back of his brother’s hand.  “I’m here for you bro, like you’ve been there for me—for all of us.  Please let me in.  I want to help you get better.  Please, Scotty.  I love you so much and I can’t bear to see you like this.”  He sniffed loudly as the tears threatened to fall again.  “I – I can’t live without you in my life… please.”  A big fat tear dripped off his face and onto the back of Scott’s hand, followed by another.

It took a few moments, but then Scott blinked and glanced down at his hand, seeing the wetness there and he unconsciously squeezed Virgil’s hand back.  Despite his desire to be gone from the world, his deeply ingrained love for his family and especially for his best friend won the battle.

“Don – don’t cry, Virg,” his whispered almost inaudibly.

“Scotty!” Virgil went to hug him, then froze and hurriedly added.  “I’m gonna hug you, real tight, Scotty!”  He somehow managed to restrain himself from throwing his arms around his big brother and moved very slowly.  Once Scott was enfolded in his arms he mumbled, “I – I thought I was gonna lose you, Scotty.”  He gave another sob as his brother’s arms returned the hug.

“I – I don’t know how this is gonna play out,” Scott murmured.  “I – I can’t seem to think straight.  One second I feel like… well like me, and the next I’m back… there… and it’s too much… and I wish I was… and I see… I see that bastard’s face… and feel his hands…” Scott shuddered as the memories resurfaced.  “And then… I hear… I hear them mocking me… as I’m lying in that cold, dark cell… whispering… telling me to let that bastard… and I try to let… let the darkness take me… but then… your voice… your voice keeps calling me back, Virgil… even though I tried to make it all stop.  I am so ashamed!  I… I even considered that… that bastard’s offer… only for a fraction of a second… but I’m ashamed I even thought it.  What – what kind of person am I?”

“One… one that was suffering incredible pain, Scotty.  I don’t blame you for wanting the pain to stop; I would never blame you for thinking about his offer but in the end, you didn’t take him up on it.  You were strong enough to resist him and I am so proud of you; for refusing him; for staying alive; for coming back to us, and now we’re gonna help you get better.”

“I want… I want to get better, Virg.  Really, I do… but… but I keep disappearing into this black hole; back into my nightmares and I’m scared… scared that I’m too broken… and can’t be fixed.  What if… what if I can’t be fixed, Virg?  What if that black hole consumes me?  I can’t… I can’t live like this!  I jump at every sound, cower at a raised voice… I can’t go into the bathroom because of the shower in there and what water means… I don’t wanna be like this, Virg.  I really don’t, but I don’t know… don’t know what to do… I’m failing… failing all of you… I’m sorry…”

Virgil’s heart splintered as the brother in his arms dissolved into gut wrenching sobs, but then he realised this was what Scott needed.  He needed to rage, and cry and scream and shout; get all those negative emotions out in the open air so he could start healing.  He had to talk about his experience rather than bottle it all up, which is what he usually did.  This was way to big to do that with, it all had to come out, every single ugly little detail, so that he could be rebuilt back to the man he was; strong, loving, caring, protective, fearless; a born leader.  Virgil would follow him into hell and back and that hell started here, in this room.

“Listen to me, Scott Tracy,” Virgil came back with, his voice shaking with emotion.  “I’m here, your family is here, and we’re going to make you better.  You say you want to get better, then let us help you.”  He tightened his hug even more.  “To start healing, you need to get all that blackness out of your heart; out of your mind… Scotty, you need to start talking about—”

“No!”

“Yes!  And I’ll be right by your side every step of the way, if you’ll let me, so you’re not alone.  Together we can beat this.  Whatever you say, will stay in this room, between you, me and the therapist, but you’ve got to get it out.  You’re not weak, you’re so very strong.  I don’t think you realise just how strong you are, even now, but sure, you’re scared as well.  I promise, no one will judge you, no one else will see what you perceive as weakness—which it isn’t.  Please Scotty, I’m begging you.”  Virgil kissed the top of his head.  “None of us want you to disappear into that black hole, and we’ll do everything in our power to stop it happening and… and I swear to you, I will follow you in there and drag you back out if you feel it’s swallowing you.”

Silence reigned for a number of seconds, then: “I – I’ll think about it.”

Virgil began to rock him gently.  “Thank you,” he whispered.  He went to straighten up and let go, but Scott hugged him tighter and refused to relinquish his hold on his bear of a brother.

“Stay?” he asked in a small voice.  “I don’t want to be alone, and… with you here… you… you might help keep the nightmares at bay.”

“I promise I won’t leave you… but may I join you on the bed, this position is pretty uncomfortable.”

“O – o – kay,” came the immediate reply.

Scott wouldn’t let go of him completely as his brother carefully got himself laid out next to him and maintained the hug all the while.

“There, that’s better; much more comfortable,” Virgil mumbled.

Scott lay with his head over Virgil’s heart so he could both hear and feel its strong, steady beat and gradually he relaxed.  Virgil began to hum softly.  Scott’s eyes gradually closed, his breathing deepened, and Virgil realised he had fallen asleep.  He sighed in relief and kissed the top of Scott’s head, closing his eyes for a few moments.  Those few moments stretched on… and on…

When Jeff returned with Sally, they opened the door and found the two men wrapped in one another’s arms, fast asleep.  He turned and smiled at his mother and instead of entering the room, closed the door and left the two alone to sleep peacefully.  Perhaps all was not lost after all.  Perhaps there was some light at the end of that very long tunnel.  Jeff prayed with everything he possessed that this was true and that he would get his Bluejay back at some point in the near future.

Chapter 6. Scott is making progress, but will the arrival of military personnel to interview him about his internment in Bereznik have a negative effect?????

Warnings for this chapter: some swearing, mental anguish, panic attack, mentions of torture (nothing explicit) Previous chapters may be found on AO3 here.

Chapter 6 – You Don’t Have To Carry This Weight Alone

Progress was slow.  The physical wounds healed, and the casts came off.  Now it was time to get Scott moving and for intense physical therapy, but it was an uphill struggle.  Even Sally was struggling to get Scott to cooperate.  He still didn’t like strangers touching him, which made the physio difficult as it required a hands on approach.

The doctors even tried to get him into the hydrotherapy pool, but he hyperventilated as soon as he smelt the chlorinated water and they had to return him to his hospital room.

Virgil did what he could to help.  The gentle man spent hours massaging Scott’s fingers and hands.  His brother actually had long slender, artistic hands which he rarely used for art.  Virgil spent a lot of time thinking about how those hands had soothed his brothers’ feelings and hurts as he gently, yet firmly worked on the now healed fingers.

The physiotherapist saw that Scott let his brother touch him and decided to teach and guide Virgil through what he needed to do.  That seemed to work.  With advanced warning, Scott allowed Virgil to carry out the treatment.  It was a small breakthrough, but Virgil saw the guilt and pain in his older brother’s eyes; his fear of the weakness he was showing and did his best to reassure him that it was all right, and that he was returning the care and love Scott had shown them all his life.

Jeff sighed heavily.  He honestly didn’t know if he was doing the right thing regarding his eldest.  The doctors told him he wasn’t going to be released from the hospital until he’d gained around 20 pounds in weight, so the onus was on Scott to put the weight on so he could in fact go home.  Of course, that had upset him.

In fact, Jeff couldn’t remember ever seeing him that upset in his entire life; not even after his mom and grandfather had been killed.  He had to admit that he hadn’t really been around at all after that nightmare; he hadn’t been there to witness any grief that Scott may have exhibited and he felt ashamed to admit that he didn’t know what his son had felt, suffered or been through during that time or the year that had followed.

It wasn’t much different now either.  Sure he’d seen the damage for himself; the broken bones, the abuse, medical notes that told a story of torture, starvation, and inadequate medical care.  Scott had arrived at the hospital woefully thin, with multiple injuries,  infected cuts, bruises on bruises and double pneumonia caused by suspected waterboarding and/or near drowning over an extended period of time.

If Scott did put the required weight on, would it be safe to take him home, or would he be a danger to both himself and his siblings?  He’d called in a therapist to treat his son, but they had told him that Scott was being tight-lipped about it all.  He just wouldn’t talk about his experience as a prisoner of war and until he did, he couldn’t start the mental healing, which was another reason the hospital did not want to release him to go home.  The therapist also warned against taking him home and told Jeff, Scott would be better off at a specialist institution, which of course, Jeff had balked at.

Scott also tried asking his grandmother, hoping he would get the answer he wanted from her.  “Grandma… I want to go home.  Please, can I go home, I don’t like it here.”

Sally’s heart wrenched.  He sounded exactly like that little 12 year old boy that had laid in a hospital bed after the avalanche.  She warned him that she was going to take hold of his hand.  “Oh Scotty, we’ll get you home as soon as we are able to.  You’re still recovering from your wounds and you’re still seriously underweight.  You’re not fit enough to fly, but as soon as you are, I promise we’ll take you home, okay kiddo?”

She could tell he was bitterly disappointed, as he nodded and turned his head away again.

“Hopefully it won’t be too much longer.  I’m going to touch your head now.”  She carefully and slowly ran her fingers through his hair.  “You need to rest, eat and get well.  If you can do that, then you can get out of here quicker.  Now, I need to speak to your dad, so you just take it easy.  I’m leaning over you Scotty, to kiss you.”  She had continued to tell him what she was going to do in advance, just in case of an adverse reaction and she leant over and placed a kiss on his temple.  “I’ll be back in a little while okay?  You get some sleep, it’s good for you.”

She let go of his hand and moved to study his notes.  He wasn’t sleeping well; suffered from nightmares; wasn’t eating as much as he should; wasn’t cooperating with regard to his physiotherapy.  Sally sighed and replaced the notes then indicated for Jeff to follow her outside.

Jeff waited until he had shut the door behind him before speaking.  “Mom?” he asked.

“He’s not doing as well as I expected.  How’s the therapy going?  Is he talking yet?”

Jeff shook his head.  “He’s not saying anything, ma.  I don’t… I don’t know what else to do… how to help him get better… I can’t bear to see… see him like this… I want… I want my Bluejay back.  Alan and Gordon are desperate to see him, but I can’t let them see him like this!  How do I get him back?”

Sally looked into her son’s eyes and realised that Scott wasn’t the only broken one.  Jeff loved all his sons without question, but Scott was his first born and he took after his father in so many ways and he expected him to take over Tracy Industries at some point in the future.

She sighed and pondered for a few moments.  “Perhaps he would be better at home, on the island.  I could come and live with you, oversee his treatment and recovery, if you’ll have me.  You don’t have to carry this weight alone, son.  Let me help; let his brothers help.  We’re Tracys, we help each other.”

“I was debating whether to take him back to the farm in Kansas… he’s more familiar with that location.”

“He knows about the island; he’s been there on a couple of occasions.  The weather would be more conducive to aiding with his recovery.”

“But what about his brothers?  I’m not so worried about John or Virgil, they’ve seen him, been with him; it’s Gordon and Allie.  Scott isn’t the same man anymore; he’ll be like a stranger to them.”

“That’s true, but perhaps he needs his brothers around him to find himself again.  If he won’t talk to the therapist, perhaps he’ll talk to one of his brothers.”

“Would it be fair to inflict what he’s been through on them?  It’s going to be tough to listen to if we do manage to get him to talk.”

“If we don’t get him to open up, we’ll lose him completely.”

Jeff rubbed his forehead with a hand and screwed his eyes shut in despair.  “I don’t… I don’t know what to do, mom.  And it’s completely alien to me.  I’m so scared I’m going to make the wrong decision with regard to his recovery… we’re talking about his life here.”

It was only the second time in his life that Sally had seen her son so lost and indecisive.  The first was after Lucy died.  There were two people here that needed ‘fixing’.  She sighed, thinking about the next steps.

“Jeff, is the infirmary on the island ready yet?”

“Almost.”

“How long before it’s fully up and running?”

“At a push I could have it ready in a week.  It would mean diverting Brains from his other work, but if it’s needed, he’ll do it.”

Sally nodded.  “Get it ready, then I will have a word with Scott’s doctors, tell them I will be in charge of his care and recovery, and inform them of the equipment I will have at my disposal.  That should satisfy their concerns.  We just need to get him fit enough to fly supersonic.”

For the first time since his son had been recovered from the camp, Jeff’s eyes held a glimmer of hope.

“But you need to get Scott eating more.  I don’t care how you do it, Jeff.  They won’t release him if he isn’t well enough to travel.  His lungs are practically clear but he needs to put some more weight on.”

“I’ll contact Brains now and tell him to stop work on everything else and prepare the infirmary.  I’ll get Gordon and Alan to help him as well.”

Sally nodded.  “Okay.  I’ll go get us some coffee and something to eat; you start working on that son of yours.”

“Yes, ma.”

They separated.  Jeff returned to Scott’s room.  “Hi son, just me returning,” he said putting on a cheerful voice, but as expected, he received no response.  Scott just wouldn’t look at him.  He walked to his bedside.  “Listen son, your grandma and I are working on a plan to get you out of here…”  Those words had the desired effect and Scott turned his head to look at his father.  “However, to enable this to happen, I need you to do a couple of things.”  He paused as Scott frowned at him.

“What… do you need me to do, dad?” he finally asked nervously.

“You need to start eating properly so you start gaining the weight you’re missing, and we need your lungs to clear fully so we can fly you home.  I’ve asked Brains to drop everything else he’s currently working on and complete the infirmary.  Major Sinclair won’t let you leave until they’re sure we have the means to look after you properly and help you recover.  So, it depends on how serious you are about getting out of here.  It all rests on you, Scotty.”

A look of uncertainty crossed his features.  The thought of something being his responsibility made him very uneasy.  He closed his eyes and tried to take some deep breaths, only to start coughing as his lungs protested.

Jeff laid a hand reassuringly on his arm, warning him he was doing so.  “Steady son, take it easy; breathe slowly.”

The nasal canula assisted in easing Scott’s breathing.  “I – I can go… go home?” he asked slightly breathlessly.

“As soon as you gain some weight.”  Jeff frowned as Scott’s breath hitched.  “Steady, Scotty.  The infirmary at home will be ready in about a week.  Let’s see how much we can improve your health by then… that’s if you’re really serious about getting out of here.”

Now that Scott had been presented with the chance of getting out, he wasn’t so sure he wanted to go.  What was wrong with him?  He couldn’t seem to make a decision to save his life.  On one hand he so wanted to see his brothers, but on the other, he didn’t want them to see him in his present state; he knew he wasn’t… right.  What would they think.  He was always the strong one, the one that had held them together through everything, but now… now he was broken and he honestly thought nothing could fix him.  He was useless, worthless.  He should have died in that hell hole.

He had no idea what he looked like either.  Sure, they’d cut his hair and shaved his beard off, but so far he hadn’t seen himself in a mirror.  Did he even still look like… him?

The four walls of his room were beginning to close in around him, despite there being a  nice large window for him to look out of, which was a hell of a lot more than he’d had in his previous location.  Desperately, he forced his mind down a different route before the memories overwhelmed him, but he felt the panic rising, the tears forming as he worked himself up into a panic attack, which wouldn’t do his damaged lungs any good.

“Scotty?  Steady there, relax… stay with me,” his father urged, placing a hand on his shoulder.  “Scotty?”

The alarms went off on the monitors as his heart rate shot up, his breaths shortened so he was hardly getting any air into his lungs; his eyes rolled back and he started convulsing.

“Scotty!”  Jeff didn’t even get a chance to hit the emergency button before Major Sinclair and a nurse rushed in and pushed him none too gently out of the way as they swarmed around his son.

An AED (anticonvulsant) was injected into the line in Scott’s hand and the convulsions slowly diminished and stopped and the alarms ceased.

Jeff let go of the breath he’d been holding and bowed his head in relief.

“He should be all right now,” the doctor said quietly, “and will probably sleep for a few hours.  The nurse will see to the IV shortly.”

“Thank you,” Jeff whispered quietly.

Sinclair lay a comforting hand on his arm.  “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but Captain Tracy hasn’t totally given up his fight for life.  I’ve read his entire file.  He should never have survived his internment.  The fact that he did and is still here shows that your son hasn’t given up totally despite displaying symptoms to the contrary.  We need to bring that out.”

“I’m hoping to have our infirmary up and running within a week.  If I provide you with a list of equipment we have at our disposal, would you consider releasing him to the care of his family?  I’m hoping that being at home with his brothers might help him.  What do you think?  He’s always been highly protective of them.  I’m hoping it might give him the incentive to get better.”

The doctor pondered for a few moments.  “If we can get rid of the final bit of fluid on his lungs and he improves weight-wise, even if only a few pounds by the time your infirmary is ready and, if you provide me with the list of equipment you have on hand, and I’m satisfied with it, I will consider releasing him.”

“My mother is a specialist trauma consultant if you need any more persuading and will be moving in with us to oversee his care.”

“Wait, are you saying your mother is Dr Sally Tracy?  I hadn’t made the connection.  I should have known.  If that is the case, and he manages to gain a few pounds, I will release him into your care.  But it’s up to Captain Tracy now to make an effort.”

Sally returned at that moment with coffees and sandwiches and frowned at the two men.  “What’s happened?” she asked.

“He had a panic attack which resulted in him having a seizure due to his recovering lungs and insufficient air getting to them,” Sinclair answered.

“What caused the attack?”

“I’m afraid I may have been the cause,” Jeff said shame faced.  “I told him that if he wanted to go home, he needed to start eating; that it was up to him.”  He sighed.  “I put the responsibility on him and he panicked.  But there was something else clearly on his mind, I could almost see him thinking.”

“He’s seen his siblings; I had to have them removed.”

“Yes, but he has another two younger brothers at home.  What’s on your mind?”

“What’s his relationship with them?”

“I see where you’re going with this,” Sally interrupted.  “They are all very close and they all look up to him.  In fact, he helped raise them when their mother died.”

“I believe you said the youngest is 17?”

“Yes.  He dotes on Scott.”

“Mmmm, I wonder…”

“What?” Jeff and Sally asked together.

“I assume Captain Tracy has always been fit and strong?”

“Why, yes but what—”

“He’s scared they will see him as weak and broken,” Sally suddenly broke in.  “Not their fearless, strong brother.  And Scott thinks he’s broken.”

Sinclair nodded.  “Bingo,” he said.

“They would never think that.  They know what happened to him; what he’s been through.  I didn’t give them all the details, but they know it was bad and they would understand.”

“Doesn’t matter.  He’s not thinking straight.  All Captain Tracy thinks is that he’s broken and perhaps can’t be fixed, so what use he is going to be to his family; his squadron?  Mr Tracy, you were in the Air Force, you must have an understanding of what he’s thinking?”

Jeff nodded.  “I think I do… when I crashed and was marooned on the island… of course conditions were nowhere near as bad as what Scott endured, but I can use my imagination, and I’ve seen his wounds,  He is a shadow of the man that joined up… he is… ashamed.”  Jeff turned and looked back at his eldest.  “My son is ashamed of how he looks… his weakness…”

Sally grasped his arm.  “Jeff, don’t go there.  We can only imagine what’s going on in his mind.  It’s no good trying to guess.  I will repeat what I said, and it applies equally to Scotty as well.  Neither you, or him have to carry this weight alone.  The family will all help.  Now, let’s just concentrate on getting him well enough to fly home, shall we?  And that starts with you having something to eat… no arguments!”

“Yes, mom.”  He looked over his mother’s head at the doctor, who worked very hard at not smiling.

“I’ll leave you now.  Captain Tracy should sleep for a couple of hours.  When he wakes, try and make him eat something.  Let’s see what we can do to improve his condition this next week.”  He excused himself and left them alone in Scott’s room.

Scott woke up almost three hours later and fortunately didn’t seem to remember what had happened.  He just felt incredibly tired.  Sally fed him a little and often and being the force of nature she was, he was too scared to do anything but obey her, and she rewarded him with praise when he did as she asked.

John was forced to return to NASA to complete his next rotation on the World Space Station.  He didn’t want to go and there were tears as he broke the news to Scott, but his big brother told him that he understood and that he should go.  Hopefully by the time he finished his next stint in space, Scott would be safely ensconced at home on the island.

John reluctantly nodded.  “I could resign, Scott.  If you need me, I’ll do that.”

Scott shook his head.  “No.  I would never ask you to sacrifice a career you love, John.  You go.  I’ll see you when you get back, okay?  Just make sure you look after yourself.”

“But you sacrificed so much for us.  Just say the word and I’ll resign.”

“It was my sacrifice to make, so you could have your dreams.  Go, John.  Make me proud.”

“God, I love you, Scotty, but the same goes for you, bro.  I expect to see a considerable change to your weight when I get back, or else.”

“Hey, stop with the mushy stuff, or I’ll think my brother has been replaced by an alien,” Scott replied, trying his best to make light of the situation, and he gave him a tentative smile.

“I can do mushy when I want to,” John retorted, grinning back at him.  He gave a large, reluctant sigh.  “Well, I guess I’d better get going,” he continued.

The eldest took a deep breath as if to steel himself, then nervously held out his arms.  “Give… give me a hug?” he asked.

John’s breath hitched, but he nodded and slowly moved into Scott’s arms and they hugged one another tightly.  “Thanks, Scotty,” John mumbled.  He knew that his big brother had had to summon every ounce of courage to do that.  “I’m so proud of you.”  He drew back slightly and kissed his forehead.  “Just do your best, okay?”

Scott nodded.  “I will,” he finally whispered, and then John was gone, leaving just Virgil in the room.

“You gonna be okay, Scotty?”

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“May… may I give you a hug, please?” Virgil asked quietly.

Big brother closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths.  “Yeah, okay.  Slowly now, though.”

Virgil gave a genuine smile, approached slowly and described what he was doing as he had heard Sally do and finally, they were wrapped in one another’s arms, Virgil with his head buried in Scott’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry about hitting you that time,” Scott mumbled into his hair.

“It’s okay.  I… I panicked, I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have hugged you like that.  You were disorientated and confused.”

“But I hurt you, Virg.  I’d never hurt you, you know that, right?”

Virgil drew back and gazed into his brother’s tearful blue eyes.  “I know you wouldn’t.  I love you, Scotty.”

“Love you too, bro.  So much.”

They hugged again, then drew back quite sharply as they heard muffled voices outside the door.  Neither of them could hear what was being said, but it sounded like their dad wasn’t very happy.  The two brothers frowned at one another.

“Do you want me to find out what’s going on?” Virgil asked.

Scott nodded, and Virgil released him and turned towards the door.  He didn’t get very far, when there was a brief knock on it and it opened to admit a major, with the JAG insignia on his uniform, followed by a lieutenant and an irate Jeff Tracy.

“Fuck!” Virgil muttered as he looked at the officer.  He turned his head to look at Scott, who had gone as white as a sheet.

The major went to approach Scott’s bedside, but Virgil blocked his way.  “Whoa, steady on there,” Virgil said firmly.  “Just wait a minute, okay.”

“I’m Major Clarke, with the Judge Advocates Group.  This is Lt Pearson.  We’re here to interview Captain Tracy with regards to his internment in Bereznik.”

“Don’t say that country’s name!” Virgil snapped as he heard Scott’s breath hitch sharply.  He carefully moved back to the bed and offered Scott his hand.  “Scotty,” he said softly.  “It’s okay, you’re safe.”

Scott grabbed his hand and locked eyes with him in an effort to keep himself grounded.  The mere mention of the name of the country was enough to trigger a reaction and Virgil could feel his brother trembling.

“It’s okay, Scotty.  You don’t need to speak to these people if you don’t want to… I won’t let them bother you.”  Virgil turned his head and fixed the Major with a glare, daring him to challenge what he had just said.  The gentle artist and engineer may have abhorred violence, but he was fit, worked out and more than capable of using force to keep those people away if he had to… and he was prepared to, to keep his brother safe and calm.

The Major straightened up, not sure how to take what had been said, but Jeff spoke up.

“Virgil,” he warned.

“No dad.  Scott’s not well enough for this.  I’m not letting them upset him, not when we’re so close to taking him home.”

“And you are?” Major Clarke asked.

“I’m Scott’s brother, Virgil.”  He felt his brother grip his hand tighter and squeezed it back, turning his head back to him and smiling slightly.  “I won’t let them hurt you, Scotty,” he added quietly.

“We have no intention of harming Captain Tracy.  We just need to show him some photographs to see if he recognises any of the faces, and to ask him some questions about his internment.”

“Interrogate him, more like,” Virgil snapped.  “You have no idea what my brother has been through!  He’s still recovering.  You can’t subject him to this yet!”

“It… it’s okay, Virg,” Scott finally replied, in a soft murmur.  “I have to… to answer their questions.  I’m still in the Air Force.”

“Scotty…”

“I… I can do it, but… will you stay with me?”

“Sure.  I’m not leaving your side.”  Virgil shifted so he was perched on the edge of Scott’s bed, hips touching.  There were a few moments silence before the younger man spoke again.  “Okay, you ready for this?”

“Not… not really, but it’s got to be done.”

Virgil kissed the top of his head.  “You’re my brave brother.  I’m so proud of you.”  He looked up at the two officers, then further back to his dad, who swallowed and nodded.

Surprisingly, the two officers were standing motionless and had not moved at all.

“We do this my way, or not at all,” Virgil stated.  “So, approach slowly and don’t crowd my brother.”

Clarke did as he was instructed and placed a briefcase down on the edge of the bed, before straightening up and saluting Scott.  “Captain Tracy, it’s an honour to meet you.  I’m sorry to have to intrude on your recovery, but we need you to take a look at some photos of… enemy officers and men we have captured and see if you recognise any of them.”

He opened the case and retrieved a tablet, which he activated and opened an app.  He went to move closer to Scott’s shoulder, when Virgil put out a hand and stopped him.

“You have to ask permission to approach,” the younger man told him.  “No sudden moves, no loud noises, you get me?”

“Virgil…” Jeff began.

“No, dad.  This is going to be hard enough as it is for Scott.  We need to make sure he’s as comfortable with this as he can be.”  Virgil was in full Smotherhen mode now, and no one was going to upset his big brother, not when he had made so much progress in his recovery.

“It’s all right, Colonel Tracy,” Clarke said.  “I understand the situation.  This isn’t our first interview with a recovered soldier.”  He turned his head briefly to nod at the Lieutenant, who moved to the small table in the room, sat down and pulled out her own tablet before indicating she was ready.

Clarke cleared his throat carefully.

“Captain Tracy, may I have your permission to approach you, so I can show you some photographs, please?”

There were a few seconds of silence.  Scott gripped Virgil’s hand tightly as if to obtain courage for it, then nodded as he spoke.  “You may approach.”  His voice wavered slightly and Virgil squeezed his hand back, encouraging him.

“Scotty, if it becomes too much, just say and I’ll make them stop,” Virgil added and his heart melted at the grateful look his big brother gave him.

“Captain,” Clarke continued as he slowly approached.  “We have done this with repatriated personnel from the other two camps, and now we are on the camp you were in.  We need to know if you recognise any of these men and if they treated you… harshly.  Will you be able to do that?”

Scott swallowed slowly.  He really, really didn’t want to ever again look at the faces of his captors, but if justice was to be served, he knew it was something he had to do.  He took a couple of breaths and finally nodded.

“Captain, please state for the record that you will examine the photographs.”

The pilot took another couple of deep breaths.  “I… I will examine the photographs,” he replied.

Clarke nodded.  “If you need to take a break at any time, we can do that.  We do not want to cause you undue distress, but these men are currently being held and we need ex-prisoners like yourself to identify those who have failed to follow agreed conventions and committed war crimes against prisoners of war.”

“I – I understand.”

Clarke nodded again and so the interview commenced.  The first five or six photos meant nothing to Scott, and he began to relax slightly, hoping he wouldn’t recognise any of them, but that all changed with the next photo.

The sharply inhaled breath and uneven breathing gave Clarke a clue that the Captain recognised this particular soldier.  “You recognise this man?”

Scott’s eyes were locked on the photo and he was unable to look away. He began gasping for breath.  “Y – y – yes,” he finally managed to say.

Clarke leant forward slightly.  “What did this man do to you?”

Scott swallowed and struggled to get the words out.  “He… he cut me… with… with a knife.”

“On more than one occasion”

“Y – yes.  I – I lost count.”

“Captain Tracy has identified subject three-dash-zero-zero-seven as inflicting cuts with a knife on numerous occasions of his confinement.”

The next two Scott couldn’t identify, and the tenth made him flinch violently and he was only able to utter a couple of words.  “Water – waterboarded me.”

It was the same for the next two, who assisted in the torture, tying him down and taking a turn.  He knew it wasn’t the same person each time because of the different voices.

Virgil moved to place an arm around Scott’s shoulders.  If he was finding it tough going, he couldn’t imagine what it was doing to his brother.

The photos continued, and the short descriptions continued; beat me with a stick, broke my ribs, broke my fingers, electrocuted me, whipped me, broke my leg, locked me in a small dark box, punched me, kicked me; strung me up.

Scott was shaking violently now, and Virgil was on the verge of tears, as he continued to give his brother a one-armed hug in an effort to keep him grounded.  Jeff’s face was frozen into an emotionless expression.

The shaky answer to the next photo surprised everyone.  “In – innocent,” Scott said.

“What?” Clarke asked.  “What do you mean, innocent?”

“He – he was – was kind.  Would put food in reach, laid me down gently after… after the torture.  He – he said he was sorry… that not all of them were bad men.  He never hurt me.”

“You’re certain about this?” Clarke queried.

“Yes.  I’m sure.”

Finally, they reached the end.  “I’ve just one more photo to show you, Captain.  Now… do you recognise this man?”

The screen changed.  For a split second, Scott’s eyes went wide, then sheer terror took over, he cried out, attempted to throw the tablet across the room, but Clarke managed to save it, so he curled himself into a ball, shaking violently.  Virgil was shocked that a mere photograph could have such a profound effect on his brother.

“Who is that?” he asked Clarke.

“Captain?” Clarke prompted.

“Why must he answer?” Jeff demanded, stepping forward, his son’s obvious distress cutting him to the core.

“We need independent verification that this man was in fact in charge of the camp Captain Tracy was at,” Clarke said.  He returned his attention to Scott.  “I’m sorry, Captain, but I must insist you answer.”  He at least did sound sorry about it.

“Give him a minute!” Virgil growled before giving his undivided attention to the quivering body on the bed.  He placed a hand gently on Scott’s shoulder and ignored the violent flinch.  Instead he began to hum.

Jeff’s breath hitched in his throat as he immediately recognised it.  A lullaby that Lucille used to sing to the children to get them to go to sleep after they suffered a nightmare.  He watched as Scott froze, then groped for Virgil’s hand, which the younger man offered willingly, still humming softly.

The JAG officers waited patiently for a number of minutes, then Clarke prompted Scott again.  “Captain?”

“Men… Mendelski,” Scott finally managed to blurt out before he started trembling again.

“I’m sorry, I have to ask you this, Captain.  I can see it’s extremely painful for you, but what did he do to you?”

Scott shook his head.  “N – no… please… no…”

“Captain, I have to know, I’m sorry.  Truly.”

They could all see the struggle going on, both physically and mentally as Scott tried to gather both the strength and courage to answer.

“It’s all right, son,” Jeff soothed.

More time passed, the Major pressed again for an answer and Scott lost it as he screamed back at him.

“HE STRUNG ME UP NAKED SO MY FEET COULD HARDLY TOUCH THE FLOOR AND ASSAULTED ME!”

Virgil’s mouth dropped open in total shock, then thinking things couldn’t get any worse, almost lost it too when Clarke asked another question.

“Did he penetrate you?”

“WHAT!!!!!” Virgil exploded, then apologised as Scott flinched violently once more.  “Sorry, Scott, sorry,” he soothed, but inside, he was seething.

Jeff stepped in at this point.  “Surely you’ve seen the medical records.  Major Sinclair stated my son had not been violated.  There was no medical evidence to suggest that occurred!”

“I need to hear it from Captain Tracy.  I’m sorry.  I take no pleasure in this, I assure you.”

Jeff approached the bed now and crouched down so his head was at the same level as his son’s.  “Scotty… I’m so sorry, son… are you able to answer the question?”

“Dad…” Virgil began, but Jeff looked up and silenced him.

“This is the final question, then it’s all over,” Jeff said.  He returned his attention to his eldest.  “Hey, Bluejay, you there?  It’s dad.  I’ve got you, son.  Don’t be afraid, I’m right here.”

Terrified blue eyes, fastened on his grey.  Jeff nodded encouragingly at him.</p>

<p>Again, a few minutes passed, then…  “N – no.  He… he wanted me to offer myself… so the torture would stop… but… but I didn’t.  Did – didn’t want to give him… the… the satisfaction.”

Virgil almost collapsed in relief at hearing Scott’s answer.  Now he understood Scott’s violent outburst when he had attacked him as he had tried to wake him from his nightmare. Perverted bastard!  Now it all made sense.

“Thank you for your time and your bravery, Captain Tracy,” Clarke said gently.  “I know this has been extremely difficult and painful for you, and I apologise.  But if we are to bring these men to justice, we must have the facts…  unfortunately, not many of you have been as helpful due to… their mental condition, so thank you once again.  I wish you a speedy recovery.”

Clarke withdrew, packed the tablet away, then he and the Lieutenant left a stunned Virgil behind, gaping at his father in total disbelief.

Jeff gave his middle son a brief glance before concentrating on his eldest again.  “It’s over, Scotty.  It’s done.  You’ve been very brave.  Now it’s time for you to rest, okay?”  He stood up and moved away to give him some space.

All Virgil wanted to do was envelope his brother in a cocoon and never let him out again because he just knew the night was going to be a rough one.

As the drugs drain out of Scott's body, the nightmares begin... but will the arrival of an unexpected visitor help him at all?

Warnings for this chapter: Plenty of angst, some swearing, mental health issues, self loathing. You have been warned!

Previous chapters may be found on AO3 here.

Chapter 5 – You Don’t Have To Do This Alone

“Scotty,” Sally said softly as she approached the bed slowly.  “It’s so good to see you awake, kiddo.”

Jeff moved back out of the way to let her get near her grandson.  She approached him slowly and also carded her fingers through his hair before advising him that she was going to lean over and kiss his forehead if he was okay with that.

He nodded somewhat nervously and she continued to tell him what she was doing, as she leant over and kissed his forehead.

“Welcome back.”  She smiled warmly, softly, reassuringly at him and saw his bottom lip tremble as he fought to maintain control of his emotions and failed yet again.

Tears flowed once more as he gazed into her kind, hazel eyes filled with love and affection for him.

“Gran – Grandma,” he mumbled, tears still flowing.  “I – I’m sorry.”  It was whispered so quietly, she almost didn’t hear it.

“You don’t have to apologise for anything, Scotty.  All you need to do is concentrate on getting better, understand?”

He nodded.

Sally stared into his anxious blue eyes and for a few moments, she was reminded of the little boy who was her first grandson and the memory of him being able to wrap everyone round his little finger when he gave them the large, soulful expression.  Of course it was also assisted by his weapons of mass destruction, but they were currently hidden behind a shaggy unkempt beard that party disguised the awful gauntness in his face, but the hollows around his eye sockets clearly showed how ill he was.

“Are you in any pain?” she asked him softly.

“No,” he lied; his current pain was like a feeble ache in contrast to what he had suffered the last three months or so.

She raised an eyebrow at him and he swallowed nervously before confessing.

“It’s nothing, compared to….”  He couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Now you listen to me, young man,” Sally started, going into ‘doctor’ mode.  “You’ve been through a hell of an ordeal and you need to rest in order to help you recover, and that means plenty of nice, relaxing sleep, so I’ll ask you again.  Are you in any pain?”

His eyes lowered for a few seconds, then lifted again to look at her.

“A little,” he finally confessed, “but please,  Grandma, I don’t want anything, I need to stay in control, you understand don’t you?  Please don’t take that away from me, please!  I need to stay awake… I’m… I’m scared to close my eyes and sleep… scared that all this isn’t… isn’t real and… and he’s drugged me and playing mind games… again…”

Jeff’s heart shattered into a million pieces.  What else had that bastard Mendelski done to his son?

Sally moved back to where his notes were kept, picked up the tablet and checked when he had last had some pain medication and what the dosage had been.

“I understand, Scotty, but you need to rest and that means being pain free.”  She returned to his side, went to place a comforting hand on his arm and then froze as he flinched.

“Sorry,” they both said together, which resulted in the barest of a smile from both of them.

“Don’t apologise, kiddo.  That was all my fault, I didn’t warn you.”

“But I shouldn’t be afraid to receive a hug or touch from my family!”  He was becoming agitated and upset at the thought.  They were such a tactile family but at the moment, he couldn’t bear the thought of anyone laying  finger on him, let alone giving him a hug unless they gave him plenty of warning of their intentions and even then he wasn’t sure he could take it.

“It’s going to take time, don’t worry about it; but I have every confidence in you, Scotty, you’re going to get through this and over it.”

“Do you really think so?  Because Grandma I…” He stopped, closed his eyes and took a deep breath before continuing in a tiny voice that reminded Sally so much of a twelve year old grandson after he had regained consciousness in a hospital far away after the avalanche that had killed his mother and grandfather, it brought tears to her eyes; “I… I think I’m broken and can’t be fixed.”

“Scotty, don’t,” she replied equally as quietly.  Behind her, she hadn’t seen Jeff flinch violently.  “Don’t say that.  You’ve not long come out of a coma, and I’m not going to lie to you, you have been seriously injured, but it’s temporary.  You will be well again.”  The final sentence was said with complete confidence.

“In body… maybe… but… but…” he was getting upset at the thought about his damaged mental state.

“Son, don’t think about it like that,” Jeff interjected, coming forward, but Sally raised a hand and stopped him.

“Scott, do you want to get better?”

He nodded, and tears rolled down his cheeks once more.

“Okay then.  I’m going to give you a hug now, are you going to be all right with that?” she asked him.

He was breathing hard as he attempted not to break down further, then winced as his ribs protested at the movement.  “I – I d – don’t know,” he whispered.

“Let’s give it a go, shall we?  I promise I’ll stop if it becomes too much, okay?”

His breathing was ragged, the heart monitor blipped in protest.

“Come on now, calm down.”  Sally glanced back at the monitor and watched as the rate began to slow down again and went green.  “That’s better.  Right, here I come, nice and slowly,” she said as she began a detailed narrative of what she was doing; that she was placing an arm around his left shoulder, another behind on his neck to draw him close.  At first he was rigid in her arms and then he gradually relaxed and leant into her drawing comfort from the offered hug.  “There,” she said after a few minutes, “that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“N – no Grandma.  It… it was nice.. it is nice,” he mumbled, somewhat embarrassed.  It had felt real enough and she smelt like… well like his grandma; she sounded like her; looked like her.  Perhaps it was all real after all.

“Then I shall write you a prescription for us to give you lots and lots of hugs until you get totally used to them again,”  She smiled down at him.  “Now, how about you get some more rest.  It will do you the world of good.”

“I – I’m scared to close my eyes,” he confessed in a whisper.  “I – I can’t get it out of my mind that this is some kind of drugged hallucination and that I’ll wake up and be back… back in that place.”

Sally turned her head and glanced at Jeff, and saw the brightness in his eyes at that confession.

“I don’t know how to convince you that this is all real and that you’re safe, Scotty.  But squeeze me tight, and tell me it doesn’t feel real.  Come on, hug me back.  I’m a tough old bird; I can take it.”

He did as he was told, and tightened his hold on her, mindful of his splintered fingers.

“See, I’m still here, kiddo.  Do you want me to pinch you and see if that makes any difference?”

“Yes, I think I’d like that.”

“Okay, where doesn’t it hurt?”

“Here isn’t too bad,” he said indicating his left lower arm.

“Okay, one pinch coming up, you’ve been warned.”

“Ooowww!” he exclaimed as she obliged and did as he asked.

“Convinced?”

“Yeah, I think so but… tell me something that only you and I know.”

Sally stared at him.  “Mmmm,” she said.  “Now what can I choose?  Oh, I know… how about the day when you were fourteen and I caught you in the hayloft trying to make out with Mandy… oh what was her last name… Mandy… Evans, that’s it.”

“What?” Jeff asked, engaging his mouth before attempting to put his brain in gear.  “You didn’t tell me about that, mom!”

“No, I didn’t.  Scott got the lecture from me, he didn’t need it from you as well,” Sally responded.

“Son, if I’d have known…” Jeff began

“Yeah, you’d have tanned my hide and given me a lecture about respecting women/girls,” Scott replied, as he managed to blush deeper.  “In my defence, it was her idea, and I guess my raging hormones just got the better of me.”

“Well, that’s all in the past now,” Sally said, a soft smile on her face.  “The last I heard, she was married with three kids.  The important thing is… do you now believe where you are?”

Scott frowned for a moment, then relaxed.  “Yes, I have to believe it now, though… it’s still hard to…” his voice trailed off as his breathing quickened and tears appeared in his eyes again.

“Son, it’s all over now, I promise you,” Jeff said, placing a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to ground him and calm him down.

“Wh – what’s wrong with me?  I can’t… I can’t seem to control the way I’m feeling… it’s all too much…”

“You’re in deep shock, Scotty,” Sally replied.  “Your mind is trying to come to terms with the fact that you’re now safe.  You’ve been through a lot and it’s the brain’s way of trying to sort everything out.  You know, it would help if you spoke to someone, to help you get through it all.”

“NO!  I never want to think about it or talk about it again!  You can’t make me!”

“Steady, Scooter,” Jeff said squeezing his shoulder a little more firmly.  “Son, you have to understand, you’re going to have to go through some form of debriefing about your experience and your mission, but not until you’ve recovered a little more.  It’s standard procedure, you know that.”

Scott’s face scrunched up in mental agony at the thought.  “I – I can’t,” he gasped.  “I – I can’t.  Don’t make me!  Please don’t make me!”

“Jeff, that’s enough for now,” Sally said firmly.  “He’s only just come out of a coma.  He needs time to readjust and settle.”  She smiled at Scott.  “Don’t worry,” she said to him.  “No one’s coming to debrief you for a long while,” and was relieved when her grandson began to calm down again, ignoring the look that Jeff was giving her, because he knew that wouldn’t be the case.

There had been a number of arrests and Jeff knew the Judge Advocate General’s Office would be knocking on the door sooner, rather than later.  War crimes had been committed, and although the eventual trial would be held at The Hague, he knew that an officer from JAG would be carrying out their own investigation as well because US military personnel had been directly affected.

“There, that’s better.  Now, you try and get some sleep.  One of us will always be with you, Scooter, okay?  A familiar face will stay with you at all times.”

He nodded, too drained to make a verbal response.

She helped settle him down, and carded her fingers through his long, unruly mop of hair, watching as he slowly closed his eyes and began to relax, still enfolded in her arms.

When she was convinced he was asleep, she very gently disentangled herself, moved to the end of the bed and studied his notes again.

“I noticed earlier that Scotty hasn’t been on morphine,” she said to Jeff, frowning.  “He can have it; it only sends him a little doolally when there’s a specific combination of drugs.  I’ll speak to Major Sinclair about switching him over, if he’ll take it.  It’ll make him more comfortable and allow him to get some rest.”  She glanced at her grandson again and watched as sleep slowly began to claim him.

Although the sedatives were draining from Scott’s body, they were still affecting him and having received a tearful hug from his grandmother, Scott succumbed to a more natural sleep.  The quiet after the noise of the machine that had been breathing for him was switched off was almost deafening.

Scott’s breathing was still slightly rasping, but the fluid in his lungs had almost gone now and he was practically over his double pneumonia.

There was a slight frown on his face as he slept and Sally wondered if it was the pain, or something else.  Her eldest grandson had refused any further pain medication even though he had to be suffering quite a lot, especially after his recent surgery.

Sure that he was asleep, Jeff let John and Virgil in, motioning with a finger against his lips to be quiet, but the fact that the intubation tube had been removed was reassuring to them that there had been improvement in their brother’s health.

He still looked awful; there was no better way of describing it and it made Virgil’s heart ache.  He had brought a sketch book and some pencils with him, but the drawings he had made so far had been dark, morbid; the things of nightmares, but he kept them, because it was all part of the healing process of his own mind now that Scott had been rescued and appeared to be improving.

The one thing that Sally did do, was get rid of his beard.  She’d got the doctor to administer a sedative whilst he was asleep so that it could be done as the sight of a cutthroat razor would have probably sent him into a full blown panic attack.  Now, despite the thinness, he did at least look something like her eldest grandson again.  The dimples were so very much deeper due to the gauntness in his face, but they were there.

Both John and Virgil had been present when Scott had woken next, but he was still groggy and didn’t seem to register the fact that they were there.  His blue eyes seemed dull and lifeless, but Virgil put that down to the fact his brother was still feeling the effects of the drugs that had been in his system for over ten days.  It was rather unnerving to have him staring right through them as if they weren’t there, but they were optimistic that this would change in a short while.  At that precise moment though, he wouldn’t speak to them, wouldn’t look at them and it upset them deeply.

“He’s still adjusting,” Sally told a weeping Virgil outside Scott’s room.  “You have to give him time, he’s literally been through hell and it’s not something he’s going to shake off in a couple of days.”

“Will… will he ever recover?” Virgil asked, wiping the tears viciously from his eyes.  “I want Scotty back!  That man… that man in there isn’t Scotty!  He’s a total stranger!”

“Hopefully, with time,” Sally tried to reassure him.

“Hopefully?” Virgil questioned.  “You mean… you mean he might be like that forever?”

“Virgil, my darling, we have to face facts.  We are all hoping and praying that our Scott will return to us, but what he’s been through will have had life changing effects on him.  We can’t imagine what he’s been through, so it could take months, even years, for him to recover mentally, or…” her voice trailed off.

“Or he could never recover… that’s what you were going to say, wasn’t it?”

She nodded.  “There is that possibility, but I believe he will recover.  He’s a Tracy; that Irish stubbornness is ingrained in his genes.  It may take a while, but I have faith in him; we all have to have faith in him; give him our full support, our love; show him how much he means to all of us, and I think he will come back to us.  Maybe he won’t be exactly like the Scott we remember from before, but pretty close to it.”

Virgil chewed his lip and looked at his elder brother who was standing, leaning against the wall of the corridor, arms folded, looking very serious, and in that moment, he decided it was time to learn about mental illness and recovery, so he could help Scott recover.

That night, in the hotel suite, he started investigating and downloaded a Wellness Recovery Action Plan Workbook, which he read from cover to cover, to find out what it all entailed.  There was a collection of strategies, activities, and resources to help with both mental and physical recovery, such as relaxation techniques, coping mechanisms and enjoyable activities.

Also included was a daily maintenance plan with specific routines and habits to be followed on a daily basis; identifying triggers and early warning signs, a crisis plan, and a post crisis plan.

The workbook would need to be completed by Scott, where he wrote everything down in regard to the subjects above; what he enjoyed doing, his triggers, his safe places, people he wanted involved, even listing those he didn’t want involved and the reasons.  He also had to set goals for himself, whether they be physical or mental; like being able to run a mile again, to get back in a jet and fly; things to stretch him and enable him to grow.  It was a long list, but Scott had four brothers, his dad, his grandma and his sister and her dad to help.

As the days slowly passed, Scott began to come out of his drugged state, and that was when reality really hit him.  Hard.  Like an express train running at full speed.

His mind was locked on replaying those 13 weeks of hell.  Even just closing his eyes made the images flash before him, so he tried to stay awake, because when he slept the nightmares came, that had him screaming in imagined pain, moaning in denial; his limbs flailing as he attempted to get loose from his imagined chains and bindings.

The first time Virgil had stayed with him and the nightmares occurred resulted in the younger man suffering a black eye as he’d attempted to hug him, hoping that would soothe him.  Scott had fought and screamed to be free.

“Don’t!  DON’T TOUCH ME YOU PERVERTED BASTARD!” he had screamed, then he had flinched as if he was being struck, time and time again.

A doctor and a couple of male nurses had arrived and pinned the sick man down as he continued to scream at them.  Then he had suddenly woken up and immediately started hyperventilating.

Virgil stood in the corner, nursing his rapidly forming black eye, almost hyperventilating himself as he saw the terror in his big brother’s eyes and he tried and failed to break free.  When a nurse arrived with a sedative and attempted to inject him directly, the response was even worse as he begged and pleaded with her, his eyes wide with fear, not to inject him.

Jeff arrived at that point and saw his eldest son was petrified of the needle and tried to get her to leave, but she injected the sedative into the line instead.

“N – n – noooo… please… don’t… no drugs… please…” he’d cried as he attempted to knock the offending hypodermic out of her hand and failed.  “N – nooo,” he kept gasping, then his pitiful cries grew weaker as the sedative took effect and his eyes closed.

Virgil had almost rammed his fists into his mouth at this point; his distress for his big brother overwhelming him as Jeff hugged him and he fisted his hands into the back of his dad’s shirt, pulling it taut.

Jeff wasn’t best pleased with what the nurse had done.

“He could hurt himself and he was disturbing the other patients,” she said calmly as she left and Jeff vowed she wasn’t going to be allowed in the room again.

“I’m sorry we had to do that,” the duty doctor apologised.  “But he was in real danger of re-injuring himself.  I think, as soon as his leg is out of plaster, we should move him to a specialist psychiatric hospital.  They have the expertise to treat him.”

Jeff stood, gazing at his unconscious son, torn about what to do.

“If he doesn’t start talking to his counsellor, I don’t see what else we can do.  I’m sorry.”  He and the other nurses stayed another couple of minutes to ensure Scott was calm again and then left.

“No…” Virgil moaned.  “Not to a psychiatric hospital, dad, please.  Scott needs us.  I’ve been researching it all.  He needs friends and family, not total strangers.  He needs people who understand him; know his tells.  Please dad, let’s take him home, please!”

Jeff was actually thinking along the same lines, but could they cope?  They would need to literally watch him twenty-four seven to make sure he didn’t do anything to injure either himself or any of them.

“I’ll think about it, son,” he finally answered truthfully, knowing it would need a great deal of planning.

-o-o-o-

Scott was ‘different’ the following morning when he woke up.  He just lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.  He wouldn’t talk, wouldn’t look at anyone.  He shut down completely and lived in his own private hell, unwilling to subject his family to what he was going through.

This upset the family even more.  They knew he needed to let everything go, so he could start to recover, but he just would not acknowledge them, even though he knew how much it upset them; especially Virgil, who had sobbed and begged him to talk to him; to anyone, so he could get better and come home.  He kept telling him there was a way out of the darkness if he was willing to try it, but it seemed to fall on deaf ears.

Scott knew it was hurting his family badly and also that he had to stop it.  There was only one way that was going to happen, but he was so carefully monitored.  He wished he was dead.  Sure, his family would mourn, but they’d get over it eventually.  He was causing them so much pain, death would be a happy release and perhaps then, he too would be at peace.

His family watched as his health began to decline again.  They just didn’t know what to do.  Scott refused to eat, to talk, to do his exercises.  He continued to lie, zombie like in his bed, his mind filled with the horrors of his internment, silently begging for it to stop and his father despaired, especially when the youngest two kept asking how their big brother was doing and when they could see him.

Sally suggested it might be a good idea for Gordon and Alan to visit.  It could be that they could shock him into cooperating.  Scott had never liked upsetting his brothers, it might be just the trigger they needed, but Jeff was loathe to subject them to that, thinking it would be better for them to remember Scott as he used to be.

And so the days continued to pass.

It was Jeff’s turn to stay with his son, when he heard a soft knock on the door.  Scott was asleep again, so he called out softly for whomever it was to enter.

His eyebrows rose in surprise as a familiar figure came in, shutting the door quietly behind him.  “Captain Scarlet!”  Jeff stood up as the officer removed his cap and came forward, hand outstretched.

“Colonel Tracy, good to see you again, sir.  I hope you don’t mind; I was passing through the area and decided to make a slight detour to see how things were going.  I found out you were still here, so I assume Captain Tracy is recovering?”  He looked beyond Jeff to the young man laying quietly in the hospital bed.  There were various monitors, but the colour captain took in the fact that his breathing sounded so much better compared to how it had been when they had found him.

“It’s good to see you too.”  He sighed heavily.  “Scott was recovering slowly.  He gave us a couple of scares.  Stopped breathing, so had to be intubated, then he crashed…” Jeff took a deep breath.  Remembering it still made him shudder.  “He’s out of the coma now and breathing on his own, but having made a start at recovery, he’s deteriorating again and I really don’t know what to do.  It’s like he’s given up.”

Scarlet studied the sleeping man and decided he looked a thousand times better than he had when he last saw him.  He was now clean, and the bruises were almost gone; he still looked very emaciated, but now that the beard had been shaved off, he could see that he would be a handsome young man once he put the weight back on.

“The doctor is attempting to get him onto solid food, but it’s proving difficult.” Jeff sighed.  “Scott’s punishing himself for his perceived failure.  I keep telling him he hasn’t failed, that he’s not a disappointment but I might as well just be talking to myself because he’s not listening.”  He looked into Scarlet’s blue eyes; almost as blue as Scott’s.  “Captain, you were special ops, you’ve seen things that I haven’t… do you have any advice of how I can reach my son before he kills himself and destroys his brothers’ lives?”

Scarlet just about stopped himself from flinching.  That was a BIG ask.  “I think that would be more of a therapist’s expertise than mine, Colonel,” he replied carefully.

“Yes, but you’ve been in the field, you’ve been there.  I don’t know what else I can say to him to make him continue fighting to get well again.  May I… may I be frank with you?”

“Of course, sir.  Anything you wish to tell me will be in complete confidence.”

Jeff motioned him towards the chairs on the other side of the room and they went and sat down.  “It’s all right, he won’t wake up,” Jeff said seeing Scarlet glance towards the bed.  “They had to sedate him when Virgil tried to hug him and wake him from another nightmare.  He gave Virgil a black eye.  Scott won’t let any of us touch him now and we’re a tactile family.”  He sighed.  “I don’t know if it’s my fault… I must assume it is but you see… when the boys’ mother died, I… well I went off the rails, deserted my children and Scott had to step up.  We’d always encouraged him to take care of his younger brothers, but it went up exponentially after my wife died and he was left to look after them for almost a year… and… well look at him.  He can’t do anything for himself currently; he can’t look after his brothers… as far as he’s concerned he’s useless and a failure…”

“But his brothers are all adults now aren’t they?”

“Almost.  Alan turns 18 next March.”

Scarlet pondered for a few moments.  “Soooo… let me see if I have understood the situation correctly.  Scott is now currently totally reliant on his brothers and you, and he sees this as not being right because he’s always been there to take care of them and even you to some extent.  He believes he is failing in his duty.  He protects them and at the moment he can’t.  He can’t do anything for himself because of his injuries.”

“You have it in one.”

“I wonder if he would be happier speaking to a fellow military man who is a stranger.  Sometimes it’s easier to talk to someone you don’t know because they can’t judge you.  Other than that, I can put in a request for a chaplain to speak with him or even spend some time with him.  He is excellent at his job and I have found his counsel most beneficial.”

“That’s if he’ll even listen.  He’s hardly talking, hardly eating, it’s like…” Jeff swallowed as he attempted to keep an iron grip on his emotions.  “It’s like he’s trying to finish what his experience in that hellhole started and… commit suicide.  I can’t lose him Captain.  I just can’t.”

“Have you told him that?”

“No.”

“How about some reverse psychology?  If all else fails and he still won’t listen, send him on a guilt trip.  If he cares for his siblings as much as you say he does, that might shock him out of his stupor.  Perhaps mollycoddling him is the wrong way.  I have a little time.  If he wakes up before I have to leave, I could speak with him.  It can’t do any harm, can it?  You’re telling me he’s already on a downward spiral.”

“Captain, you are a ruthless man.”

“Thank you.  Now, why don’t you go and get some fresh air, and take any of your sons that are lurking, with you.  Come back in an hour, but don’t come in until I call.  I’ll stay here with him so he’s not alone.”

Jeff opened his mouth to protest, but the look Scarlet was giving him made him close it again.  He nodded and walked out.  On the threshold, he paused and looked back.  “I’ll make sure you’re not disturbed,” he said and closed the door.

Scarlet took a deep breath, got up from his seat and went and sat right by Scott’s bed.

Nothing happened for about 15 minutes, then Scarlet heard a change in his breathing and a whimper of pain.

“May I get you something?” Scarlet asked softly.

Scott’s eyes flew open, wide and fearful as he spotted the stranger sitting right by his bedside.  He didn’t recognise the uniform and his breathing hitched.

“It’s all right, Captain Tracy.  My name is Captain Scarlet and I’m with Spectrum.  Have you heard of us?”

Scott gave a nervous, shaky nod.

“I was in charge of the mission to recover all prisoners from your camp, and I guarded your father in his search for you.  I was passing in the general area and wanted to see how you were doing.  You’re looking a hell of a lot better compared to when I found you.”

Scott’s breathing evened out as he looked at the black haired, blue eyed man sitting by his side.  “You… you should have let me die there,” he mumbled in response.

“I’m afraid that wasn’t an option,” Scarlet replied.  “Your father moved hell and high water to accompany us.  He must have some good contacts, that’s all I can say.  Hey, would you like some water to drink?”

Scott shook his head and turned away.

“Scott—may I call you that?”

There was no response.

Time to apply the reverse psychology… here goes nothing. “I’m an only child myself and I’ve never had any siblings or relations close to my age, but seeing the love that your brothers have for you makes me feel jealous; that I’ve missed out on something.  How can you be so cruel to them?  Do you hate them that much?”

It had the desired effect, and Scott’s head turned to face him, his eyes blazing with anger.  “What the hell do you mean?  I LOVE my brothers, my family!”

“Well, you’ve sure got a funny way of showing it.  Your attitude has really upset them, and you’ve had your brother Virgil in tears.  I hope that piece of news pleases you.”

“You – you don’t understand!”

“Then explain it to me.  I’m really curious how an older brother who is loved by his family can reject them and cause them pain when he says he supposedly loves them.  Doesn’t sound like love to me.”

“Look at me, Captain!  LOOK AT ME!”

“I’m looking… so…?”

“I’m the eldest, I’m supposed to be the strong one, I’m the one who looks after the rest of my brothers!  I can’t even feed myself, or even go to the bathroom on my own!  I’m fucking useless!”

“You’ve been injured, it’s temporary, you’ll recover.  I can’t see what your problem is.”

“I can’t do my fucking job, Scarlet!”

“Only for a little while.  Tell me, who took care of your brothers when they got hurt?”

“I did, if it wasn’t too serious, then my Grandma helped.”

“I guess you used to change diapers, get them to school, tuck them up in bed, even feed them, right?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, so who took care of you?  Who looked after you when you got sick, or you had an accident?”

“I took care of myself.”

“Really?  Every single time?”

“Well… no… but—”

“Did your siblings ever offer you comfort?  Give you a hug?  Bring you a sandwich?  Just be there?”

“Yes, but—”

“So what’s different now?  You’ve just been hurt really badly, but you’ll mend.”

“I’M BROKEN, Scarlet!  I GAVE UP!  I WANTED TO DIE!”

“Well you didn’t do a very good job at dying did you?  You should have been dead when we found you, but something in you kept on fighting to stay alive.  You stopped breathing, you did actually die, but look, you’re still here, so there must have been a part of you wanted to keep on living!

“And you’re not broken, you’re just damaged.  You can be fixed; it’s just up to you on how fixed you want to be and your family want to help.  Or are you so far up your own arse wallowing in self-pity that you don’t care that you’re destroying your family, causing them pain because you’re rejecting them?  Your condition is temporary, Scott.  You will recover, but you don’t have to do this alone!  Stop being a total dick, get your shit together and let your family help you, like you’ve helped them.  It’s not too much to ask, is it?”

Scott was physically shaking and Scarlet began to wonder if he’d pushed just that bit too hard as the younger man screamed at him.  “GET OUT, SCARLET!  GET THE FUCK OUT AND LEAVE ME ALONE!  DAMN YOU!  GET OUT! GET OUT!  GET OUT!”  Then he burst into tears.

Scarlet took his life in his hands, stood up and carefully hugged him.

He was rewarded with a moan of denial.  “No… I don’t deserve…”

“Yes you do,” Scarlet said softly.  “You have your whole life ahead of you, Scott.  Don’t throw it all away.  Your family love you, they understand you’ve had a horrible time, that you have issues leaning on them, like they’ve leant on you, but now they want to give something back to you.  Let them be there for you.  You don’t have to do this alone.  Don’t shut them out, you’re only hurting them by doing that.  Okay?”

Scarlet went to release him and straighten up, but Scott managed to throw his right arm around him.  “No… don’t go… don’t leave me…” he whispered.  “I – I don’t want to be alone anymore.  Please… help me…”

“Okay, okay, it’s all right.  May I call for your father?”  The Spectrum officer felt a head nod feebly against his chest.  “All right.”  He turned his head and called out.  “Mr Tracy!  Would you come in, please?”

The door opened slowly, and Jeff peered in.  Scarlet motioned him over and he did as he was asked, shocked to see that he was hugging his son, who was openly sobbing his heart out.

“Here you go, Scott.  Your father’s here.  I’m sure you’d prefer a hug from him rather than me.  Nothing beats a good hug from your dad.”

He didn’t completely let go of him until Jeff had his son in his arms, and then he stepped back and gave a huge sigh as the older man began to gently rock his son.

Jeff turned his head to look at him.  “Thank you, Scarlet,” he said softly.

The Captain nodded.

“Hey Scotty,” Jeff said to his son.  “How are you feeling?”

“I – I wa – wanna g – go home,” he sobbed in response.  “Pl – please t – take me h – home.”

“I promise you, I’ll take you home as soon as you’re fit enough, but you’re still very ill and extremely underweight.  The hospital won’t release you until your condition improves.”

“B – but I – I don’t like it here.  Pl – please dad… get me out of here… please!”

Jeff attempted to soothe his son.  “I give you my word; I will get you out of here as soon as I can.  In the meantime, you have a couple of people who are desperate to see you.  Can John and Virgil come in now?”

Scott frantically attempted to get control of his emotions and stop sobbing.  He couldn’t, but he nodded.

“I’ll send them in,” Scarlet said, seeing the nod.  He opened the door.  The two brothers jumped to their feet and looked anxiously at him.  “Scott wants to see you.”

They stepped forward eagerly.

“Slowly,” Scarlet told them.  “He’s had a bit of an epiphany, so take it easy, but I think he will start getting better now.”

“Thank you, Captain!” John and Virgil said in unison as they walked slowly into the room towards their father and brother.

Scarlet shut the door behind them and smiled to himself.  He was used to reading people, it was part of his job, but for a moment, he thought he’d got it wrong with Scott, however it turned out he hadn’t.  That was one battle he was glad he had won.  He had to break him to fix him.  It would take time, but Scarlet was convinced he’d make a recovery.  How much though, would depend on Captain Tracy.

The end of chapter 3 had Scott flatlining. In this chapter, Virgil has a meltdown, Jeff makes a confession, and Scott finally regains consciousness.

No warnings for this chapter, just fluff and angst.

Earlier chapters may be found on AO3 here.

Chapter 4 – You Don’t Have to Apologise

No one had the chance to hit the emergency alarm before the door crashed open and two nurses and Major Sinclair rushed in.  “Get out of the way!” the doctor shouted as he and his staff reached the bed.

John grabbed Virgil again and dragged him back towards the door.

“N – n – noooo!” the middle brother moaned.  “Scotty!  NO!”  The normally calm, quiet peacekeeper brother had disappeared into one overcome with anguish and grief.  That was his best friend over there who had just crashed and he couldn’t imagine a life without him.  “Dad…”

“Get him out of here, so we can concentrate!” Sinclair shouted as he began manual CPR whilst one of the nurses grabbed the defibrillator.

Jeff helped John drag the protesting Virgil through the door as he continued to struggle.  “No!  Let me stay!  Let me stay!  PLEASE!”

“VIRGIL!” Jeff shouted at his son.  “Get a grip!  You’re not doing Scott any good behaving like this!”  He shook him, then hugged him tightly.  “It’ll be okay son, you’ll see… Scotty’s a fighter, he won’t give up.”  And he silently prayed that was true, because his eldest had suffered so much already.  He glanced back at Sinclair and issued the plea.  “Save him, Major, please.”  The door then closed in his face.

Jeff could feel how tightly Virgil was fisting his hands into the back of his shirt as the young man started to fall apart and wept into his shoulder, moaning Scott’s name over and over and pleading to anyone who would listen to save his brother.

In Scott’s room, the timer was started, his oxygen had been disconnected and the defibrillator fired.  The Captain’s body went rigid as the shock was applied, then relaxed.  Sinclair studied the monitors.  He was still flatlining. They tried again, still nothing; so they increased the charge and tried again.

“Dammit Captain!  Come on!  Don’t give up on us now!  Increase to 220 Joules.”  He administered a shot of adrenalin straight into the heart.

“220 joules, yes sir.  Ready.  Stand clear.”

“Clear,” Sinclair said and the shock was administered.

The three medical staff all looked at the monitors.  Nothing.

“Again!”  CPR was carried out whilst the defibrillator recharged.  “Clear!  Shocking!”

Scott’s body convulsed as the current flowed.

Nothing.  CPR was continued as the defibrillator recharged yet again and increased to 250 Joules.

“Stand clear… shocking.”

They paused to see if it had worked this time.  There was still no sign of life.

“Time?” Sinclair asked.

“Four minutes, 13 seconds,” one of the nurses responded.

“Administer another 1 mg of adrenaline and we’ll try again,” Sinclair snapped.  Come on, Captain!  You’ve gotten this far, please don’t give up on us now! he thought desperately.   Your father is expecting me to save you… don’t let me down!

The shot was administered, and they tried again.  Nothing.

“Let’s give it one more try.  Increase to 270 Joules.”

“270 Joules.  Ready.  Stand clear!”

Again, Scott’s body went rigid, then relaxed.  Everyone fixed their gaze on the monitor and waited.  Nothing.  Sinclair slumped and heaved a heavy sigh.  By rights he could continue to fight for his life for a further 20 minutes, but part of him was wondering if it was fair to put this young man through any more?  He decided to stop and offered a silent apology to the lifeless young man on the bed.  What a waste! Only 23 and his life is over… criminal…  I’m sorry, Captain.  Be at peace now.  He pulled himself together; but inside was dreading having to deliver the bad news to the family.

“I’m calling it,” he said.  “Time of dea—”  The monitor suddenly blipped, rather erratically then settled into a tachycardic rhythm, but a rhythm, nonetheless.  Sinclair almost collapsed in relief.  He’d seen too much death this day.  “Good man,” the major whispered to his patient as he squeezed his arm gently.  “Don’t do that to us again, you hear me?”

One of the nurses reconnected the oxygen supply and the other handed the scanner to the doctor, who ran it slowly over Scott’s body.  He wanted to check to make sure the busted rib laying tightly against the left lung hadn’t moved after the CPR.  If it had, they were in serious trouble.  But for once, luck was on their side and it appeared not to have moved. Thank goodness for small mercies! Sinclair thought.

He continued to study the monitors for a couple of minutes, just to make sure Scott was stable again, then nodded and gave a sharp sigh of relief and tentatively smiled at his two nurses.

“Guess I’d better give the family the good news,” the doctor said as he gave the monitors one final check, then moved to the door.  He opened it and was faced by three very anxious faces staring hard at him.

Almost ten minutes had passed and with every passing second, Jeff and his sons grew more worried and concerned.

“Captain Tracy is alive.  We managed to get his heart going again.”

Three bodies slumped in relief.  John and Virgil clutched one another for support, the latter sobbing with relief whilst his older brother rubbed his hand in gentle circles on his back, trying to soothe him.

“He’s not out of the woods yet,” Sinclair went on.  “But it looks like he hasn’t given up the fight just yet.  We still need to get him through the next 60 hours or so, then I’ll be happier.”

“H – how long was he down for?” Jeff managed to ask.

“Seven minutes twenty-nine seconds,” Sinclair answered, watching as Jeff winced.

“What about that rib?”

“I took another detailed scan and it doesn’t appear to have moved.  The scanner hasn’t detected any bleeding in that area either.  We will monitor his stats closely as I would like to operate as soon as possible, but it looks like it won’t be for another couple of days  He’s still hypothermic, but his temperature is rising slowly.  We’ll review his situation on a half-daily basis.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Jeff said with feeling.  “May we see him?”

“You may, but I request you keep noise to a minimum.  By all means talk to him, quietly, but no emotional outbursts please, or I will have you removed.  I know his condition will have upset you—even frightened you—but it’s imperative you remain calm.  Do I make myself clear?”

For a moment, all three members of the family bristled, but then came to their senses and they nodded.  There were still debates going on about whether patients in comas could actually hear what was going on around them and they realised their reaction to Scott’s condition may have in fact been a contributing factor to his crashing.

“Good.  Now we understand one other.  I’ll be nearby, just in case.”  The doctor nodded at them and walked down the corridor.

Jeff turned to his two sons.  “Boys, go and get something to eat and drink.  I’ll sit with Scott, then you can take over and I’ll go get something to eat, and update your grandmother.”

They wanted to protest; needing to see for themselves that Scott was alive, but one look from their father silenced them and they grudgingly went in search of the cafeteria.  Jeff watched them go, then quietly let himself back into Scott’s room.  For a moment, he stood, leaning back against the now closed door and studied his eldest, his heart thudding painfully in his chest as the sudden rush of adrenaline began to ebb; then he realised the significance of what had just happened and felt the bile rising.

He made a rather undignified dash to the ensuite bathroom and threw up into the toilet bowl.  He continued to heave until there was nothing left and he found himself shaking in what could only be shock, at the events that had just happened.

It took a few minutes for him to stop shaking before he could get back to his feet and move to the sink where he rinsed his mouth and splashed some cold water over his face.  He grabbed a nearby towel, dried himself off, took a number of deep breaths, pulled himself together and moved to Scott’s bedside.

He carded a hand gently through his son’s hair.  “Scotty, you scared me, you scared all of us, son.  Come on now, you can do this.  You’ve survived this far, you can keep going, just a little longer.  Will you do that for me—for us?  We love you so much.”

He leant over and kissed his forehead, before straightening up again and taking a deep breath.  He needed to grow a pair and confess to his eldest, knowing his son deserved to know the truth.  But Scott was unconscious; he wouldn’t hear the words his father was about to say to him and understand…

“I need to apologise to you, son,” Jeff began as he began to card his fingers through his son’s hair again.  “All your life I’ve been pushing you; harder than the rest.  I’ve watched you grow into the fine man you are; I’ve watched as you rose to every challenge I set you and you succeeded time and time again… and I saw as you continued to push yourself harder and harder as you waited to hear the words from me that I never gave you.  Instead I continued to drive you onwards and upwards.

“I saw the hurt in your eyes, the flash of disappointment cross your face when I still didn’t say what you desperately needed me to say, and for that, I will never forgive myself… so I’m saying it now, Scotty.  I am so damn proud of you, son.  So proud I’m fit to burst.  I don’t know why I couldn’t say that before; I have no excuse except to say that I need to make sure you’re strong; stronger than I am and this was the only way I could think of to make you so.  I… I need you to forgive me, Scotty.  You are my heir, I needed to make sure you could take care of yourself and your brothers and you’ve proved that you can do that time and time again, and yet, I still didn’t say what you needed to hear—were desperate to hear.  So I’m going to say it again.  I couldn’t be more proud of you if I tried.  You’re a far better man than I could ever be, and I am honoured to have a son like you.  I love you but I haven’t said that enough over the years, so I’m begging you… hang on and come back to us, son.  Your brothers need you and… and hell… I need you too, boy.  Please don’t leave us… please…”

Jeff had no idea if Scott could actually hear his heartfelt words or not, but he knew they had to be said.  It was easier saying them when they were alone like this; where no one else could hear him; where even perhaps Scott hadn’t heard them because if he spoke them when Scott was conscious, Jeff would feel weak.

He savagely wiped the tears from his eyes, then pulled the chair close and sat down to keep a vigil until John and Virgil returned, whilst Scott continued to lay unmoving and perhaps totally oblivious to his father’s confession.

In the cafeteria, John had to carry the tray as Virgil was still shaking with shock.  They found a table in a corner and sat down.  John carefully unloaded the tray and leant it against a table leg.

“Come on Virg, eat your sandwich,” he encouraged, but his brother shook his head.

“It’ll choke me,” he mumbled and looked at his brother, his eyes haunted.  “John… did you see him… did you see how he looked?  That was our big brother… he looked like… like death—was dead for over seven minutes!  He used to be so strong, so fit… do you think he’ll…”  He stopped, trying to get a hold on his emotions and failed miserably.

“Virgil, look at me!” John ordered.  “You’re starting to hyperventilate, come on, breathe with me.”  He took a firm grasp of Virgil’s hands.  “Come on, brother, concentrate; in two three four… hold… hold… out two three four.  You can do it… that’s it… come on…”

It took him several minutes, but eventually he got his breathing under control, which was just as well, because it looked as if a doctor was approaching their table.

“Is everything all right?” she asked.  “Can I help?”

“That’s very kind of you, but I think we’ve got it under control now,” John responded, still holding Virgil’s hands tightly.

The doctor moved so she was standing by John’s side and studying Virgil.  “Sir, would you look at me, please?”

Virgil was still taking deep breaths and holding them for a number of seconds before letting them out, but he did as he was asked.

“Hey there… okay, you’re looking better now.  I thought you were going to pass out earlier.”  She smiled gently at him.  “How are you feeling?”

“O – okay,” Virgil said finally.

“Good.  Your friend here did a good job.”

“I’m his brother,” John replied quietly.

“Oh!”  She glanced at the two of them.  For a few seconds she thought they didn’t look much like brothers; the blond one was tall, thin, his features rather chiselled, whereas the brown-haired one was well-muscled and broad, but she could actually see a resemblance around the eyes, despite the colour difference.

“Sorry about the um… panic attack,” Virgil said blushing with embarrassment.  “We… we’ve er… just seen our brother and it was… a shock.”  A flash of pain crossed his features.

The  doctor didn’t press for details; she would wait and see if any were volunteered.

“Doctor… what’s the survival rate for recovered PoWs admitted to the ICU?” he finally asked.

A look of profound sympathy appeared briefly on her features before she became all professional again.  “Well, it depends on a lot of factors… like how long they were held for, what his condition was in when recovered… may I ask, did he come in with the latest batch of rescued PoWs?”

Virgil nodded.  “His doctor has said if he can get through the next 48 – 72 hours he might stand a chance… He… he was unrecognisable!  I didn’t even believe it was him, but dad assured us it was.”

Virgil obviously felt the need to get his feelings off his chest.  The doctor indicated if she could sit and Virgil nodded.

“He’s in a serious condition then?”

“He just crashed,” Virgil whispered.  “It was awful.”

“You don’t have to talk about it,” the doctor said quietly.

“How can humans do that to another human?” Virgil went on, ignoring her.  “Our eldest brother is the kindest man; he’d help anyone, and they beat him, tortured him, starved him to within an inch of his life and he’s not out of the woods yet.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that.  But if the doctor’s managed to revive him, then he has a chance.  He sounds like he’s a fighter, and we doctors are very good at our job… I mean… sorry, that sounds like I’m boasting, but we’re a good bunch here.  We’ll fight to make him well.”  She studied his features again.  “Are you going to be all right now?”

“Yes, thank you.  Thank you for your kindness.”

“That’s one of the things we’re here for. Your brother is in very good hands; I promise you that.”  She stood up, gave them both a sincere smile and left.

“Are you all right?” John asked noting how grey his younger brother still looked.

“No… but I’ll get there.  I have to, for Scotty’s sake.”

“Then eat  your sandwich.  We don’t want you collapsing from hunger, and you won’t have the strength to help if you pass out.”

They arrived back at Scott’s room 40 minutes later.  Jeff checked on his two sons to make sure they were okay and left them with strict instructions whilst he grabbed some food, then went outside again to call his mother.

“Jeff?” Sally Tracy asked.  “I was becoming worried.  Tell me.”

“Hi mom, where are Gordon and Alan?”

“In the lounge.  They’re not near me, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Good.  I don’t want them to hear this.”

Sally’s heart missed a beat at hearing those words.  “W – wait a minute, let me go to your office…”  There were a couple of minutes silence, then she spoke again.  “Okay, I’m in there and the door is closed.  What can you tell me?”  She heard her son take a deep jagged breath.  “Jeff?

“It – it’s bad, mom.  Scotty’s almost unrecognisable… what those bastards have done to him…” His breath hitched as he fought to stay in control of his emotions.

“Jefferson, calm down, stay with me.” Sally was all trauma doctor now.  “Can you tell me his injuries?”

“Dehydrated, emaciated; his body is a mass of cuts, bruises, burns.  Fractured ribs, broken femur, broken fingers; hypothermia, a fever, double pneumonia…. Mom… they waterboarded him on numerous occasions, he’s fully intubated because he can’t breathe on his own… and… and about an hour ago, he flatlined and I thought… oh God, I thought we’d lost him, but the doctor managed to bring him back… he needs surgery, there’s a broken rib laying right against his lung, but he’s not strong enough.  He’s got IVs, a gastrostomy tube, loads of monitoring equipment on him.

“When we found him in that hellhole, I had to examine him to confirm it was him!  I couldn’t even recognise my own son, mom!  Can you believe that?  That’s how bad a state he was in!  He’s always been so strong, to see him like—”

“Jeff! Stop it!  Calm down.  You won’t do him or your other sons, or yourself any good if you lose control.  You need to be strong for them, understand?  You need to be the calm one to keep them grounded.  I’m not going to lie to you, Scotty’s going to be a mess when he finally regains consciousness.  He will need careful handling.  Has he been unconscious throughout?”

“Yes.  He was unconscious when we found him, and now he’s in an induced coma because of the rib.  They don’t want him coughing, which the fluid on his lungs would cause.”

“All right.  I’m going to leave Kyrano in charge of the boys and Kayo, pack a bag and get to you as soon as possible.  Sounds like you all need some moral support and I think my experience as a trauma doctor will be useful.  See you as soon as I can.  Be strong, son.  Scotty’s alive, that’s the important thing.”

-o-o-o-

Scott survived the night which brought him a step closer to recovery.  His father and brothers refused to leave and stayed in vigil with him.  A specialist had paid a visit and drawn some fluid off his lungs for analysis and another had drawn some bloods.  This enabled them to identify the infections and target them with specific treatments.

John had gone and acquired a couple of extra chairs and pilfered some blankets from the small cupboard in the room and the three men had tried to make themselves as comfortable as possible, as none of them were leaving that room.

And that was how Sally found them when she arrived a number of hours later.  All fast asleep from exhaustion; various monitoring machines beeping and flashing away in the background.  She shook her head and entered the room, shutting the door quietly.  Moving to the foot of Scott’s bed, she spent a long time just looking at him and her heart wept at the state of him.  Her son had not been exaggerating when he described the condition Scott was in.

Just looking at him, she knew his physical recovery was going to take months.  Nothing had been spoken about the mental side, but she suspected that was going to be bad as well.  Her Scotty was strong both physically and mentally; a man who possessed a kind and generous soul.  This experience was bound to have affected him deeply but she hoped that it hadn’t damaged him beyond repair.  That would break all of their hearts.

Sally turned her attention to his notes, and read them very carefully, nodding in agreement with the actions that had been taken so far, then switched her attention to the monitors.  None of the readings were unexpected.  She returned the tablet to the holder and carefully moved to the opposite side of the bed to where her son was sitting, looking most uncomfortable with his head on his arms on the side of the bed, a hand clutching Scott’s bicep.

Gently, she stroked Scott’s cheek, leant over and kissed his forehead like his father and brothers had done previously.  “Hey kiddo,” she whispered quietly in his ear, “Grandma’s here, now.  I’m gonna take good care of you, okay?  I just need you to keep on fighting for me.  You can do that, can’t you?  You’ve made it this far; you haven’t got much further to go now.”

She straightened up and saw that Jeff had lifted his head and was looking at her.

“Mom,” he said quietly.  “Thank you for coming.”

“He’s going to make it Jeff, I’m sure of it.  He’s a Tracy.”

“As long as he doesn’t give us any more heart attacks!”

She had to smile at that, and carefully moved so she was the same side of the bed as her son, and put her arms on his shoulders.  “You doing all right, son?”

That last sentence triggered a reaction and Jeff took a jagged breath and a partial sob escaped his lips before he regained control of himself.  “I’ll admit to having a little trouble coping, but I’m getting there,” he finally managed to say.  “But look at him, mom.  Look at my son!”

“I know, Jeff.  It’s painful to see him like this, but he’ll recover.  Have faith in him.  He’s a Tracy through and through and he’s a chip off the old block,” she teased and was rewarded with a timid smile.

It was at that point that John and Virgil woke up and left their chairs to envelope Sally in a group hug, pleased to see her and have her support.

The pattern was set for the next few days.  Scott was kept in his induced coma whilst the gastro tube and IVs did their work.  The heat pads did what they were designed to do, his temperature crept up slowly and the antibiotics kicked in, gradually reducing his fever and the amount of fluid on his lungs.  His heart rate began to drop and five days later it was finally below 100 beats per minute.  Bruises from his final interrogation developed fully and then began to slowly fade.

Jeff kept Gordon, Alan and the rest of the family at Tracy Island updated, but not in too much detail; he didn’t want to frighten the youngsters, but he did give Kyrano the full details.

Gordon and Alan begged to be able to see their big brother but were firmly denied, which upset them, but Jeff held his stance and refused to move on the decision.  Sally was unsure it was the right one, but her son insisted that Scott wouldn’t want them to see him like this and it was going to be bad enough when he woke up and realised that John and Virgil were there, so she kept quiet.

Seven days later, Major Sinclair arranged to finally operate on Scott.  He wasn’t totally happy about it, but the need to realign the rib outweighed the risks, so the family spent an anxious three hours waiting for Scott to return from surgery.

“It went reasonably well.  We had a slight wobble, but Captain Tracy recovered well.  I’m going to keep him sedated for another three days and then we’ll try and bring him to consciousness.”

“Another three days!” Virgil had exclaimed.

“Patience, Virgil.  We can’t rush this, okay,” Jeff told him.

So they waited.  Virgil still had some final university work to complete and found it hard going, but when it was his turn to sit with his big brother, he found just being there enabled him to get it done.

Scott was gradually weaned off the sedatives, but it was another two days before any change was noticed.

Jeff was reading to him from one of his favourite books: The Aviators by Winston Groom.  He had his feet propped up on the edge of the bed, and was gently holding Scott’s hand with one of his own and turning the pages of the book that was propped up on his thighs with the other when he felt a slight movement in the splinted fingers.  At first he thought he had imagined it as wishful thinking, but it happened again.

Jeff immediately stopped what he was doing, put the book on the little table, his feet down on the ground and sat forward.  “Scotty?  Scotty, can you hear me?” he asked gently.

There was another slight twitch, so he stood up and hit the alarm button to summon the doctor.

John and Virgil looked up.  “Dad?” they chorused, standing, worry clearly etched into their features.

“I think he’s regaining consciousness,” Jeff replied quietly.  “No, stay where you are, we don’t want to crowd him.  Let the doctor take a look.  Perhaps one of you would like to go and find your grandmother?”

The two brothers looked at one another, nodded, then they both got up and left the room.  Their father returned his attention to his eldest.

“Hey there, Scooter,” he cooed, stroking his head.  “Come on son, open your eyes for me.  I’m right here.  You’re safe now.”  He felt another twitch of the hand.

Major Sinclair knocked softly and came in.  “Problem?” he asked.

“I think he’s regaining consciousness.  His hand has twitched a number of times now.”

Sinclair came forward and studied the monitors.  He nodded.  “I think you’re right.  He’s likely to panic with the intubation tube down his throat, but stay calm.  I’ll remove it as he becomes more cognisant.”  He moved to the opposite from where Jeff stood and waited.  “Talk to him, Colonel.”  Sinclair tilted the blinds slightly to reduce the amount of light coming in so it wouldn’t hurt his patient’s eyes when he finally opened them.

“Hey there, Scotty,” Jeff began softly.  “It’s dad here.  Are you able to open your eyes for me, son?  I know you can do it.  Come on now, let me see those beautiful blue eyes of yours.”

At first, nothing much happened, then…

-o-o-o-

He had been floating for what seemed like an eternity.  A little while ago—or maybe it had been longer than that, he wasn’t sure—he thought he heard muffled voices talking, but he couldn’t make out what was being said, but the voice had been soft, calm, loving.

At one point he even thought he had been with his mother.  Her vivid red hair, green eyes and soft voice had at first soothed him, and then she had ordered him to turn around and go back.  But he didn’t want to; he didn’t want to return to that hellhole and he pleaded with her to let him stay, but she had smiled, shaken her head and told him he had been rescued, and that his father and brothers were there, waiting for him to wake up.

He had turned around as she asked, then turned back to see her beautiful features one more time, but she had gone and he was left with no option but to do as she asked.

He felt the touch of a soft kiss on his forehead and the muffled voice slowly became clearer as his befuddled mind started to regain consciousness.  The voice was familiar; one he thought he would never hear again, but it couldn’t be here, in this hellhole!  It had to be a trick!  Wait!  His mom had told him he wasn’t there anymore; that he was safe.

With his senses slowly coming to life, he became aware of the fact that he was no longer shivering with cold, but was warm and… laying on something that was soft and comfortable, but what was that godawful noise?

He attempted to swallow and that was when he became aware of something down his throat and he panicked.  He raised his right hand to get rid of the offending item, but found his fingers wouldn’t bend and he was helpless to do anything.  An insistent voice attempted to break through his hazy consciousness as his breath hitched, upsetting the rhythm of the machine that had been breathing for him the past ten days or so and an alarm sounded.

Sinclair quickly switched it off in case it frightened his patient and began speaking calmly.  “Everything is all right, Captain, try not to panic.  I’m going to remove the breathing tube now; do you understand me?”

Scott attempted to thrash in his bed, but he was just too weak to do anything more than twitch.  His eyes cracked open slightly to see a stranger leaning over him and he attempted to struggle more, then a familiar voice was talking again.

“Scotty, it’s all right, you’re safe.  Dad’s here.  Son, stay calm whilst the doctor removes the tube.  Scotty, listen to me, it’s dad.  Scott!”

The sound of that commanding voice made him freeze and he switched his gaze to his right.  Jefferson Tracy stared down at him.  He blinked several times, convinced he was hallucinating, but the image didn’t change.

“Hey there, Scotty.  The doctor’s going to remove the tube, stay calm.”

He was aware of fingers carding through his hair; his father was smiling gently at him and holding his right wrist to stop him from hurting his hand further.

“Here we go,” Sinclair said as he gently removed the tube in one smooth movement.

Scott gagged as it came out and gasped as he attempted to get some air into his lungs, but he was almost hyperventilating in his panic.

“Scott, look at me,” Jeff demanded.  “Calm down.  Breathe with me; in…one… two… three… four… hold… hold… out… two… three... four… hold… hold… again…”

It took him a few attempts, but gradually he regained control of his breathing and with that he became more aware of his surroundings.  White walls, a man with the rank of a US major standing opposite… Dad… dad…

Whilst Jeff had been helping his son, Sinclair took the opportunity to obtain a nasal cannula and with his assistance, fitted it to Scott’s face to aid his breathing a while longer.

The tears welled.  A face he thought he would never see again.  His lips trembled as he tried to form the word… dad… nothing came out, but Jeff understood and he nodded.

“Yes son, it really is me.  You’re safe, in hospital.  We got you out.”

The tears were flowing freely now; he couldn’t stop them.  The relief was totally overwhelming, but with it came the shame.  Shame that he had surrendered, broken and given up; that he’d lost faith that he would eventually be rescued.  His throat was so raw and dry he couldn’t make a sound, so instead silent sobs wracked his body and it hurt; a dull throbbing pain, but he was used to pain and this one wasn’t so bad... he’d suffered a lot worse.

But how could his father even bear to look at him, show such love when he’d invited death to take him, despite a tiny voice echoing in his head somewhere to keep on living; keep on fighting to survive?

“It’s all right Scotty,” Jeff told him.  “It’s all right.”

But it wasn’t!  Why couldn’t his dad see that?

Sinclair disappeared for a few seconds and returned with a cup of small ice chips and a teaspoon.  He offered the items to Jeff, who took them, and carefully spooned a few of the chips into Scott’s mouth.

The relief on his throat felt wonderful, although he almost choked as a sob interfered with his sucking on the quickly melting ice, and he winced at the pain in his chest.

“Steady, steady,” Jeff soothed.  “It’s all right, Scott.  Just take it slowly.”  He offered him more ice and it was gratefully accepted.

“D – dad.”  His voice was nothing more than a hoarse whisper, that didn’t sound like him at all.

Jeff looked up at Sinclair.  “Doctor, do you think you can keep everyone else out of this room, please, apart from my mother?”

Sinclair nodded in understanding.  “I’ll ensure no one else apart from Dr Tracy comes into this room,” he confirmed.  “I’ll be close by in case you need me.”  He left the room, and Jeff gave his undivided attention to his eldest son.

“I… I’m… sorry…” Scott barely whispered.

Jeff frowned at him.  “Sorry?  You have nothing to be sorry for.”  A hand was back in his hair, carding, soothing him.

Scott’s breath was hitching, gasping as he fought for control, but failed and the tears continued to flow.  “I… I let… let you… down…”

“Never, Scotty.  What makes you think that?”

More tears flowed.  “I – I broke, dad.  I – I gave up… I wanted to… to… die…”  He was sobbing openly.

Jeff’s heart wrenched at the words. He carefully wrapped his son in his arms.  “Scotty, no… you didn’t break, son.  You didn’t give up… you being here proves that.  Everyone  says you should have died in that hellhole.  When we found you, they said you wouldn’t survive the night, but here you are, ten days later.  You’re alive son.  You didn’t give up.  Maybe consciously you tried to, but sub-consciously that stubborn Tracy-ness didn’t.  You won Scott, you have to believe that.”

“I’m sorry… sorry…”

“Listen to me son, you don’t have to apologise for anything.  Do you hear me?  You’ve been through hell, but I have you back, safe.”  Jeff drew back slightly and placed another kiss on his forehead.  “I am more than grateful to have you back.  Now you need to rest and get well.”  He gently wiped the tears from his son’s face and then realised he was crying too, with relief.

“D – dad…”

“I’ll say this one more time Scott, you don’t have to apologise for anything that may have happened in that hellhole.  What’s important is that we have you back and we’re going to do everything in our power to make you well again.  Do you understand me?”

Scott nodded feebly.

“I was so afraid that we’d lost you son.  But here you are.  Now you need to work on getting well again.”  He gave him another kiss on his forehead.  “I love you so much.”  He hugged him again and that was how Sally found them when she let herself into the room and her own tears of relief fell down her face.

Scott's been recovered, but that's not the end of the story....

Warnings for this chapter: non-graphic description of injuries, some swearing, partial breakdowns.

Previous chapters can be found on AO3 here.

Chapter 3 – I’m Here, It’s Going to be All Right

Jeff was glued to his son’s side for the relatively short helicopter ride to the nearest base airport.  Those patients that were fit enough were being transported by lorry back to it, but those like Scott who were deemed highly critical were flown out as time was of the essence.  They needed urgent, specialised care where any delay could result in death.

The whole operation ran like a well-oiled machine and the casualties were quickly transferred from the helicopter to the C-17 where  they were made as comfortable as possible in the critical care units onboard for the longer flight to the closest US military hospital that was capable of treating severe injuries.

The medical staff quickly hooked Scott up to monitors, an IV, and provided him with oxygen from the medical grade oxygen system.  A ventilator and ICU equipment stood close by in case it was needed during the flight, should his condition deteriorate.

The aircraft was even equipped with operating room level care and due to its setup, could take 74 patients plus medical staff.

Walking wounded were quickly loaded, followed by those needing assistance and on stretchers until everyone was aboard.  The length of time before take-off was only twenty minutes.

It was so hard to just sit there, helpless, by his son’s side, watching him fight for every single breath that he drew into those fluid filled lungs.  The sound was just awful; bubbling, rasping, pain-filled, the effort caused his body to shudder as if it was going to be his last; the oxygen seeming to make little difference in easing his breathing and the sound of the monitoring equipment did little to disguise it.

Wishing he could do more, as they were flown to the closest US military hospital, Jeff gently took hold of one of Scott’s broken hands, being careful not to squeeze it and lightly stroked the back of it, over the bandages, with his thumb and attempted to will his strength into him whilst he whispered comforting words that he hoped he could hear, to him.

The important thing was he was still breathing; still alive, and Jeff prayed with everything he had to whomever would listen to not take his eldest away from him.  As he surveyed the gaunt features he almost wept.  Scott had always been a healthy boy but as a young man, he was  lithe, lean muscled, strong and fitter than he’d ever been… until now.

Jeff couldn’t stop himself and began to card his fingers through his son’s hair again.  “Hang on, Scotty,” he whispered.  “Please hang on, we’ll be at the hospital shortly, you’ll be in safe hands.  I’m here, it’s going to be all right, son, you’ll see.”  He leant over and placed a gentle kiss on Scott’s forehead, hoping that the young Captain would somehow sense his father and the fact that he had been rescued.

A couple of nurses were keeping a close eye on the most serious casualties on the flight, and one made a slight adjustment on Scott’s oxygen supply as they weren’t happy with the sound of his breathing.  It seemed to make a little difference in as much as Scott didn’t seem to struggle to take as deep a breath as before.  Jeff smiled his thanks at the nurse who simply nodded to him and moved on to check the next patient.

Just over two hours later, the C-17 landed and military ambulances lined up to take the casualties.  Priority was given to the most seriously injured, which included Scott.  The hospital had called in every available doctor and nurse to help cope with the inundation of patients.

“Okay, what have we got here?” a doctor asked.

“This is Captain Tracy.  Severely malnourished; tortured, fluid on the lungs due to probable multiple waterboarding episodes. Several fractured ribs, contusions, cuts, broken femur reset and splinted on site. Sats 86%, currently on oxygen.  Hypothermic at 30.6, but running a fever.   Discovered unresponsive.  Has not regained consciousness.  Given 20 mg of methadone as allergic to morphine and 500 mg of a wide spectrum antibiotic.”

“Understood.  Cubicle five.  We need to move urgently.”  They moved Scott into the cubicle and Jeff went to follow, but the nurse stopped him.

“I’m sorry sir, you can’t come in.”

“He’s my son!  I promise, I’ll stay out of the way, but please!”

The doctor fleetingly turned to him.  “Colonel Jeff Tracy?”

“Yes.”

“Very well, but stay out of my way.”  He returned his attention to his patient.  “Let’s get these flight suits off and see what else we’re dealing with, then get him hooked up again.  We need to make sure his sats don’t fall any more or we’ll have to intubate and I really don’t want to do that in his condition.”

Quickly and efficiently two nurses cut the offensive suits off Scott and dumped them in a plastic bag for disposal.

Jeff winced.  Scott’s body was black and blue practically all over and covered in cuts, welts and burns; some relatively fresh whilst others were partially healed and some were also infected.

“Replace the saline and glucose now.  If that vein in his arm collapses, try his hand or his ankle.”  The doctor ran the larger scanner over his body and gave a sigh.  “He’s too weak for surgery.  We need to stabilise him.”  He checked the broken leg and seemed happy with the splint for now.

They continued to work on him, when the alarms went off.

“He’s stopped breathing!”

They flew into action.  In a corner of the cubicle, out of the way, Jeff wrung his hands and bit his lip as they watched them intubate his son and get him breathing again.

“I really didn’t want to have to do that,” the doctor muttered as he watched the various readings on the monitors.

They waited ten minutes or so and satisfied that Scott was relatively stable, transferred him to a small room on the ICU ward.  The doctor stopped Jeff before he could follow them in.

“Colonel, why don’t you go and get a coffee and something to eat.  We need to clean Captain Tracy, set up a catheter and a gastrointestinal feeding tube, and replace the splint with a cast, but we can’t do these until he’s clean.  Come back in an hour and I’ll give you an update.”  It was not a request and Jeff suddenly found himself outside the now closed door.

He understood their reasoning.  Scott deserved some measure of dignity whilst the various procedures were carried out on him, but it didn’t make it any easier to leave his son in the hands of strangers, albeit well trained medical staff.  Jeff needed to let John and Virgil know that he had been successful and that their eldest brother was in a military hospital getting the treatment he needed.  They would be frantic, waiting to hear from him, so he grabbed a coffee and went outside to contact his second eldest.

“Dad!  What news?”  John, the usually calm and collected one sounded extremely anxious.

“We’ve got him, John.  He’s safe and I’m going to bring him home as soon as I can.”

“Thank God!  How is he?”

Jeff paused.  How did he explain Scott’s condition to his son?

“Dad?”

He still didn’t answer.

“It’s bad isn’t it.  Please, you have to…”  He broke off and Jeff heard Virgil’s voice in the background.

“Dad, you have to tell us, please!”  That was Virgil.

“Where are your brothers?”

“In bed.”

Jeff sighed.  “Very well.  I won’t lie to you boys, it’s very bad…”

“Dad!  Tell us!  We have a right to know!”  That was John again.

“He’s very sick… he’s been tortured, starved, beaten.  He’s been diagnosed with double pneumonia and has multiple fractures, a broken femur, cuts, bruises, burns.  I hate to think how much weight he’s lost.  I’m waiting for the final report from his doctor.  He’s too weak to undergo any surgery and he’s currently intubated as he can no longer breathe on his own.”

“Oh my God!” Virgil exclaimed, a sob escaping his lips.  “We’re flying out.”

“No, I don’t think that’s wise, boys.  Scott won’t want you to see him in his current state.”

“He’s our brother, we don’t care what his condition is; he’ll need us.  Grandma’s here, she can look after Gordon and Allie,” John replied.

“Besides, we think you could do with some backup if the situation is that bad.  What’s his prognosis?”

More silence followed.

“Dad!  What’s his prognosis?”

“If… if he survives the next 24 – 72 hours he has a fair chance.”

“We’re packing, right now.  You can’t deny us this, dad; just in… in case.  We’re on our way.  Which hospital is he in?” Virgil said.

“I’ll send the details across.”

“Thanks dad.  We’ll see you in about six hours.”

The connection was closed and Jeff gave a fleeting smile.  He didn’t really want his sons here, he was sure Scott wouldn’t want them to see him like he was, but on the other hand, Scott was unconscious and his brothers would want to be with him to lend their support, especially if the worst... NO!  Don’t even go there!  Scott will survive!  He’ll get through this!  He has he half muttered to himself.

Jeff suddenly uttered a sob and became conscious of tears streaking down his face  He assumed it was a mixture of relief that he had his son back, and shock at finding him in such an appalling condition.

A passing nurse stopped and gently touched his arm.  “Sir?  Are you all right?” she asked, concerned.

Jeff blinked to clear his vision and looked down into her worried face.  “I – I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“Don’t apologise.  You have someone in the hospital?”

“Yes.”

“Did they arrive today?”

Jeff nodded.

“Oh my!  One of the rescued PoWs?”

He nodded again.

She patted his arm again.  “They’re in good hands here.  We’ll do everything we can for them.  Come on, back inside, it’s cold out here.”  She led him back inside into the relative warmth of the entrance and reception.  “You look like you should eat something.  The coffee may be crap, but the food is pretty good here.  Now, are you going to be all right?  Is there someone I can call for you?”

“Thank you.  You’ve been very kind.  Two of my sons are on their way.  They should be here in about six hours.”

“Well, if you’re sure you’ll be all right… I have to go.”

“I’ll be all right.  It’s just been… a bit of a shock.”

“I can only try and imagine.  Well, good bye.  I’m sure they will recover.”  With that, she left him standing in the reception hall.

Jeff noted the time.  He still had 20 minutes before he needed to get back to Scott’s room to see the doctor, so he went and got a sandwich and forced it down with the most hideous coffee he’d tasted in a long time, before making his way back.

He waited outside the room until the appointed time, then knocked softly on the door.  Hearing no reply, he went in.  The lights were low, but he could see the staff had done an excellent job of cleaning Scott up.  The only problem was it highlighted the extent of the contusions.  Ugly purple/green/blue mottling on his arms and body.  He assumed the same would be found on his legs, but they were covered with a sheet and blanket.

Scott was hooked up to all manner of devices and bags to monitor his condition; issue alerts should they be needed and replenish him with much needed nutrients.

A nurse entered carrying a number of warming gel packs that she carefully placed at strategic points of his body, then covered him with the sheet and blankets to help increase his core body temperature.  “The doctor will be here very shortly,” he said.  “He will explain everything to you.”

“Thank you.”  Jeff sighed heavily.  With all the monitors, devices, IVs and bags connected to his eldest, he was almost scared to approach the bed and touch him; terrified he might disturb or disrupt something that could cause his son pain or further injury.  He watched the nurse leave, then turned back to look at the young man in the bed.  “Oh Scotty, what have they done to you?” he mumbled, feeling close to tears again as he listened to the awful noise that the machine breathing for him made.  It just brought home how seriously ill he really was; hanging on by a thread to life.

Finally, he pulled himself together and carefully approached the bed, noticing they’d even managed to wash his son’s hair, but had not shaved off the beard.  Jeff so wanted that gone.  It was such a little thing to want to change, but he wouldn’t look like Scott until it had been shaved off to expose those incredible dimples.  He leant over and kissed his forehead, then stroked the now clean hair.  After around four months, it had grown and without the super shiny gel, it possessed a gentle curly wave, that due to his malnutrition made it appear lank and dull.

The door opened, and Jeff straightened and turned to see who had arrived.  It was the doctor.

He entered and closed the door softly behind him, before approaching Jeff and holding out a hand, which was taken and shaken.

“Colonel Tracy,” he began.  “I’m Major Sinclair.”  He indicated towards the bed.  “I know it looks bad; it is bad, but he’s alive and he’s fighting.”  He gave a short, sharp sigh.  “To be honest, we’re not sure how he’s still alive, but he has a slim chance and the more time that passes, the greater that chance of surviving becomes.

“He’s far too weak to operate on at the moment, and we need to do so as soon as possible as one of his broken ribs is pressing on his left lung.  Any wrong movement and it could puncture through the pleura and into it, so we need to get it realigned as soon as possible.  Even violent coughing could inflict serious damage, so we’re keeping him in an induced coma to stop that happening.

“Do not be concerned if you see blood in his urine.  He has bruised kidneys.  We’ll be keeping an eye on that and it should fade in a day or so.  The detailed body scan has revealed a partial fracture to his zygomatic bone on his left eye socket.  We’ve used the bone regenerator on all the ribs that were in the correct alignment, on his hands and his right femur; it was a clean break and we’ve managed to correct the displacement so he shouldn’t need surgery.

“We can confirm double pneumonia.  He was obviously waterboarded or partially drowned on numerous occasions.  Currently we cannot tell if his lungs will recover sufficiently for him to be able to fly hypersonic or even supersonic aircraft in the future.”

Jeff’s breath hitched.  “Sc – Scotty lives for flying,” he said quietly.  “It’s all he’s ever wanted to do since he first set eyes on the sky.”

“Let’s just take it one step at a time.  He’s still hypothermic and running a fever.  First we need to boost him, hence the feeding tube and IVs as he’s seriously dehydrated.  It’s supplying a little and often and contains a good supply of vitamins and supplements that he’s currently lacking.  We’ve estimated that he’s about forty-five pounds underweight and he’s also suffering from severe muscle atrophy.

“His condition is serious, but if we can get him past 72 hours, then I believe we have an 80 percent chance of him recovering physically…  His mental state we are currently unable to judge.  I’m sorry.  That’s all I can give you at the moment.  Hopefully we will have a better idea once we bring him out of the induced coma.”

“I – I understand,” Jeff said quietly.  He wasn’t a violent man—he abhorred it; even though he had killed men in the World Conflict being in the military, but right at that moment, he wanted to get his hands on Colonel Mendelski and inflict terrible pain on him; make him suffer as he had made his son and all the other prisoners, suffer.  His son, who was the most caring person he knew; who didn’t possess a single grain of arrogance, but who tried to help all those around him, whether they be family, friends, colleagues or complete strangers. But there was one question, he had to ask, even if he really didn’t want to know the answer.  A healthy Scott was a very handsome young man.  “Doctor… are you able to tell…” God, this is hard to ask!  “… has he been… sexually assaulted?”

The doctor’s eyebrows rose at that question.

“I’m sorry, I have to know… Scott is a good looking man… and he was in the camp that Mendelski commanded… it’s known he likes…”  He couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Let me put your mind at ease.  We found no evidence to suggest that he has.  We’ve carried out a detailed full body scan on your son and I would have expected to see scarring on them, even if an attack had occurred early on in his internment.”

Jeff let out the breath he had been holding.  “Thank God,” he mumbled with feeling.

“If you have any worries or concerns about Captain Tracy’s condition, get ward reception to page me, okay?”

“Thank you, Major.”

Sinclair nodded at him, and left Jeff alone with his son.

Jeff placed a chair at the head of Scott’s bed and sat, a hand resting gently on his shoulder as if attempting to lend support and strength and he repeated what he had said earlier.  “I’m here, Scotty, it’s going to be all right.”  And that was where he stayed, until four hours later, when there was a soft knock on the door and it opened to admit John and Virgil.  Their father turned and rose from his chair to face them.

“Dad,” they said together as they moved forward for a group hug, then they shifted their attention to their eldest brother and gasped.

“NO!  That’s not… it can’t be… oh Scotty!” Virgil wailed, throwing himself towards the bed and leaning over to place his forehead against his eldest brother’s.  “Scotty…”  Then he was crying and a very shaken John attempted to pull him away so he could give him a hug and offer comfort, but Virgil refused to move.  “Scotty…” he mumbled again.

“Dad?” John asked tentatively.

“Scott’s in an induced coma.  Virgil, whatever you do, don’t touch his ribs.  He needs surgery, but he’s currently not strong enough.”

Virgil straightened up, tears running down his face.  “God!  Look at him, dad!  What did those bastards do to him?  When you were describing his condition I never thought it…”  He leant over and kissed Scott’s forehead.  “Come on Scotty, you’ve gotten this far, please don’t give up on us now, I couldn’t bear it.  Keep fighting, bro.  You have to keep on fighting.  We love you and we’re here for you.”

It was at that point the alarms went off as Scott crashed and Virgil screamed in despair.

Second chapter of my new fic. In this chapter, the Tracy family learn first that Scott is missing in action, and later, that he has been killed. The family is distraught, but Virgil refuses to believe it...

Warnings for this chapter: Descriptions of injuries, some swearing, angst, grief.

Further chapters of this fic may be found on AO3 here.

Chapter 2 – It’s Okay You’re Safe Now

The Air Force still delivered bad news the old fashioned way.  The first time two officers arrived at the farmhouse in Kansas, it was to deliver the news that Scott was missing in action.  Jeff knew there was something wrong, because his eldest hadn’t been in touch for over a week and so far, he had religiously phoned his father after returning safely from every mission.

Three of his brothers had accepted the news relatively calmly, firmly believing that Scott was tenacious and resourceful enough to find his way back over the border and to the safety of allied territory without getting caught, but Alan was clearly upset at the thought of his big brother hurt somewhere over enemy lines.  Everyone had tried to comfort him, but he wouldn’t have it, even though Virgil told him that Scott was alive and that he would feel it if something really bad had happened to him.

But that night,  Alan raided his big brother’s wardrobe sniffing his clothes, searching for an item that smelt strongly of Scott; of him, his spirit, his hair gel, or his favourite cologne; anything that made him feel as if he was there in person, then he laid on Scott’s bed, hoping to find some essence of him there, but the bed had fresh laundry on it and held the smell of fabric softener.

He had hugged the shirts he held tightly in his arms, curled around them and that was how his brothers found him an hour or so later.  They all collected in Scott’s room, on his bed, creating an incomplete puppy pile as they tried to comfort one another.

And that was how their father found them the following morning.  It broke his heart, so he did his best to reassure them; reminding them how resourceful their big brother was; how strong; that he would return to them.

They all lived on the principle that no news was good news… until two officers turned up on the doorstep again after three months with the letter declaring that Scott had been killed in action.  Everyone but Virgil went into shock.  He kept on insisting that Scott wasn’t dead; that he could still sense him and that he’d know if he had been killed.

Jeff thought it was his way of dealing with the news and in the end called the doctor after his middle son hysterically begged him to start the search because Scott was alive, but he was in pain and needed to be rescued and the doctor had sedated him, despite Virgil screaming that there was nothing wrong with him; that he wasn’t being hysterical and that he really could sense his big brother alive somewhere in Bereznik.

Alan had a complete meltdown and was inconsolable at hearing the news.  He grabbed more of Scott’s clothing and refused to let go of it.  Gordon and John tried to comfort him but to no avail and he had run to his bedroom, thrown himself on his bed and cried and cried until he had no more tears left.

John retreated to his room and read his books, eating little, sleeping even less and Gordon and thrown himself into the swimming pool and swum lap after lap after lap until Jeff had had to dive in and rescue him when he collapsed halfway up the pool and almost drowned.  As for Jeff himself, he felt as if part of his heart had been ripped out of his body without anaesthetic and died.  His first born, his blue-eyed fearless Bluejay, who had fallen in love with the sky as soon as he had set eyes on it, and had followed his father into the air force; obsessed with speed and flying was gone at almost 23 years of age.

Jeff had drowned his sorrows in a bottle of whisky, just like he had when he had lost his beloved Lucy.  The only comfort he had was the thought that Scott would now be free of pain and suffering and he and Lucy would now be together and watch over the rest of them.

However, Virgil wouldn’t stop with his insistence that Scott was still alive, but was in a bad place.  He had gone into Scott’s room, grabbed Scott’s favourite pin badge of the fastest plane that had existed at the time and worn it day and night; often caressing it as if trying to soothe his eldest brother from afar.  Jeff considered sending him to therapy to help him get over the obsession with his brother, but before that happened, and surprisingly out of all of them, it was John who finally believed him.  He always knew that the two brothers had a special connection by the way they reacted to each other, and he took Virgil aside to listen to what he had to say about their eldest brother’s situation.  John was convinced and begged their father to call on every favour he was owed to find their brother before it really was too late and eventually, Jeff was swayed by the guilt trip his two sons put him on.

“Yes, we know it sounds insane, but you’ve seen how Scott and Virgil are around one another, dad!  They can finish one another’s sentences, know what the other is thinking.  Just suppose for one moment that Virgil is right; would you ever forgive yourself if you didn’t do everything in your power to check it out and discover Scott died because we didn’t do anything to try and find him?” John had said with impassioned fervour.  “Could you live with the knowledge that you could have saved him and didn’t?”

“And if it turns out we’re too late, we can at least bring him home!” Virgil added, his eyes bright with unshed tears.  “We need to get him home!”

That had hurt.  Jeff had even flinched, but the words pierced his heart and he was persuaded.

One of his old friends, Charles Gray, who had been in the Navy, was rumoured to now be in charge of a relatively new covert organisation known as Spectrum.  Jeff still had enough weight to use his rank and discovered that Spectrum had been given the job of clearing out the prisoner of war camps in Bereznik.  The organisation was said to have the best of the best; recruitment was brutal and the officers elite.

It took some doing, but eventually someone heard his plea, Charles—aka Colonel White—made contact and Jeff was assigned the protection of two of the colour captains from Cloudbase who were running the covert operation.  Jeff had immediately dug his fatigues, camouflage clothing and boots out of the back of his wardrobe, packed a bag and left John and Virgil in charge of their brothers, with assistance from his mother and Kyrano.

“Find him dad,” Virgil begged.  “Find him and bring him home… before it’s too late.  His situation isn’t good; he’s hurt and he’s in agony. Please, hurry.”

Jeff still wasn’t sure what to think about his spiritual son, but his most down-to-earth one had been convinced of Virgil’s sincerity in what he believed, so he knew he had to follow up on it, even if it did turn out to be a wild goose chase.

Colonel White issued instructions that he was to fly to Germany and make his way to Ramstein, the US Air Force base nearest the Berznikian border where he would be met by Captain Scarlet and Captain Blue.  He was to follow their orders to the letter.  Although Jeff was a retired Colonel, he was now a civilian so would not be permitted to undertake any dangerous actions, or put himself or his escort in perilous or threatening situations.

Jeff agreed and within a few days was on his way.  To say he was apprehensive was putting it mildly and he had tried to prepare himself for the worst case scenario—that his eldest son was already dead, but he prayed and begged his beloved Lucy to let him still be alive, no matter what his condition.

There were three prisoner of war camps in Bereznik and Spectrum were given the task of storming all of them, releasing the prisoners and capturing those in charge so they could answer for their crimes against humanity and disregarding the Geneva Convention in relation to their treatment of prisoners.

It was slow going at the camps.  Every prisoner had to be identified, triaged and shipped out.  Piles of dog-tags were retrieved from dead allied forces personnel, but so far no trace of Scott had been found.

Jeff found the experience harrowing and with two failures to find his son all his hope rested on the final camp, which had been run by Colonel Mendelski.  Jeff had done his homework.  Mendelski was a perverted sadist who appeared to be drawn to pretty boys and men, and alone in his tent the evening before they were due to invade the final camp, Jeff had almost hyperventilated at the thought of his handsome son being at the mercy of that monster; that he had been subjected to unspeakable atrocities which went against everything the Geneva Convention stood for.  That night he prayed and prayed to his dead wife not to take their first born; to please let him be alive and stay alive so he could be saved.

Needless to say he did not sleep well, as nightmares haunted him and he had jerked awake to the imaginary screams of his son as his mind had run riot in his dreams.  The final time he had moaned in his sleep, begging Mendelski not to hurt his son and then been shocked awake, somehow stopping himself from screaming his son’s name out loud.  There would be no more sleep that night for Jeff Tracy.

All his hopes now rested on this last camp, and Jeff was strung out.  He looked worse for wear at breakfast the following morning and the thought of eating anything turned his stomach.  Captain Blue gave him a knowing look and placed a mug of coffee in front of him.

“Rough night, Colonel?” he asked gently as he sat down opposite him.

“Yeah,” Jeff admitted.  “I know, this is our last chance of finding Scott and I don’t know what I’m going to do… what I’m going to tell my other sons if we don’t find him here.  They’re not going to take it well if…”  His voice trailed off.

“We’ll cross that bridge if or when we come to it,” Blue replied softly.  “We have hope and we need to cling onto that.”

Blue ate his breakfast in silence whilst Jeff picked half-heartedly at his.

Finished, the Spectrum officer stood up.  “We’ll operate the same procedure as we did for the first two camps, Colonel.  You’ll stay here until we’ve done a preliminary check to make sure it’s safe, then you’ll be escorted forward.”

“Thank you, Captain Blue, and… however it turns out, thanks for letting me tag along.”

“Sir.”  Blue nodded at him, joined up with Captain Scarlet, the ground troops and the medics and they left their base of operations to travel the five miles to the PoW camp.  In the end, it was suspiciously devoid of Bereznikian soldiers and those that were present didn’t seem to want to fight and surrendered relatively easily once they saw the firepower Spectrum had come armed with.

It took around an hour for Scarlet to be happy that they had everything under control and he suspected that the deteriorating weather had also dampened the resistance.

He’d hoped that the snow on the ground would have deadened the stench of death and decay, but all it did was make it cling to everything.  He assumed he would be used to it by now, but it still turned his stomach as he thought of what the prisoners had endured for God knows how long.

Having been a colonel in special ops, Captain Scarlet had seen it all, but had to admit this was the worst camp he had been in.

The World President had requested that Spectrum be the ones to storm all prisoner of war camps in Bereznik and this had been agreed by the World Council to free those interned and get them home.  Many had unfortunately returned in body bags and this camp appeared no different.  They found evidence of mass graves and ground forces began to meticulously uncover them, treating the bodies with respect, looking for ID tags, but all of them were missing, so a couple of medics took DNA samples and carefully labelled each body so the results could be matched and give each body a name.  They had ideally wanted to capture the man in charge; Colonel Franco Mendelski, but once again he had somehow escaped with many of his guards, so whilst a couple of the colour captains had turned their attention to trying to find any leads or traces of where he had fled to, the remaining were about to begin a thorough search of the camp.

Again, it was not going to be a very pleasant task, especially for his one civilian he had in tow who had somehow gotten permission from Colonel White to accompany them.  How had he managed that? Scarlet thought for the umpteenth time.  This was the final camp; his last chance of finding his son, preferably alive.  Currently the man—also an ex-colonel with both the US Air Force and NASA and world famous astronaut—was being held outside, five miles or so away from the camp until it was deemed safe for him to enter.

Spectrum ground troops had rounded up the few Bereznikian guards that had been left behind for transport to stand trial for war crimes, although the lower ranks were likely to get off lightly as they were following the orders of their superiors.

With the camp now secured, Scarlet radioed back to the holding area to get someone to escort their guest forward.  The man had made it clear—as he had at the previous two camps—that he needed to be there if they found his son.

Scarlet turned as he heard footsteps crunching through frozen snow and saw Captain Blue approaching; a cloth bag in his hand.

“Scarlet, it’s worse than we thought,” the blond announced.  He opened the bag, put a hand in and pulled out a number of ID tags.  “Looks like they removed the tags before disposing of the bodies.  We’ve found one mass grave, but there must be others.  We’re taking tissue samples and labelling the bodies so we can give them all a name.  When we find the rest—and we will find them—they’re also going to have to be DNA tested to match them to their tags.”

“Shit!” Scarlet mumbled.  “How many have you got there?”

“209.”

Scarlet winced.  “Have you gone through them?”

“Yeah.  Captain Tracy’s isn’t amongst them.”

“I don’t know if that’s good or bad, Blue.”

“Agreed.  Are we ready to start?”

“Almost.  Waiting for Colonel Tracy to arrive.  He should be here any minute.”

“I don’t envy him; this is the last camp.  What do you reckon our chances are of finding Captain Tracy alive?”

“Knowing Mendelski… slim to none.”

Blue nudged his fellow Captain.  “Here he comes.”

Scarlet turned and watched as Jefferson Tracy climbed out of the vehicle and walked up to them.  As usual, he was dressed in fatigues with a camouflage jacket over the top, cap on his head, boots on his feet  He paled when he saw the ID tags in Blue’s hand.

“Captain Tracy’s tags aren’t here, Colonel,” Blue answered, “but you have to understand that—”

“It’s not guaranteed, Captain Blue.  I know.”  He looked at his surroundings and couldn’t prevent a shudder.  “Can we get started?”

“You sure you’re up to this, sir?” Scarlet asked.

“I have to be.  My son has got to be somewhere in this camp and I’m planning on finding him and taking him home… no matter what.”

No one mentioned the possibility that Mendelski might have taken Scott with him.  After all, he would be worth a lot in ransom.

“Very well.  Let’s go.”

This particular camp was actually an old castle which had been adapted to serve as a secure holding area for prisoners.  Rooms had been divided into smaller ones, most with very little light, no heating and heavy, strong doors with large and solid locks.  It was extremely crude by modern standards but still very effective as most of those held within its walls were too weak to attempt any kind of escape.

Spectrum medical teams accompanied them, ready to provide triage and treatment where at all possible and arrange transport for any patients.  There were a number of vehicles standing by to take the patients back to the waiting C-17 that would move them to a US military hospital in Germany and a helicopter standing by for the more urgent cases.  Thus a systematic search of every room began.

Some rooms were empty, but then they began to find prisoners.  As each one was discovered, they were scanned to access their injuries.  Many of those recently captured were able to walk relatively unaided to awaiting transports; a few required assistance and a couple more needed hover stretchers due to injuries sustained during capture.

It seemed from those prisoners, that the cells were in ‘zones’ splitting the ranks off.  Everyone recovered so far were of lower rank, so Scarlet, Jeff, and one of the medical teams split off to start at the other end where higher ranked prisoners should be.

The first few cells were again empty.  Jeff wasn’t allowed entry unless an all clear was given by Scarlet, which annoyed him, but Spectrum was in control of the operation and he was forced to obey the colour captain’s orders.

The next couple of cells contained dead bodies; by the looks of them, recently deceased and Jeff closed his eyes hoping with all his heart and quietly praying to his beloved Lucy that he wouldn’t find Scott like this.

The medical team checked the tags and recorded the names, ranks, service numbers and dates of birth, then the bodies were carefully bagged and stretchered out to another transport.  It took time to work through the cells and with every failure to find his son, Jeff began to despair, wondering if Mendelski had taken Scott with him after all, as he would make a very valuable hostage.

They were almost in touching distance of one of the other teams that had started at the original end and there were only four cells left.  Scarlet gained entrance to the first one and heard a whimper.  He flashed his torch in the direction of the sound and saw an airman cowering in a corner.  The medical team approached cautiously and the man went berserk; his fear clearly ruling his mind as he started screaming.  Jeff looked on, trying to remain impartial but couldn’t help wondering what the poor man had suffered.  What was left of his flight suit was in tatters, filthy, blood-stained and the airman wasn’t in much better condition.  He was so thin and had clearly been starved.

The medics managed to administer a mild sedative and gently lay the man on a stretcher, recording the details on his tags before moving him out.

Scarlet glanced at Jeff and saw the older man’s face was unreadable, but the colour captain had been special ops, he knew how to read people and he could tell Jeff was very apprehensive and worried sick.

They moved onto the next room and Scarlet got the heavy door open.  Initially he thought the cell was empty, then he became aware of the agonised, rasping breathing coming from one corner.  He shone the torch in that direction and at thought it was just a pile of rags on the filthy mattress, before he realised it was another airman, as three quarters of the prisoners had turned out to be.

In the light of the torch, the tattered flight suit looked more rust red than blue.  Scarlet moved forward to the figure curled up in a foetal position and saw that despite the almost freezing temperature; the airman was sweating as he fought for every breath.  Carefully, he moved closer, and saw the ripped and damaged name badge on the suit.  TRACY.  He didn’t say anything, but gently lifted one of the tags around the man’s neck.  He had to clean the blood and dirt off it before he could read the inscription:  TRACY, SCOTT C, CAPTAIN, AF-0302-0014-M, DOB 04-04-2039, BG: AB+.

He turned to face the doorway.  “Colonel… according to the name on the flight suit and on the tags… this is your son; but do you recognise him?”

Jeff’s breath caught in his throat as he tried to move in a dignified fashion towards the ragged man on the mattress when he wanted nothing more than to rush to him and fling himself down by his side.  Scarlet stepped back out of the way and motioned the medical team forward.  They began scanning their latest patient as Jeff knelt and observed the filthy figure before him.  In the torchlight he could make out what looked to be a brown haired, bearded man; almost skeletal in appearance.  With the beard, it was impossible to properly identify him, but Jeff was convinced that despite his emaciation, Scott’s dimples would still be evident under the hair.  No one had dimples like his eldest; he had inherited them from his mother, but they were more pronounced than hers.  He had teasingly called them his weapons of mass destruction when Scott had started showing an interest in the opposite sex.

Gently, he reached out and ran a couple of fingers down the airman’s cheeks to feel for them, felt his chin, then carefully raised an eyelid to reveal a startling blue eye, made brighter by the fever that ravished his body.  He gasped.  “It – it’s him.  It’s Scott,” he whispered, suddenly overcome with emotion.  He desperately wanted to gather his son in his arms, get him out of his hell, but Scott was seriously ill on top of the injuries that Jeff could make out.  Instead, he ran his fingers through the matted filthy hair as if to try and soothe his son.

The medic was kneeling on Scott’s other side completing his scan and looked sorrowfully at Jeff.

“Tell me.”

“I don’t know where to start; I don’t know how he’s still alive… the most obvious sign of distress is his breathing.  He has a lot of fluid on his lungs, preliminary diagnosis, double pneumonia.  He has a fever and yet he’s also hypothermic; multiple fractures, damaged tendons; his right femur is broken.  I’ve got reds flaring up all over the place.”

“Prognosis?” Jeff asked.

“Seriously Colonel, I don’t know.  If we can keep him alive for the next 24 – 72 hours he might make it, that’s all I can say.  We need to get him to a hospital, stat or he’s not going to make it through the night.  I’m sorry, Colonel Tracy.  We’ll try and stabilise him now before we attempt to move him.”

Jeff nodded.  He was about to take hold of one of Scott’s hands, when he saw broken fingers, and gave a soft cry of distress.  His eldest possessed long elegant fingers that had an easy tenth reach on a piano, but he hadn’t played since his mother had been killed.  “Scotty… it’s dad, it’s okay, you’re safe now.  I’ve got you, son.  Just hang on there.  You’re safe.”

Scarlet stepped forward and placed a reassuring hand on Jeff’s shoulder, squeezing gently.

“Colonel, let’s allow the medics do their work so we can get Scott out of here.  Come on.”  He helped Jeff to his feet and pulled him back out of the way.  Jeff was reluctant to move, but the warning about his son’s serious medical condition made him stand and allow the medics to stabilise him so they could prepare to evacuate him from the camp.

Another medic reached into the large first aid bag they had been carrying and pulled out a small oxygen cylinder and mask and placed that over Scott’s nose and mouth to try and ease his breathing.

Then between them they placed a backboard against him, very carefully straightened his body, and manoeuvred him onto his back.  Checking the scan of the broken leg, they manipulated the bone back into the correct position.  Scott was so far gone that he only made a quiet whimper at the movement.  The leg was then splintered as were the fingers before he was gently lifted onto the hover stretcher.  He was covered with a couple of thermal blankets and they left that hateful hellhole.

Jeff followed behind them closely, not wanting to lose sight of his son now that he had found him and almost broke down when they got out into the daylight and he saw what condition his son was really in.

Scarlet took his arm and helped to assist him back to the transport.  “Colonel, you need to be strong for him.  He will need the support of you and his family if he is to make a full recovery.  He’s still alive, so he’s a fighter; he didn’t give up.”

Jeff nodded.  He just couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from his unconscious son as the medics continued to treat him.

“Colonel, can you tell us if Captain Tracy is allergic to any medication?” one of the medics asked.

“He’s not too good with morphine when administered with certain other medication, but I’m not aware of anything else that causes an adverse reaction.”

“Okay, I’ll give him a shot of methadone to keep him comfortable for the journey and a broad spectrum antibiotic to start fighting the infections.”

Regaining his composure, Jeff took a deep breath and gave Scarlet his full attention.  “Captain, thank you for your assistance in rescuing not only my son, but all the other poor devils that were incarcerated here.  Please also give my thanks to Char – Colonel White for allowing me to accompany you.”

“Of course, sir.  Would you object if I enquire later how Captain Tracy is doing?”

“I have no objections.  Thank you.”

“Colonel Tracy, we’re about to move back to the landing site so we can fly the casualties out,” a Spectrum lieutenant said as he approached.

“No,” the medic said.  “He needs to be flown out now rather than driven.  Put him on the helicopter and then transfer him to the C-17.  He won’t survive the trip on the lorry.”

Jeff unconsciously bit his lip, nodded in understanding, then held out his hand to the colour captain.  “Thank you again, Captain Scarlet.”

The Captain grasped the offered hand firmly, then released it and stood back.  “Good luck, sir,” he said softly as he watched Scott being gently loaded onto the helicopter along with a couple of other casualties and Jeff climb in to join them.

As the helicopter left the castle, Captain Blue came up to him.  “You found him?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

Scarlet shook his head.  “I’ll be surprised if he manages to survive until sunset,” he replied quietly and sighed as Blue winced.

“Poor bastard,” he said softly.

Scarlet wondered who he was talking about, the son or the father.

This prompt follows on from number 23 - I'm Not Leaving You. Jeff finally comes home to a hostile reception from John and Virgil and knows he has to make amends...

WARNINGS: Plenty of angst, nightmares, depression, but finishes on an up. Earlier chapters may be found on AO3 here.

Prompt 39 – It’s Okay, I Can Take It

Jeff’s hands were shaking as his second eldest son cut the connection on his mobile.  He’d been in an important meeting all morning, and had noted the message sent through by Gail—his PA—from John, asking him to contact him urgently.  Jeff had surmised that nothing could be as important as his meeting and sent back that he would call home after the meeting had concluded.

He couldn’t have been more wrong if he’d tried.  Whilst he had been securing a most lucrative deal, his eldest son had attempted to take his own life.  John’s words reverberated around his brain… “We just thought you’d like to know that Scott just tried to commit suicide.”  His son’s voice had sounded like acid; full of contempt for his father, and he’d then told him not to bother coming home, they’d managed to resolve the issue and he was sure work was more important than his eldest son’s life.

Jeff had felt the anger rising at that remark and had warned John, only to have him interrupt and lay the guilt trip fully on him.  “Can you imagine if he’d succeeded in blowing his brains out and Alan had found him?  Scott needs all our support and…”  John had broken down at that point and Jeff realised he was a terrible father… again!

John’s words hurt, but more than that, they had terrified him.  The ‘what ifs’ rolled around in his brain as Jeff threw everything into his work rucksack and he told Abby to cancel everything for the next two weeks.  He had to step up and be the father his children needed so badly.  Sure, two of them were in their twenties, but they still needed their father and he was determined to be there for him.

He was distracted on the flight home, which was not a good thing, but he was attempting to get into his eldest son’s mindset and had the grace to admit that he had no idea what it must have been like to be a PoW; to be tortured, have his body broken; his mind begin to doubt himself; to think no one was going to rescue him and that he would die there—almost DID die there, if it hadn’t been for Spectrum stepping in to free all PoWs from the three camps.

Jeff so wanted his eldest son back as he had been before… Bereznik, but there was a serious chance that he wouldn’t, and he had to be prepared for that.  Scott hadn’t set foot near a hanger, let alone a plane since he’d been home, and Jeff was worried that his Bluejay had completely lost his nerve.  Scott had lived for flying… if he didn’t have that then what did he have instead?

Tears prickled at the corner of his eyes at the thought of Scott being afraid to fly anymore.  No!  Please Lucy, don’t let it be so! he begged of his dead wife.  I know I’ve been a terrible father.  Help me be the parent I need to be to see Scott and all of them through this.  He pushed his plane to the limit to get to Tracy Island as soon as possible to see his sons.

It was Virgil who took the call from Jeff as he approached the island.  He gave him clearance to land and informed him of wind speed and direction.

“How’s Scott?” Jeff asked his son, somewhat nervously.

“Sleeping.  John’s with him, keeping an eye on him, just in case.  I’ve confiscated Scott’s firearm and John’s hidden it away somewhere so he can’t get hold of it.”

Jeff heard the waver in his middle son’s voice.  “And how are you doing?” he asked tentatively.

“I’ve been better,” came the rather shaky response.  “It was awful, dad.”

“Virgil, I’ll be there in five minutes.  Just take a seat and breathe deeply, okay?  We’ll sort it out, somehow.  I promise.”

He cut comms so he could concentrate on the landing.  Finally on the ground, he taxied into the hanger, didn’t bother with post flight checks, and made his way up to the lounge as fast as he could.

Virgil was still sitting at Jeff’s desk when he arrived, a little breathless.  His son looked up at him, eyes red-rimmed.

“Son,” Jeff said, placing his bag on the floor, holding out his arms, and before he blinked, Virgil was enfolded in them, trying not to sob.

“It… it was… was awful… dad.  He… he was really gonna… go through with it…”

His father combed his fingers through his son’s hair in an attempt to soothe him.  “Did he say why?” he asked softly.  He needed to obtain as much information as he could so that he could help his eldest.

Virgil sniffed.  “He… he said he felt dead inside, that he… he was being dragged down into the depths… that he didn’t belong and shouldn’t be here.  He… he says he doesn’t want to be a burden because he’s not the same person anymore.  And… and he can’t stand the way we look at him… the looks of pity… and says it would be better if he… if he wasn’t here.”

Jeff closed his eyes at those words and cleared his throat before replying.  “Scott’s recovery is going to take time.  On the flight here, I’ve been trying to put myself in his shoes; trying to imagine what’s going on in his head; what he thinks; what he feels.  I don’t think I can even get close, but what I do think is, he’s not going to make much of an improvement until his body heals some more; until he has some weight back; until he can look in a mirror and see himself again.”

“He’s ashamed of his body, dad.  He keeps it covered all the time, so he doesn’t have to look at the scars, or how thin he is.  We’ve had to cover over the mirror in his ensuite so he doesn’t have to catch sight of himself.  He won’t listen to us when we tell him he doesn’t have to be ashamed.  They are his battle scars, they show he’s lived, but he won’t accept it.  We… we don’t know what to do.”

“How’s his appetite?”

“It is improving, very slowly.  Kyrano is tempting him with all his favourites and rewards him when he eats the required amounts.  He spends time talking with him… I don’t know what about, but I think it’s beginning to have some effect.”

“Kyrano is very wise,” Jeff said, a small smile on his lips.  “If anyone can make him see sense, it’s him.”

“I hope so, dad.”  Virgil pulled himself together and straightened up.  “We can’t lose… I can’t lose him, dad.  Please help us.”

Jeff’s throat constricted once again at the open plea in his son’s voice.  It appeared Scott wasn’t the only one who was broken.

“I’ll do everything in my power to help him, I swear to you, Virgil.  I am here for you all.”

“You’d better be, dad.  That’s all I’m going to say.”

Jeff nodded.  “Would you mind making me a sandwich and coffee and bring it to Scott’s room.  It’s time I started being a proper father again.”  He gave Virgil’s biceps a gentle squeeze before heading for the stairs to the bedrooms.

Virgil watched him go and prayed to his mother that his father would keep his word and step up to fulfil his responsibilities; then he picked up his dad’s rucksack, took that to his office and went to the kitchen to make the requested sandwich and coffee.

Jeff stood outside Scott’s bedroom door and took a deep breath before knocking quietly and pushing it open. The room was in partial darkness.

John looked up as he entered, but made no effort to move and greet him.  “You’re home then,” was all he said and returned his attention to his tablet, after checking to see that Scott was still asleep.

Jeff squared his shoulders and approached the bed.  His eldest was asleep on his side, hair mussed, but his features looked relaxed in the still gaunt face.  The hand that was visible above the covers,  on the pillow next to his face, was thin, the outline of the bones still clearly visible and Jeff’s heart constricted in pain.

“I’ll be here indefinitely,” Jeff said quietly.

“Whatever you say.”

“John—”

“I’m not having a conversation with you right now, sir.  I’m looking after my brother.”

Jeff flinched.  It was clear that his second eldest had no intention of forgiving him yet; probably wouldn’t until he had proved that he was going to be here for his children.  So he said nothing, and simply leant over to place a soft kiss on Scott’s temple and ran a hand through his hair before sitting on the other chair, holding his hand gently, conscious of how fragile it still looked.

Virgil arrived a little later carrying a tray with sandwiches and three coffees on it.  “I figured we could all do with a drink,” he said.  “I made some extra sandwiches, just in case.”  He offered the coffees and sandwiches before placing the tray on the bedside table.  “How is he?”

“Okay.  Sleeping well, no nightmares… at least not yet,” John said quietly.

“That’s good.”

“Nightmares?” Jeff questioned.  “I thought he was over them.”

“No sir.  He has at least one a night… as many as half a dozen on a bad one.”

Jeff looked worried.  He had no idea… but of course he wouldn’t, he hadn’t been around to hear them.  “I… I didn’t know…”

John was still not in a forgiving mood as he retorted, “Well you wouldn’t, you’re never here.”

“I promise, that is changing right now,” Jeff came back with.

“Yeah, until it suits you,” the blond mumbled half to himself, but loud enough that Jeff heard it.

He didn’t come back with a response though, because what John had said was true… or at least it had been up until this moment.

At that moment, Scott whimpered in his sleep.  It was a pitiful sound that wrenched Jeff’s heart, and then it broke when he heard him pleading.  “N – no… I don’t… I don’t know!  I don’t…” his breath hitched and he began to thrash around as he cried out in what sounded like pain.

Jeff went to reach for him, to hug him and tell him it was okay, that he was safe, but John’s words froze him to the spot.

“DON’T TOUCH HIM!” he hissed quietly.

“But we need to wake him up!” Jeff came back with and went to reach for his eldest again.

“I SAID, DON’T TOUCH HIM!” John snapped.  He nodded at Virgil, who began to hum softly.

It took Jeff a couple of  minutes to realise that it was a lullaby that Lucy used to sing to all the children when they were young.  Slowly, the thrashing and the cries ceased as Scott settled down again; his breathing eased.  Only then did Virgil reach out and gently rub a thumb over one of his brother’s hands and Jeff watched as unconsciously, Scott reached for Virgil’s hand and squeezed it.

“You mustn’t touch Scott when he’s having a nightmare, or he’s likely to kill you… literally,” John told his father.  “We found that out the hard way.  Virgil had to rescue me.  We’ve never told Scott about it.  He’s been through more than enough without learning that he almost killed his younger brother.”

Jeff paled.  He had no idea.  What else didn’t he know about his eldest?

“I’m sorry,” Jeff said quietly.  “I’m sorry.  Please let me make it up to all of you.  Let me play my part.  Scotty needs all of us.”

“Yes, he does,” John said pointedly.  “Especially his father, right now.”  He fixed Jeff with a hard stare.  “Don’t you dare hurt him again, sir.  You’ve hurt him enough and he doesn’t deserve it, so be warned.”

With that, John got up and left the room, whilst Virgil looked uncomfortably at his father.  The gentle brother hated conflict and felt awful that he was ill at ease in his presence.

“Would you mind if I took over?” Jeff asked quietly.  “I can sit with him, now I know what not to do.”  He watched as Virgil unconsciously gently squeezed Scott’s hand as he contemplated the offer.

“Okay,” he finally answered, somewhat reluctantly.

Jeff watched as his son carefully extracted his hand from Scott’s and stood up, relinquishing his chair to his father.

“Any issues, just shout.  Scott may feel somewhat disorientated when he wakes up, so make sure you talk softly and reassure him.”

Jeff nodded as he took Virgil’s chair.  “I will.  And Virgil… thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet, dad,” was all the reply he got as he quietly left the room.

Jeff sat, one hand holding one of Scott’s whilst the other carded gently through his eldest’s hair.  After a few times of doing this, Jeff noticed how his son leaned into it.

“Mom…” Jeff nearly missed it, it was spoken so quietly, and his breath hitched.

“It’s all right, Scotty,” he said equally as softly.  “Dad’s here.  Dad’s got you, son.  Sleep.  It’s going to be all right.”

Jeff wasn’t sure how long he sat there, continuing with the stroking and just whispering nonsense to keep his son calm, but he suddenly became aware of a change.  Scott gave a little moan and shifted position slightly, then his eyelids fluttered and he slowly opened his eyes.

“Hey, Scotty.  How are you feeling?” Jeff asked him softly.  Then his heart wrenched once again as he felt him stiffen beneath his fingers.  “It’s okay, Scotty.  It’s Dad.  I’m here.”

Scott’s eyes finally focused on the figure sitting by him.  “D – Dad?”

“Yes, son.  It’s really me.”  He watched as Scott swallowed, then averted his eyes; not in disappointment, but in shame.  “Scotty, talk to me, son.  Please.”

“Don’t waste your time on me,” came the whispered response.  “I’m not worth it.”  He tried to turn over, away from his father, but Jeff held onto him, refusing to let him do so.

“Why would you think that, son?  I know I haven’t been here when you needed me, but I promise you, I’m here now and I’m staying, I swear it.”

“Is… is that what it takes to… to get you here?  My attempted suicide?  I couldn’t even get that right…”

Jeff’s heart shattered.  “No son, don’t, don’t say that.  I’ve been stupid and blind, but I’ve got my eyes open now.  I ask that you forgive me for not being here when you so badly needed me.  I’ll say it as often as you need me to, but I’m here now and I’m staying.”

Scott shook his head.  “No.”

“No?  But I want to be here for you, Scotty.”

His son gave a slight huff.  “No you don’t.  You’re ashamed of me.”

“Never!  I’d never be ashamed of you!  Why would you even think that?”

“Look at me, Dad!  Look at me and tell me what you see!”

“I see my beautiful, brave, determined eldest son, who has his mother’s dimples, striking blue eyes; her kind nature; who loves his brothers… but I can also see he’s very troubled and—”

“Beautiful?  What planet are you on, Dad?  Look at me!”  He managed to jerk himself away from his father’s grasp, sat up with a bit of a grunt and threw the covers back.  “What’s beautiful about this?” he demanded, indicating his scarred and still emaciated body.

“We can fix this,” Jeff began but was interrupted again.

“That’s your answer to everything, isn’t it?  Throw enough money at it and get it fixed.  Is that how you view me?”

“No, son.  Never!  You’ve been through a terrible ordeal, and have suffered—”

“You’ve no idea what I’ve been through!  Not only this, but ever since Mom died!”

“Then tell me.  Lay it on me, right now, Scott!  I promise you, it’s okay, I can take it!”

Jeff observed the brightness of his son’s vivid blue eyes; more alight than he’d seen them in the months since his liberation from Bereznik but filled with what?  Self-loathing?  Shame?  Anger?  Disappointment?  All he knew was, he had to get Scott talking, shouting, screaming… hell, even a complete meltdown would be welcome to get all those emotions, feelings out into the open so that he could start to heal again.

“Come on Scott, you’ve never been afraid to speak your mind.  Whatever it is, I’m telling you now, it’s okay, I can take it.”

Slowly and very unsteadily, Scott began his story… starting after the avalanche that had killed Lucy and Grant, of giving up everything to take care of his brothers because there were no adults present.  Lying to school, to authorities, forced to grow up too soon, of taking full responsibility for the care of his brothers, of crying at night in his bed, begging his dead mother for help because he couldn’t cope any more.  Of being so tired and exhausted with lack of sleep and the strain of it all, and of his final collapse from malnutrition and absolute fatigue.  Then he talked of his recovery, and obtaining his degree and joining the Air Force.

Then it became dark again as he was stationed in Europe; the Bereznik Civil War, and that fateful final mission when his navigator—Raven—couldn’t bail out when their aircraft got hit because the canopy failed to blow; that Scott had planned to stay in the aircraft and guide it so it didn’t hit the village in front of them.  His navigator was injured, but he’d managed to finally release the canopy and get him out; how they made a run for the border, with him carrying Raven over his shoulder; how he’d been shot in the leg whilst trying to carry him; how Raven had been executed without reason; how Scott had been beaten senseless by the guards after his capture.

Then he’d been dragged before Mendelski, the notorious commander of the PoW camp he was in, and been subjected to his snide innuendos; the unwelcome touches after he’d been stripped naked and strung up like a piece of meat, toes barely able to touch the ground.

Mendelski had beaten the guards who had inflicted damage on his face.  The Colonel liked handsome men, and the blue-eyed, dimpled USAF Captain was most certainly good-looking and no one damaged property he considered to be his without his permission.

Scott carried on… he couldn’t seem to stop talking once he’d started about the near drowning from the repeated waterboarding, being drugged, electrocuted, beaten, mentally tortured by being told he was worthless, useless, that no one was coming for him; that he would die there and be forgotten.

Scott faltered.  Jeff took hold of his son’s hand and squeezed it gently.  “Go on, son,” he encouraged.  “Let it all out, then you can start to heal properly.”

With encouragement from his father, he continued; how Mendelski told him he could stop all the pain if he gave himself to the Colonel and the shame when he’d considered it for just a millisecond before discarding the idea, because he knew Mendelski would just throw it back in his face about his weakness and offering himself to make the pain stop.

Scott tried so hard to remain positive, strong, but as the days and weeks passed, the toll on his body and mind, with the beatings, drugs and everything else they subjected him to, along with hardly any food or water, finally began to break him and he gave up.

He hung his head in shame at that admission.  A Tracy NEVER gave up, but he had because he couldn’t take it anymore.  By then though, the double pneumonia had taken a firm hold; he could no longer scream in agony no matter what they did to him, and as he had sunk further towards death and blessed release, he had been totally unaware of the final injuries his body had suffered.

Jeff listened to all of it; his features pale, his anger rising at what his son had been subjected to.  He had seen the wounds and injuries on his eldest’s body; he had a good idea about what had happened, but to have Scott describe it was… almost too much to bear.  He looked at his son, whose head was bowed in shame.

“Son, look at me,” Jeff said quietly.  “Scotty, come on, look at me, please.”

The vivid blue eyes flicked up and back down almost immediately.

“Please son, look at me.”

His expression was similar to that of a beaten animal and he was shaking violently.  Jeff realised his son had reached rock bottom; there wasn’t any further to fall and now he understood the suicide attempt.  Somehow, he had to make his son see that there was hope at the end of the tunnel, that he wasn’t ashamed of him.  How determined to stay alive he must have been to have been found alive when he should have been dead.

“Scott,” he placed a hand under his son’s chin and forced his head up.  Wounded blue eyes looked fearfully into grey.  “You are the bravest, most determined young man I know.  You should have died, but some spark within you wouldn’t let that happen and I am beyond grateful that you survived.  I couldn’t bear to lose you; or any of you for that matter, but you especially, son.  You defied the odds!  You survived, and the best way to honour those that didn’t, is to live.  Live a full life.  Let your brothers and me help you in your recovery, because you have that determination to be able to do that, no matter what you’re feeling at this precise moment.  You have that strength deep within you, and with our help, you’ll succeed.  Do you hear what I’m saying?”

Scott nodded slowly but didn’t say anything.

“You have to believe in yourself, son.  That you can get better, with help from us, but you have to want to get better too.  You deserve to get better.  Say it.  Come on, Scotty, say it… I deserve to get better.”

Silence reigned for a number of seconds before Scott mumbled the words so quietly that if his lips hadn’t been moving, Jeff would have thought he hadn’t said anything.

“I can’t hear you.  Louder.  I deserve to get better.”

“I … deserve to… get… get better.”

“Louder!  Shout it out!”

“I deserve to get better.”

“Now say it like you mean it!  I deserve to get better!”

“I deserve to get better.”

Jeff repeated it with him, again and again and again, their voices getting louder each time, until they were both shouting it out.

John, Virgil, Gordon and Alan rushed along the corridor to Scott’s bedroom, but they stopped and listened as the chant continued.  John looked at his brothers and nodded and they took up the chant too, opening the door so Scott could both see and hear them joining in.

There wasn’t a dry eye in his bedroom as they all hugged one another tightly and shouted at the top of their voices, “I DESERVE TO GET BETTER!”

John looked at his father over the heads of his brothers, and Jeff saw the nod of forgiveness.  He returned it with a tentative smile.  The family would be whole once more.

Some of you may recognise parts of this from my Series of Prompts I'm currently doing. A few of you asked if I would turn it into a full blown fic, so... I've made a start on it. Chapter 1 is Prompt 9 - Please Don't Forget Me. It has been augmented here as I've started to fill it out.

WARNINGS: This is about Scott's rescue from Bereznik and his slow recovery, so there is mention of torture, starvation, loads of angst, and even some sexual innuendo, so be warned!

Chapter 1 – Please Don’t Forget Me

Pain.  He couldn’t remember a time without it; couldn’t recall a moment when he had been free of it.  How long had it been now?  He didn’t know, he’d lost track of time; of days after the first couple of weeks, but how long had it been now?  Two months?  Three?  Six?  He had no idea.

Oh, he had been so brave, so full of fight when they had first dragged him into this hell hole after he’d been shot down; concussed, wounded, and thrown him into a dark cell with what he eventually found to be a filthy mattress in one corner and a bucket in another when he regained consciousness after they let him know just who was in charge in a way that had hurt… a lot; not that he remembered much after the first ten minutes or so as the guards had taken turns beating the crap out of him, laughing and throwing insults at him as they did so.

They’d left him alone for a day or so to ‘recover’, but provided no water or food; not that he could have eaten or drunk anything because he was unconscious for a day and a half.  He’d regained consciousness slowly, with a splitting headache, a mouth that felt like a hairy fungus was growing in it and a body that he believed was one massive bruise.

He managed to get one eye open—the other seemed to be glued stuck—and through blurred vision and exceedingly poor lighting managed to survey most of the surroundings of the small cell.  He was lying on a rough, cold stone floor and spied what he believed to be a mattress in one corner.

Finding he was unable to get up and walk, he dragged himself over to it, wincing as a different bruise protested at each movement, until he was lying on it.  It wasn’t particularly soft, or thick, or clean but it was better than the floor, even if it smelt slightly damp and musty.  He didn’t even give a thought as to what might be crawling around in it.

His one good eye drifted shut again as he succumbed once again to unconsciousness.

He had no idea how much more time had passed when he next awoke because his watch had been taken off him when he’d been captured, but knew he had to move as his bladder was sending him a message.  Staggering to his feet, he found the bucket in the opposite corner and relieved himself before shuffling back to his mattress and slumping back down on it.

His right eye still refused to open; his headache was worse and he realised he was dehydrated, but was more lucid and aware of his surroundings.  There was one tiny, barred window at the back of the cell and a heavy door on the opposite one.  He wasn’t going anywhere soon.

More time passed, then suddenly there was the sound of footsteps, the door being unlocked and three burly looking guards entered.  Scott didn’t even get a chance to get to his feet before two of them grabbed him and literally dragged him out of his ‘cell’, down a corridor whose lights seemed to flicker on and off and into another room, with lights that seemed retina blinding after the darkness he had been in, that made his one working eye water as he tried to blink rapidly and adapt.  He was roughly pushed down into a chair and held there by the very firm, strong hands of one of his ‘escort’ on his shoulders, whilst the other used two pairs of handcuffs to fasten his hands to the back legs of the chair.

A highly decorated officer of what he recognised to be the Bereznikian army surveyed him from a few feet away.  Swagger stick tucked under his left arm; he rocked on the balls of his highly polished booted feet.

“Captain Tracy, how nice of you to rejoin the land of the living,” he said with hardly a trace of an accent in a conversational tone.  In fact, it had a slight American twang to it, so Scott surmised he’d either been educated or spent some time there.

“H – how long have I been here?” Scott asked, surprised by how hoarse and strained his voice sounded.

“Two days.”

If Scott was shocked, it didn’t show.  He kept his face neutral, but the fact he’d already lost that small amount of time worried him.

“I’ve been looking forward to us having a little chat.”

I bet you have, Scott thought, but didn’t say anything else.  What was the point?  He knew what was in store for him no matter what he said.

“But where are my manners?  Introductions are in order.  I am Colonel Mendelski, at your service.  Perhaps you’ve heard of me?”

Shit!  Oh, he’d heard of him all right, and with the knowledge of who his tormentor was going to be, Scott realised his only way out was going to be in a body bag.  A hard squeeze on a bruised shoulder reminded him that the Colonel expected an answer, so Scott gave him one.  “No, can’t say that I have.”  The response was little more than a whisper.  Lack of food and water were beginning to take their toll.

The Colonel’s expression hardened and for a moment, his right hand tightened on the swagger stick, as if he debated whether to use it or not, then he relaxed and smiled.  “No matter.  That will soon change; but I did some checking up on you, Captain.”

He turned and sauntered back towards a desk and perched on the end of it as he picked up a tablet, waved it around and contemplated the man before him, then studied the screen.

“Scott Carpenter Tracy, eldest son of the famous Colonel Jefferson Tracy, first man to step foot on Mars.  So, you followed daddy’s footsteps into the Air Force.  How’s that working out for you?  No, don’t answer that.  Graduated top of your class…  It seems you have beaten all your father’s records; a purple heart, Bronze Star Medal, Air Force Combat Action Medal, Air Medal and the Silver Star.  Impressive for someone of your age.  What are you… let’s see… 22?  23?  Very impressive indeed.”

Scott kept quiet, not quite sure in which of three possible directions the conversation was going to go.  Torture, ransom, or both?  All he did was swallow slowly in an attempt to moisten his dry throat and kept his eyes fixed on Mendelski, and wondered how on earth they had gotten hold of his service record.

“You are a very handsome young man—or you will be when we get you cleaned up—and I can see where you get your good looks from.”  He put the tablet down, got up from his perch on the table and walked over to Scott, who froze, but refused to back down as the Colonel grasped his chin and forced the Captain to look up at him.  “It would be a pity to mar such beauty…”

Scott’s heart rate jumped up; he did his best not to start breathing hard at the threat, and managed to wrench his chin free of the Colonel’s grasp and jerked his head back as Mendelski attempted to run a finger down his cheek.  Suddenly, the swagger stick was shoved hard under his chin, forcing his head back further.

“I can be kind and considerate, Captain… or may I call you Scott, as we’re going to become very good friends…”  The end of the stick wandered down past his neck, chest, stomach, towards his groin.

Scott couldn’t prevent a slight shudder working its way through his body.  He swallowed.  “Tracy, Scott, rank Captain, service number AF-4302- ooooff!” he gasped and then coughed as the swagger stick was rammed into his midriff, knocking the wind out of him.  His body tried to double over at the blow, but a guard grabbed him by his hair and prevented this.

Gasping for air, his working blue eye glared up at Mendelski, filled with rebellion and the Colonel smiled, although it did not reach his eyes.

Mendelski’s hand grabbed his chin in a painful hold and a thumb brushed over Scott’s lips before it dropped to his neck, squeezed slightly, then  moved to the zipper of his G-suit, drew it slowly down to his waist, then did the same with the fastening of his flight suit before retrieving a small, sharp knife to cut up the front of the standard issue t-shirt and allowed his eyes to absorb the sight of the now exposed skin.

Scott did his utmost not to react, but the way the Colonel was looking at him made his blood run cold, his skin crawl and he couldn’t prevent a shiver as his captor ran his fingers back up his chest and smiled again.

“Oh, so pretty,” he whispered in Scott’s ear, making him swallow nervously.  Mendelski straightened up and addressed the guards.  “Take him to the infirmary and get the doctor to check him over and clean him up.  I don’t want our special guest to die of sepsis before we’ve had a chance to talk.  And guards… no one lays a finger on him without my say so… understood?”  The guards nodded, then the Colonel stepped back, watching with avid interest as the guards released Scott from the chair, re-handcuffed his hands behind his back, pulled him to his feet and frog-marched him out and to the infirmary.

The doctor looked up from behind his desk as Scott was shoved none to gently through the office door, followed by two of the guards who stood either side of him.

The doctor peered over the top of his glasses and stared at them.  Seeing the USAF flight suit, he switched to English.  “Yes?” he asked in a rather heavy accent.

“The Colonel requests you check the prisoner over and get him cleaned up.  Says he doesn’t want him dying of sepsis before they’ve had a chance to talk.”

There was a brief chuckle from the other guard at this point.

Removing his glasses, the doctor stood up and gave Scott the once over.  “I see.  Come with me.”  He led the way through another door, back into a corridor, then through another door which housed some showers and looked clean.  “Please remove the cuffs.  He can’t very well clean himself restrained as he is.”

The guards looked at one another, nodded and one of them uncuffed him.  Scott brought his hands in front of him and rubbed his wrists in relief.

“There is only one way out of this room,” the doctor told the guards, so only one exit to protect.  He turned to Scott.  “Strip and shower.  Then I will examine you.”

Having four brothers who had no sense of privacy and with his experience of Air Force life, Scott had no qualms about removing his clothes in front of complete strangers, and did so, wincing every now and again as his bruised body objected to the movements.

He caught sight of himself in a smallish mirror and saw why he could only open one eye.  The other was caked in dried blood from a head wound and had basically stuck his eyelid down.  He also managed to glimpse bruising starting to appear on his body, legs and arms.  Mendelski wouldn’t consider him so pretty once it developed fully.

Naked and with his head held high, Scott entered the shower room.  To his surprise the water was hot, and he made use of the shower gel and shampoo, finally feeling clean again as he exited.

The doctor handed him a towel which he used to remove the excess water, then wrapped it round his waist when he was told not to get dressed.

With his clothes in his arms, he followed the doctor to another room where he was told to put them down on a chair and sit on the examination table.

“I am Dr Kowolski,” he said.  “Look straight ahead.”  A bright light was shone in both eyes and Scott winced sharply.  His head was examined, the wound cleaned thoroughly and steri-strips applied.  A wound on his shoulder was similarly dressed, as was one on his leg.  He was prodded and poked as Kowolski assessed the developing bruising, then he picked up a hypodermic needle.

Scott balked.  “What’s that?” he demanded.

“Antibiotics, to fight any infection you may already have picked up.  The Colonel wants you in good health.”

“Huh,” Scott huffed, knowing full well that wouldn’t last long once he refused to give Mendelski the information he was after.

The Colonel arrived just as the doctor finished his inspection and treatment and Scott had downed a litre of water to help with his dehydration and felt exceedingly uncomfortable as the man’s eyes appraised him.

“You may get dressed,” the doctor said to him and Scott slid off the bed to move to his clothes, aware of Mendelski’s eyes following his every move.

Suddenly feeling self-conscious with the close scrutiny, Scott kept his towel in place until he had his underwear on, then hurriedly pulled on his cut top, Nomex flight suit and G-suit for added insulation he’d need in his cell.

“Not pretty,” Mendelski muttered as he watched the Captain get dressed and saw the lithe, lean muscled body.  “Beautiful.”

Scott did his damnest not to blush at the remark and failed.  It was unnerving to be looked at as an item of desire by a man.  He’d have lapped it up if it had been a woman, but a man, and HIM especially made his skin crawl.  He turned away to put his flight boots back on and when he turned back, almost jumped at finding Mendelski standing close.

The Colonel reached out and grabbed his chin, and Scott instinctively swatted his hand away.  “Don’t touch me!” he spat, then groaned as a guard used the butt of his rifle and forced him to his knees.

“Oh, I do like a challenge but, I shall be generous as this is our first meeting and allow you some time to think about your position.  Perhaps I should see if your daddy is willing to pay for your freedom, eh?  We’ll discuss that later.”  He nodded to the two guards.  “Take him back to his cell.”

They nodded, handcuffed him, pulled him to his feet and frog-marched him out,  On reaching his new home again, one of the guards removed the cuffs and the other shoved him through the door so hard, that he ended up crashing into the opposite wall before just about managing to break his fall as he bounced off and crashed to the stone floor.

He lay there for a couple of minutes whilst his eyes adjusted back to the darkness, then crawled over to his mattress and lay down on it, an arm across his eyes as he attempted to slow down his breathing.

Like every soldier, he hoped that he would never have to fall back on his SERE training, but here he was.  Due to his rank and posting, he had undergone Level C SERE training; thinking about it brought back some very painful memories and he was under no illusion that Bereznik would pay any attention to the Geneva Convention.  Stories already abounded about their brutality of foreign prisoners.

And he soon found out, first hand.  They fed him first, if you could call the slop they served him food.  Some tasteless kind of watery stew with stale bread, washed down with a mug of water.

After, he fell into an uneasy doze.  It wasn’t particularly warm in the cell, but his flight suit  and G-suit helped keep some of the chill off and he eventually succumbed, only to suffer a rude awakening as a couple of guards unlocked the door and roughly grabbed him before he was fully awake.  He was handcuffed again and marched to a different room and a sense of dread made itself felt.

He never knew what was going to happen to him next, or when.  They came for him at all different times of the day and night, and were inventive in their methods.  He was stripped, chained, suspended; his toes barely touching the floor, beaten and electrocuted.  They left him in his flight suit when he was strapped to a table and either drugged or waterboarded, so that he would be in soaking in cold, wet clothes afterwards and asked him about the strength of foreign forces, how they operated, the plans they had to invade Bereznik.

Scott would simply reply with his name, rank, service number and date of birth as per convention and the torture would continue until he passed out.

He tried not to make a sound, but he finished up screaming in agony until he lost consciousness from the beatings, or he was practically drowned and spent minutes exhaling water from his lungs afterwards which was an agony in itself as cracked ribs protested at the violent coughing.  Sometimes, they didn’t even give him a chance to recover before they waterboarded him again and again and he was breathing in water straight away, his lungs burning with the agony.

Mendelski was there most of the time and watched with avid attention,  his eyes eagerly absorbing the sight of Scott’s naked body.  He never forced himself on his captive; he wanted the perverse pleasure of hearing him beg for it to relieve his suffering.  But on a number of occasions when Scott had hung naked, suspended by his wrists, the Colonel had run his hands down his body, cupped his buttocks, sucked and licked his nipples; even stroked his cock whilst the guards watched, grinning and making snide remarks, and the Captain could do nothing about it, he was strung up so tightly he was unable to move and afterwards, Mendelski would whisper in his ear.  “If you give yourself to me, I will make this all stop, there are other prisoners I can interrogate for information.”

Each time Scott spat in his face at that remark and suffered as a consequence.

“American, you will be begging me to take you,” he retorted.  “Don’t wait too long though, I like beautiful things, then after I’ve had my fun, I can ransom you off to your father.”  He ran his tongue up Scott’s chest and neck before letting his fingers meander suggestively down his body to grasp his cock whilst the pilot attempted to struggle violently.  All throughout, Mendelski laughed, his eyes drinking in the sight of the lithe, firm body that was fighting not to respond to the stimulation, convinced that his prisoner would come around before too long.  But he was wrong.  When he attempted to kiss him, Scott bit his lip, drawing blood and was beaten senseless as punishment.

Food and water was scarce; winter arrived and he spent his nights shivering, curled up on his mattress, hugging himself in an effort to keep warm.  On top of this, was the mental torture, where he was told how much of a disappointment he must be to the air force, to his family; that no one was coming for him; he would die here alone in his dark cell and no one would care; that he would be forgotten.

Day after day it continued until it blurred.  The odd time when they left him alone to recover a little was even worse and left him on tenterhooks, as he waited for the door to open.

He tried to stay strong, rebellious, but they began to wear him down.  He had developed a cough, his breath rasped in his throat and he was weak.  It was thirteen weeks since his capture and, after he regained consciousness following a particularly brutal session where he couldn’t speak even if he had wanted to because of the gag that almost choked him, he wept as he lay on the cold stone floor of his cell.  He didn’t even have the energy or strength to move to his filthy mattress.  That beating had been punishment for telling them a pack of lies as per his SERE training.

Mendelski had looked at him triumphantly as Scott finally surrendered the information, then returned 36 hours later, furious because he had fed this information up the line and men had been lost as a consequence.  Mendelski had been reprimanded, so he had taken it out on Scott.  That was when his ribs had been actually broken.

He had given them totally untrue information just to get some respite and it had come back and ripped him to pieces.

Mendelski never mentioned ransoming him again after that.

“You know,” a guard said conversationally as he literally dropped him on the floor of his cell causing him to cry out in pain.  “If you let the Colonel ram his cock up that sweet tight ass of yours things would be a lot easier for you.”

Scott was enveloped in a red haze of agony as those words were spoken.  He was ashamed to admit that he’d considered it for about a millisecond, in a moment of weakness but he knew deep down, that the pain from submitting and allowing that to happen would be even worse, and the thought of Mendelski gloating about it kept him quiet.

Somehow Scott never begged for mercy, but he was oh so close.  All he knew now was pain and suffering and he realised in a rare moment of clarity between unconsciousness and wakefulness that he had reached the end of his endurance.

Over the next two weeks, he switched off; he retreated to another place and didn’t even respond when Mendelski touched and groped his body and the Colonel realised he wasn’t going to obtain any useful information from this particular prisoner.  Captain Tracy was now seriously ill, going by the sound of his breathing and his lack of response.  He had clicked his fingers close to his face and the dull blue eyes didn’t even blink, they just stared into nothingness;  there was no resistance, no reaction and he actually stopped breathing the final time they tried waterboarding him.

Pulling him off the table and dropping him on the floor had revived him, but it also displaced one of his broken ribs, causing it to lay against a lung.  How it had not punctured the pleura was anyone’s guess; if it had done so, he would probably have died shortly after as air filled the cavity and squeezed his heart so that it stopped.  The fall had also broken his right femur.  How long Scott would survive now was anyone’s guess.

The guards had gently—well, gentle compared to how they had treated him previously although it still hurt—placed him on his mattress and left him.  That had been his last interrogation; they didn’t come for him any more after that; Mendelski knew it would be waste of time.

No medical treatment was offered, but there was one guard who at least placed his food and water within easy reach, so he did get one meagre meal a day, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to find the strength to eat it.  The guard did attempt to get some of it into him and Scott thanked him with his eyes and gave him a feeble nod.

“I’m sorry,” the guard whispered,  “We’re not all monsters, Captain.  Please remember that.”  He gripped his shoulder gently, then stood up and left.  Scott didn’t see him again.

The final time the Colonel had visited him in his cell and shone a bright light onto his bruised and battered body he saw his prisoner was shivering, but was also burning up and he realised it wouldn’t be long now.  It was a waste.  Another young man that had been full of life and vitality; a casualty of war.

“You have been a brave and foolish young man, Captain Tracy,” Mendelski said softly, stroking his hair, “but I salute your loyalty.  Your allied forces are on their way, but I doubt you will live long enough to see their arrival.  I honestly expected you to come crawling to me but you never did.  As I told you, I admire beauty; I would have taken good care of you, if only you had given yourself to me.  What a waste.  Pity.  Now I will take my leave of you.  Farewell.”  He straightened up and offered him a formal salute.  Mendelski would never admit it, but he admired Scott and could not bring himself to order his execution by the guards.  Instead, he planned to do it himself and went as far as drawing his pistol, loading a shot into the chamber and pointing it at his head, but found his could not pull the trigger.  His hand wavered as his finger tightened on it, but as it did so, his prisoner partly opened his eyes and managed to stare unwaveringly at him; his breathing rattling painfully in his chest.

The pistol remained pointing at Scott’s head and he continued to stare through half open eyes, unblinking, each breath sounding like it was going to be his last.  Mendelski stared back at him, then took a deep breath and clicked the safety on as he lowered his weapon.

“You are a stubborn man, Captain Tracy.  Will you have the tenacity to hang on until your rescuers get here?”

In his delirium, Scott had heard the words.  He knew he was seriously ill; dying, for he no longer felt the cold or the damp and he began to drift.  His brothers’ images flashed before him, then faded, as did his father’s and tears crept down his face.

I’m sorry, he thought.  I tried, dad.  I tried so hard, but I can’t… can’t take it… anymore…  John… keep watching… the stars… Virg… my best friend… sorry I’m… leaving you… Gordy… you still… haven’t… grown gills… Allie… the best… of us.  Grandma… look after them… Kayo…guard them… l – love you all… please… please don’t… don’t forget… me… “Pl – please…”

Mendelski heard what he thought was a single worded plea to be released from his suffering and watched as Scott’s eyes drifted closed.  Taking another deep breath, the Colonel flicked the safety off the pistol, raised it and fired.

In the small cell, the sound was deafening.  Scott’s body twitched, but that was all.  The Colonel looked down at him, flicked the safety back on, put the weapon in its holster, turned and left.

Earlier chapters may be found on AO3 here.

More angst. Scott's getting out of hospital... and it's the funeral...

Chapter 3 – April 25th 2051

A nurse retrieved the tablet I threw across the room a number of days ago.  They’re tougher than I gave them credit for… it didn’t break.  Pity.  Bet if I hadn’t wanted it to break it would have.  What’s that… Murphy’s Law or something?

Didn’t feel like writing anything.  Didn’t feel like doing anything actually.  Just lying in bed staring up at the white ceiling was enough for me, but the doctor’s won’t let me.  They force me to get up, force me to drink and keep going on about DVT whatever that is.

Mr Jenkinson turned up again.  He doesn’t give up, encouraging me to talk about what I’m feeling, what I’m thinking.  I diverted him and asked what DVT was and he told me.  By not moving and drinking enough could cause a blood clot which could move and cause me to have a heart attack or a stroke.  If he was trying to scare me, he succeeded.  That was when I realised I actually didn’t want to die, but live.  I have four brothers to look after, I can’t desert them, so I’ve decided to make the effort to get better, at least physically.  Don’t know about mentally.  I think I’m broken… we’re all broken.

Dad came to visit on the 20th.  He was more composed and said I was beginning to look better.  He told me little Allie is being discharged today, and if I continue to improve I’ll be out tomorrow.  The dining room is being adapted for me as I won’t be able to get up and down the stairs.  It’ll have a bed in it.  I don’t know how I feel about it all.  I’m going home, but it will no longer feel complete.

He then told me that the funerals will be on the 25th April.  The service will be at the ranch and Mom and Grandpa will be laid to rest near the old apple tree they both loved, rather than in the town cemetery, so they will always be near family.

Finally got to see Gordon and little Allie.  They both gave me a hug, Gordon was subdued, but there were no tears.  I guess he’s coming to terms with the fact that mom won’t be coming back.  Allie, on the other hand, hasn’t.  He didn’t want to let go of me and started screaming when dad took him from me.  It was heartbreaking.  I did my best to calm him down, but he continued to scream my name as dad left with him and Gordon.  I clamped down on my feelings, but it brought a sharp pain to my chest as I fought to hold everything in.  I honestly don’t think I can do this… but somehow, I must…

o0o

I did get home on the 21st.  It was overwhelming.  When I looked at the barn, all I could see was Grandpa.  I imagined I saw him coming out, in his overalls, wiping his oily hands on an old cloth.  I nearly choked on my emotions, and when dad got me into the house, all I could see was Mom.  The piano, the ornaments, the pictures on the wall, the smell of her favourite perfume.

The dining room table and chairs had been removed from the room, and a small single bed installed, along with some free standing hanging for some clothes for me, and one of the drawers of the dresser had been emptied and underwear and tops put in.  I hated it!

My brothers were all pleased to see me and, once again, Alan wouldn’t leave my side, or my lap.  I was so pleased to see them all.  Virgil came back when I was alone for once, looking nervous.

“I… I hope you don’t mind,” he said.  “I know we’re not supposed to go into your bedroom without an invite, but I wanted to bring you this… I hope it’s all right.”

He held out his hand to reveal a little blue plane.  It was only about three or four inches long, and it was different shades of blue and… most importantly, it had been knitted for me by… Mom.  Oh God, how I wanted to cry at that point, but I can’t, I’m the strong one, but my hand shook as I took it from Virgil.

“I thought… maybe… it might make you feel a bit better?” he said tentatively.

I gave him a one-armed hug to show him that he’d done good.  As long as I had my little plane, Mom would be with me.

I had to keep repeating that thought lots of times though, up to the funeral.  It washed over me.  It was like I was floating above and looking down on it.  I couldn’t wear my suit, so dad bought me some black sweatpants and a black zip-up hoodie to wear instead of a shirt and jacket.  I just wore a t-shirt.  It felt so disrespectful, but I couldn’t get my suit on over my casts.  As it was, most of me was hidden under a thick blanket because it was a cold day.

My brothers were all crying; but I didn’t shed a tear; I had none; it was like they had dried up completely.  I just sat in my wheelchair as the service was carried out.  Everyone was there, and I mean everyone from the town; to pay their respects.  They did Mom and Grandpa proud.  Dad wheeled me up to the two coffins after they were lowered into the ground and held a pot of dirt close to me so I could throw a handful over them.  It was a bit difficult as I had to do it left handed, plus Allie was in my lap and refused to move, but I managed it.

After the ceremony, people were invited back.  Because there were so many in attendance, we moved the food and chairs to the barn so we could accommodate everyone.  Even then it was pretty crowded, which John absolutely hated, so Virgil took care of him.

Uncle Lee and Aunt Val both attended and looked after dad who appeared to be having a rough time.  Grandma was very stoic, but quiet.  She kept an eye on us kids, gave people tentative smiles that didn’t reach her eyes and she suddenly looked much older and more frail.  I wanted to give her a hug because she looked like she really needed it, but I couldn’t get close to her because of all the other people.  She caught me looking at her a few times and finally nodded and gave me a small smile to say she was coping… just.

The day seemed to stretch on forever, but finally people started to leave, until it was just us left.  Everyone was exhausted and we all went to bed early, apart from dad, who sat in the lounge, drinking.

I think he forgot I was in the dining room because as I lay in my bed, I could hear him crying.  I didn’t know what to do… if I should go to him, or pretend I was asleep.  But then I heard a crash of glass breaking and knew I had to investigate, so I struggled into my wheelchair and with difficulty, managed to manoeuvre it into the lounge.

The room reeked of booze, and in the dim lighting I could see the broken glass of a whisky bottle lying in the hearth and on the wooden floor in front of it, along with some of the fluid.  Dad was sitting on the sofa, head in his hands, crying.  I’d seen him in tears before; tears of happiness and joy when each of my brothers were born, but I’d never seen him like this.

“D – Dad?” I asked tentatively.  “Dad?”

His head jerked up and he savagely wiped his eyes before turning to me.  “You should be asleep in bed,” he said, his voice wavering.  “It’s been a long day.”

“Dad… can I help?”  I dared to wheel myself closer to him.

That’s when I think I actually broke my Dad, because in the next second, he threw himself down on the floor in front of me and hugged me so tight it made me wince, as he sobbed into my shoulder.  I didn’t know what to do.  Dad was so strong, nothing shook him or frightened him, but this…

Nervously I put my arms around him and held him.  I don’t know how many minutes passed before I heard him mumble.

“I – I don’t know what I’m going to do without your mother… she was my everything… five boys… five fine boys… how will I manage?”

I swallowed.  “I’ll – I’ll help you, Dad,” I said softly.

He drew back and looked at me.  “Scotty,” he said, as he ran his fingers through my hair.  “I’m going to need all the help I can get.  I need you to step up, son; help me look after your brothers.  I need to work, the ensure you can all have a home, stay safe, but I can’t do it alone.  Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I think so, Dad.”

“You’re my first born, the eldest.  I’m sorry I have to ask you to grow up earlier than you should.  Do you think you could do that for me, son?”

I nodded firmly.  “I can do it, dad, and I’ll do even better once I’m healed.”

He hugged me again then, and once more sobbed on my shoulder before drawing back again.

“You’re a good boy, Scotty.”  He kissed my forehead.  “Now, go back to bed.  Do you need a hand?”

“No, I’ll be all right.  Dad… you should go to bed too.  I’ll clean up the mess.”

Dad shook his head.  “I’ll clean up.  I made it.  Go on now.”

He stroked my head.

“It’s going to be difficult these first couple of months, until we all get used to the new normal,” Dad continued.

“We’ll get through it, Dad.  We’re Tracys.”

He gave me a tiny smile as I repeated those two words that he often offered when things got tough.  “Yes, we are.  Go on, back to bed.”

I nodded and again, with some difficulty, wheeled myself back to my temporary bedroom and manoeuvred myself back into bed, but it took me some time before I dozed off.  Dad was such a strong man mentally and yet, he seemed as broken—if not more so—than the rest of us.  I wished I could cry because my chest was feeling tight, but the tears just won’t come.  Mom, I miss you so much… please watch over us… please…

Scott's recovering in hospital and he finds out what happened that resulted in him being there. Angst, and some swearing in this chapter. Earlier chapter may be found here on AO3.

Chapter 2 – 18th April 2051

Hey, diary, I’m back now, but it’s the morning of the 18th.  The monitor alarms I’m hooked up to all went off during my last scribbling… I think I was trying to say I couldn’t breathe at the end of my last entry.  I managed to close my journal ‘cos I didn’t want anyone to read it. I was really, REALLY scared and I thought I was going to die after all.  The doctor said I was having a panic attack and they sedated me.  Just as I was going under, I saw dad standing in the doorway.  He looked so sad… is he worried about me?  Why didn’t he come close?  I want a hug.  Why will no one hug me?  I must have done something very bad if no one wants to be near me.

How can I make amends if I don’t know what it is?  How can I make it up to everyone unless someone tells me?  Please someone tell me what I did that was so bad.

I don’t know how long I was asleep for, but the light had faded outside so it must have been a few hours.  I’m still alone… I hate it!  I felt tears blur my eyesight and I cried.  I’m not supposed to cry, I’m the eldest and I’m supposed to set an example; be the strong one, but I reckoned I could get away with it as there’s no one here to see.

The catering staff brought me dinner.  I didn’t want it.  I’ve decided I’m not gonna eat anything until I see my family.  That’s called blackmail… or so I’ve been told.  I don’t care, I want my family!

The door opened about 15 minutes after I refused to eat and Johnny came in.  I’ve never been so grateful to see a familiar face, but he worried me.  His eyes were red, his face blotchy, and he’d been crying.  I held out my arms and waited for him to come to me.  He paused for a number of seconds, then ran to me and hugged me so tight it hurt, but I didn’t care, I was so grateful to be on the receiving end.

He mumbled my name over and over, worrying me even further, so I asked him what was wrong, because I couldn’t remember anything of the past 12 days or so.  He didn’t want to tell me; told me dad had said he mustn’t, but I begged and begged, turned on my kicked puppy dog expression, and he finally relented and it all came out.

He was bawling his eyes out by the time he’d finished.  I drew on everything I possessed not to cry so I could support him, but it was hard, so hard.

Mom and Grandpa are dead.  I’ll never see them again, and little Allie, he’s in another room, having been hurt as well.  I was scared to ask, but I had to know.  Was it my fault?

John drew back and looked as me as if I’d grown two heads or something and told me it wasn’t my fault.  He told me about the skiing trip and that I’d been in the lodge with Allie, Mom and Grandpa, and it all came back, crashing over me like a gigantic wave.  Every horrifying moment of it, drowning me.

We’d booked a skiing holiday as an early birthday present for me.  Everything had been great for the first week, then Allie came down with a cold or something.  Dad and Grandma took my other brothers into town and I volunteered to stay and help mom.  Grandpa stayed too.  Mom took Allie from me to give him his medicine and get some food down him and Grandpa came and sat with me on the sofa.

We were about to watch some stupid movie when there was a rumble, that got louder and closer and the lodge started shaking.  The next thing I knew, Grandpa had shouted at Mom to take cover, grabbed me, enfolded me in his arms and laid full length down on the couch.

I’m not sure what happened for a while after that, but when I woke up, I was still wrapped in his arms, but it was cold, so cold, and dark.  My head, arm and leg hurt amongst other things and I wanted to go to sleep, but Grandpa wouldn’t let me.  He told me I had to stay awake because I’d bumped my head, so I tried.  He got me to talk about what I wanted for my birthday and I told him I wanted flying lessons and he promised he’d take me up in the crop duster when we got back to the farm.

Then he went quiet and didn’t speak anymore and I was alone in the cold and dark.  I’ve never felt cold like it, and I drifted off to sleep like Grandpa… only John told me that he hadn’t fallen asleep.  He’d died.

I don’t know how long I was unconscious for.  I was told I was buried for a number of hours in the snow and was severely hypothermic.  They didn’t think I was going to make it, but I did.  Grandpa didn’t.  He kept me warm, protected me from the worst of the avalanche and died as a result.  I felt so guilty.  It sat heavily on my heart.  Grandma had lost her husband and it was my fault, even though John said it wasn’t.

He told me Mom had been killed protecting little Allie, who was making a recovery, like I was.  Mom was DEAD!  We’d lost our Mom and Dad had lost his wife and father.  I was aware of withdrawing into myself.  I wanted to die too.  Why didn’t I die instead of them?

John was crying again and there wasn’t anything I could say that would make it better… nothing at all and I felt awful that I couldn’t comfort him.  What kind of big brother am I?  So I just apologised, over and over and over.

“It’s not your fault, Scotty,” he managed to get out in between jobs.  “You don’t need to apologise.”

It didn’t make me feel any better though, so I just hugged him tighter, ignoring the pain in my ribs and my broken arm.  Johnny needed this, it was the least I could do for him, but at the back of my mind, I wondered where Virgil and Gordon were.  Perhaps they were with Alan, but I didn’t like to ask.  Perhaps that was where Dad and Grandma were; after all Alan was the baby of the family, he wouldn’t understand what had happened unlike the rest of us.

It took John ages to stop crying and by then, I wasn’t feeling so good.  He told me I was slurring my words, and that’s the last I heard from him; I felt so tired, my head really hurt, and I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore… I thought I’d fallen asleep or something.

o0o

Turns out I had some kind of relapse, according to what I overheard between the doctor and Dad.  Sounds like I frightened John half to death when I kinda collapsed.  Another apology required.  Something related to my concussion and delayed shock. I didn’t understand much of it, but it must have worried Dad enough because he was right there, by my bedside when I woke up this morning to discover two days had passed!

“Hey there, Bluejay,” he whispered to me, as a hand trailed through my hair.  “You had us all worried there for a moment.  How are you feeling?”

I was feeling out of sorts, I didn’t even know how to explain it, but I couldn’t tell my Dad that.  He looked exhausted, devastated, lost even, so I lied and told him I felt fine, but he didn’t believe me.  I could tell by the look on his face, but he didn’t push me about it.  Instead, he stood up and leant over to give me a hug.  I so wanted to cry, but I couldn’t.  I wanted Dad to tell me it would all be okay and that this was just a nightmare, but he didn’t, because it wasn’t.

Instead, I asked him how Allie was and he told me he was recovering, but he kept asking for his Mom and couldn’t seen to understand that he’d never see her again.  That was the hardest part, trying to keep calm and repeat the answer again and again, when everyone wanted him to shut up about going on about Mom time and time again.  Dad said he was crying a lot and asking for me if he couldn’t have Mom.  I don’t know if I’m up to it yet; I don’t know if I can cope with him asking me over and over again when Mom was coming back.

He also told me he was angry at John for telling me what had happened, because it had resulted in my relapse, but I told him it was my fault that I managed to get it out of him.  It has to be my fault… everything is my fault.

God, this is so hard.  I wanna scream and shout at the injustice of it all.  I need someone to confess my true feelings to, but Mr Jenkinson is a total stranger and I’m not telling him, and my family are barely holding it together without me adding to their grief, so I’m keeping it all in.

I wanna go home, and at the same time, I don’t, because Mom won’t be there, but it’ll have her presence all over the house.  A constant reminder of her.  Is that a good or a bad thing?  I don’t want to forget her, and yet I don’t wanna be constantly reminded of the fact that she’s not there anymore.  I don’t know what I want… please, will someone help me?

o0o

Mr Jenkinson’s just visited me again.  He asked if he could read this diary and I said ‘no.’  I don’t want anyone to see it… at least not yet.  I’m not ready to bare my feelings especially to him.  I wish Virgil would come and see me.  He always knows what I’m feeling, but I can’t inflict the way I feel on him either.  I don’t know what to do… I feel like I’m choking.

Mr Jenkinson kept talking and talking and I just wanted him to shut up and go away, but Mom brought me up to be polite; but I’m getting to my limit.  He’s telling me I’m still in shock and denial, but I’m not denying it.  I KNOW my Mom and Grandpa are dead.  Maybe I should tell Mr Jenkinson that the next time he visits.  I haven’t said one word to him today.  I don’t know how he stays so patient with me.  I’d have punched me by now in total frustration.

Eventually, after half an hour, I turned over away from him and stared out of the window, hoping he’d take the hint. After another ten minutes, he got it.  I heard him sigh and get up from the creaky plastic chair.  He patted my arm gently and wished me better, told me to keep writing my feelings down, and that he’d see me the day after tomorrow.  I wanted to tell him not to bother, but that would mean talking to him and I can’t.

I feel… I don’t know what I feel.  Lost? Alone? Guilty?  Please let me go home, I really don’t like it here.

o0o

I’m back.  Everything got a bit much earlier.  Virgil finally came to see me.  He cried a lot too, but at least he told me he was glad I was going to be okay.  “I couldn’t have stood it if I’d lost you too,” he told me.

My resolve almost cracked.  Almost.  I swallowed the huge lump in my throat and just hugged him, telling him it would be okay, that we’d get through this if we all stuck together.  But will we?

I asked him about everyone else.  Obviously they’re all still deeply upset.  I got the impression Grandma hadn’t been around much, and Dad had been conspicuous by his absence.  I told Virgil that they needed to grieve as well, but he’s only nine and I don’t think he quite understands that grownups need space and time as well to come to terms with the bad things that happen.

When he left me, I read through what I’ve written in this diary so far… it’s so depressing and negative.  Will I ever feel any better?  I haven’t heard any laughter since I woke up in here, mind you we haven’t anything to laugh about, have we.  I want to go home and yet I don’t want to move from my bed.  What’s the term I heard once?  Wallowing in my own self-pity; yeah, that’s it.  I used to be pleased and proud to be the eldest… now I wish I wasn’t.

I want to get up but I can’t.  I don’t want to watch the TV, they keep mentioning the avalanche and that another person has died from their injuries.  Allie and I are lucky to be alive by the sounds of things… but is it selfish to wish that I was dead too, so I don’t have to have such a heavy heart, or put on the brave face?  I don’t want to feel like this, I hate it.  I don’t think I’ll ever smile or laugh again.

o0o

The doctor’s got me out of bed after lunch.  It hurt.  They put me in a wheelchair, but I can’t move myself because of my broken arm, so what use was that?  Might as well have stayed in bed, but they insist I need to get up and move about which is frigging impossible because my right arm and leg are broken so I can’t support myself, can I?  In fact I can’t do anything for myself, even writing this stupid diary hurts because I’m having problems typing.  Fuck this!

Warnings for this chapter: some swearing, accidental overdose. Earlier chapters may be found on AO3 here.

It's Scott's degree ceremony and everyone is there apart from John and Kayo...

I Should Have Told You, I Know

They’d all made it to the award ceremony apart from John, who had had to stay behind at Harvard to complete part of his thesis.  Scott was disappointed that his younger brother hadn’t been able to make it and John had apologised profusely about it.  In fact, he’d almost been in tears as he’d told his big brother that he couldn’t come.

“It’s all right, John, I understand, honestly.  Obviously I’m disappointed that you can’t be here, but at the end of the day, it’s just a degree ceremony,” Scott had replied.

“But you’re summa cum laude, Scott!  That’s special and I’m missing out on that!  That’s something extraordinary!”

“John, it’s okay,” Scott tried to soothe, seeing how upset his brother was getting.  “I know it’s not the same as being here, but I’ll get dad to broadcast it via his phone so you can see it.  That’ll be better than nothing, right?”

“I guess, but it’s not the same.  I feel like I’m letting you down.”

“Don’t feel like that, please.  We’ll have our own celebration a little later.  How’s that?”  Scott could tell by the look on his younger brother’s face that he wasn’t happy about it.  “Come on, Johnny, cheer up, it’s not that bad.”  Scott watched his brother’s expression closely, and frowned.  Was there something going on that he didn’t know about?  “Unless there’s something you’re not telling me?”

John’s head snapped up.  “No!  What makes you think that?”

Immediately, Scott knew something was up.  The main giveaway was that his kid brother hadn’t corrected him with his trademark ‘don’t call me Johnny’ retort.  It was a standing joke and they all took turns in fondly teasing him with that name.  John knew they didn’t mean it just by the way they always said it; with deep affection and a sparkle in their eyes.

“What’s wrong, John?” Scott asked gently, frowning in concern.

“Nothing’s wrong!  Why would  you think that?”

“Well, you haven’t pulled me up on calling you Johnny for one thing.”

“It’s your special day, I’m being lenient,” he immediately came back with.

“If you say so,” Scott replied.  “You’d tell me if there was something bothering you, right?  I’m still your big brother, John.  I’ll still look out for you if you need me to.”

“I’m not a child anymore, Scott,” John retorted a little more sharply than intended and he flinched inwardly as he saw a look of hurt flash across his brother’s eyes.  “I’m sorry,” he apologised.  “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”  He gave him a rather wan smile.  “I’m a big boy now… a man.  I can look after myself.  You’ve done more than enough these past years.”

Scott looked at him sadly.  “You’ll always be my little bro, no matter how old you are,” he said softly, his blue eyes full of love.

John marvelled at the fact that even over the phone, how blue those eyes were.  Not like their mother’s.  John possessed his mother’s eyes, but Scott had her dimples and a lot of her expressions and emotions.  His compassion for his siblings and other people came from her, and he felt emotions deeply, with his whole heart.  Sometimes it was a bit overwhelming—smothering in fact—but John wouldn’t have him any other way.  It was what made Scott… Scott.

“I’ll always be there for you John, if you’re feeling overwhelmed, uncertain, lonely; you know that don’t you?  Even if I’m miles away.  I don’t know where my career’s going to take me, but if I am able, I will come to you.”

“I know that, Scotty, and I appreciate it.  You go and enjoy your day, and I’ll be watching it all from a distance, but know I’ll be with you in spirit.  Congratulations, bro.  You deserve it.”

“Thanks, Johnny.  Coming from you, that means a lot.”

The blond flashed him a smile, then smirked.  “Oh and Scott… don’t call me Johnny.”

The older brother grinned mischievously.  “That’s more like it,” he retorted.  “I’ve got a few days free before I have to report to my commanding officer.  How about you and I hang our for a couple of them?”

“That’s a great offer, Scott, but I have so much to do.  I don’t want you wasting your free time watching me study and work.  Spend it with the rest of the family, it’ll be more fun.”

“John…”

“I insist.  I’ll come visit you during the summer break if you can have me.”

Scott frowned.  “Are you sure, John?  You know I worry about you being there on your own.”

“Hey, I do have a couple of friends, and I’m managing to avoid the large gatherings.  I’m doing okay.  Go on.  We’ll meet up in a month, okay?”  He could see Scott didn’t like it, but John plastered on what he hoped was a convincing smile.

He watched as Scott huffed, turned his head away a moment to nod at something someone had said that he couldn’t quite catch.

“I don’t like it, John, but if you really are sure…?”

“I’m sure.”

“I have to go; finish getting ready.  I really wish you were here.”

“Me too, bro.  Me too.  But I’ll be watching it live as it happens, I promise.”

“Okay.  Well, I guess I’ll see you in a month, then.  You take care of yourself.  But I mean it, John.  You need to talk to me, or see me, then tell me.  Love you, bro.”

“Smotherhen, go away!  Love you too,” John said good naturedly, and broke the connection.

For some reason, Scott still felt uneasy, but he had to push it aside for the day.  He had to concentrate, because he had to give a speech, having received the highest award.  He was dressed in his USAF dress blues, with the cap and gown over the top and having received his degree, was directed to the podium to give his speech to all those assembled; and there were a lot of people.  Fellow degree holders, their relatives and university staff.

Scott spoke clearly and eloquently, first thanking the staff and his fellow students for making university life interesting and about the camaraderie he had found.  Then he went on to talk about his family, of the importance of them, of support, of their passions, whether it was the stars, or art and music, or protecting the environment, or creating instruments and devices that would help people in their work, or general lives.  He spoke of helping others who were in need, making the world a better place for everyone; striving to do the best that he was able to make it come true; to get rid of the ugliness that existed.  He also added that he was following in his father’s footsteps in joining the Air Force, and jokingly remarked he was going to break all his records, complete with a smirk on his face, that made everyone laugh.  He finally finished, saying he was only one man, but that if everyone worked to the best of their ability, he truly believed the world would be a better place.

There were a few seconds of silence, then all his family stood up and started clapping and the rest of the audience followed suit.  Gordon even went as far as whistling his approval very loudly.  Scott nodded acknowledging the recognition, then left the stage.

The Vice-Chancellor led the closing ceremony, then all the graduates threw their caps in the air as was tradition, before retrieving them and joining their various families.

Jeff had had his phone camera pointing at the stage for the presentation of his degree and for his speech for John to watch live, and as the new graduate reached his family, his dad handed him the phone so he could talk to his younger brother.

“Wow, Scott.  That speech was… well… it brought a lump to my throat!  It was awesome!” John said.  He actually had a tear in his eye from when his brother had spoken about his passion for the stars.

“Thanks, John.  That means a lot coming from you!  Glad you were able to watch it live.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world, bro.  I’m so proud of you.”

“No doubt I’ll be returning the favour next year,” Scott replied, grinning.  “Wish you could have been here though.”

“I know.  I have to go now.  Glad I got to see the ceremony live, and I’ll see you in a month.  Have fun.”

“Take care, John.”  The sentence was heavily loaded and John heard it.  He gave Scott a nod and then cut the connection.

Jeff hugged his eldest.  “Well done, son,” he said and Scott held his breath in anticipation.  Was he finally going to hear the words he so desperately needed to hear from his father; that he was proud of his achievement?

“Th – thanks, Dad.”  He looked at him, waiting.

“Now the hard work really begins.”

He couldn’t help it; his shoulders slumped a little and his other brothers saw it, so they stepped in to do what their father should be doing, noting that he hadn’t said the words that Scott was so desperate to hear.

Scott did his best to hide his disappointment.  It seemed that no matter how well he did, it still wasn’t good enough.  Dammit!  He was summa cum laude!  You couldn’t get higher than that, yet Jeff didn’t acknowledge that.

Scott was feeling unexpectedly emotional about it, but had no time to recover, as Virgil gave him the biggest bear hug he’d ever had and almost busted his ribs in the process.  Before he had time to recover, Gordon and Alan got in on the act as well.  Kayo kissed his cheek, and Grandma cupped his face and kissed his forehead.

“We’re so proud of you, Scotty,” she said, throwing everything into that sentence to try and make up for her son’s lack of praise.

“Yeah, bro.  You were awesome,” Alan added.

“You truly deserved it, bro.  I’m fit to burst with pride for you, and you’ve thrown the gauntlet down to the rest of us,” Virgil muttered in his ear.

“That’s gonna be a hell of an act to follow!” Gordon said.

Their words helped, but the man he needed to hear them from didn’t add anything else and his brothers and grandmother saw the hurt flash briefly in his eyes before he pulled the ever present mask down over his feelings.

“Time to celebrate, I think,” Jeff said.

Scott straightened up and plastered on a smile.  “I’ll just get changed,” he said.  “I won’t be long.”

“We’ll be in the commissary,” Jeff told him.

He nodded and strode away, back to his room to get changed.

Sally sent the boys on ahead, then placed a hand on her son’s arm.  “What is wrong with you?” she asked Jeff.

He frowned in genuine confusion.  “Wrong with me?  What do you mean?” he responded.

“Your eldest son has graduated summa cum laude; aren’t you proud of him for doing that?”

“Of course I am!”

“Then why don’t you tell him that, Jefferson?”

“I did.”

“No you didn’t!  You just told him he’d done well.  Well!  Not even really well, just well.  You didn’t even say you were pleased for him!  Everything he does is never good enough for you, is it?  He couldn’t have achieved anything higher and yet—”

“He’s going into the Air Force, Mom.  It’s going to be tough for him; people may think he’s got there because of his name, because of me.  Nepotism.  I have to make sure he’s strong, so he can get through that!  It’s a cruel world out there.  He’s my first heir and I have to make sure he’s going to be able to handle it all.”

“Telling him you’re proud of him will spur him on more than not acknowledging his achievements!”

“I don’t want him to become soft.  He can’t relax, he has to continue to fight, Mom.  You don’t understand what the world is really like.”

Sally bristled.  “I don’t understand?!” she almost shouted, then lowered her voice as her grandsons turned and frowned.  She took a deep breath before continuing.  “That boy is going to kill himself trying to prove that he’s good enough for you, if you don’t give him the praise he deserves, Jeff.”

“Oh don’t be so dramatic, mom!  He’ll be fine.  He’s a Tracy.  He knows I’m doing this for his own good.”

“Does he?” Sally asked, and walked off to join her grandsons, leaving Jeff staring after her before he shook himself and followed her.

Scott rejoined his family 20 minutes later, and they went into Oxford for a celebratory meal.  Lady Penelope joined them and a very pleasant evening was spent.  Eventually though, the two youngest began to droop, so Jeff called it a night and everyone apart from Scott returned to their hotel.  Scott went back to his rooms to check everything was packed up ready for transport home.  Just the few bare essentials were still on display in his rooms but would be put into his suitcase the following morning.

Jeff had hired a minibus that would take all of them to the airport and to Tracy 10, the larger jet that could house them and their luggage with room to spare.  With everything stored, everyone made themselves comfortable in the luxurious faux leather heavily padded chairs, apart from Jeff and Scott who went up to the cockpit.

As Scott went to take the copilot seat, Jeff stopped him.  “No son, you can pilot,” he said.

Scott’s eyebrows rose.  His dad was a control freak who usually insisted on doing the piloting, so for him to surrender control was a little unnerving, but as usual, the eldest stepped up to the challenge, took the seat and strapped himself in, as his father did the same in the copilot seat.

The flight plan had already been logged and approved, so Scott went through all pre-flight checks, then fired up the engines.  All that was left to do was contact the control tower to obtain clearance and permission, once he had given his pre-flight speech.

“Good morning everyone,” Scott said into the intercom to address his passengers.  “This is your Captain speaking.  Welcome aboard the morning flight to Tracy Island.  Please fasten your seatbelts and ensure seats are in the upright position until notified otherwise.  We will shortly be taxiing to the end of the runway for take-off.”

He caught his father’s rather disapproving glance, but ignored it, determined to enjoy himself.

Switching channels and activating his throat mike, Scott contacted the tower.

“Tracy 10 to control tower.  Request permission to taxi to the end of the runway for take-off, over.”

“Control Tower to Tracy 10.  We have your flight plan.  You are cleared for taxiing to runway one-nine.  Take up position and await final clearance for take-off, over.”

“Tracy 10 to control tower, taxi to runway one-nine, copy that.  Will re-establish contact once I am in position.  Out.”

Scott increased power to the engines, flicked off the brakes and the craft gently started to move forward.  It took a few minutes to reach the end of the runway, where Scott turned the aircraft and put the brakes on.

“This is Tracy 10 to control tower.  We are now in position at the end of runway one-nine.  Request permission to take off.”

“Control tower to Tracy 10, hold.  There is an aircraft currently clearing the runway.”

“Copy that, holding at the end of runway one-nine.”

Another few minutes passed.  “Tracy 10, wind speed is 12 knots, direction south-west.  Weather is clear across the Atlantic.  Gain height to 5,000 feet.  You are clear for take-off.  Over.”

“Wind speed 12 knots, south-west, gain height to 5,000 feet, copy that.  Clear for take-off.  Out.”

Engine power was increased and as the aircraft began to rock slightly, Scott released the brakes and they began to move forward, gaining speed quickly and eased the plane gently into the air.  They continued to climb to the designated height.

“Tracy 10 to control tower, now at 5,000 feet, over.”

“Copy that, Tracy 10.  Turn to 340 degrees magnetic, gain height to 45,000 feet, switch to frequency 119.775.  Safe journey, over.”

“Turning to 340 degrees magnetic, gaining height to 45,000 feet, switching to frequency 119.775.  Thank you.  Out.”

The flight was uneventful.  Once they had gained cruising height, Scott engaged the autopilot and let his passengers know that they were now able to move around.  Virgil immediately got the coffee made and took two cups forward to the cockpit, where they chatted for a while.

The flight back to Kansas took four and a half hours and they arrived back at the farm in time for a second breakfast.

Scott had a couple of days before he had to leave for Maxwell Air Force Base near Montgomery, Alabama, to attend the Officer Training School for approximately eight weeks before then reporting to the 49th Fighter Training Squadron for his Introduction to Fighter Fundamentals.  If he successfully passed that, he would then go onto the B-Course to receive more specialised training on various aircraft, before being assigned to a squadron.  Due to his background and previous flying experience and, following an exhaustive test, he had skipped the Initial Flight Training and undertaken a cut-down version of the Undergraduate Pilot Training course in between studying for his degree which he had also started a year early and finished in three years instead of four.

He really didn’t want to leave for his training without seeing John in person, something in his gut was niggling at him, so he decided to pack an overnight bag and go up to Harvard, to put his mind at rest.  He grabbed a small knitted item and stuffed that in his bag.  It had great sentimental value, but he had a feeling that John needed more support than he was letting on.  Scott could do without it for a while.  He took Tracy 2 and flew up to Boston, arriving in the early evening.

He took a taxi to John’s room on campus, took the stairs two at a time up to his floor, bounced along the corridor and then knocked on the door.

There was no answer, so he knocked again.  Still nothing.

His brother’s phone was in there—he tracked all of them, keeping a watchful eye on them even when he was far away—and he couldn’t think John would have gone out without it.

“John, it’s me, Scott,” he called.  “John!  Johnny!”

He hoped calling him by the name he hated would get him to open the door.  Perhaps he was in the shower?

“John!  Are you in there?  John!”

A door opened further along the corridor and a student stepped out.  “Haven’t seen him all day,” the young man said.  “Do you know him well?”

“I’m his elder brother.  Are you a friend of his?”

“Kinda.  We hang out as study buddies sometimes.”

“Has he… has he been all right?”

“He was, up until a gathering we had to attend the other evening.  I think it was a bit much for him, you know?  He doesn’t like crowds of people.”

“No, he doesn’t.  Is there anything else you can tell me, that you think I should know?”

“Well, he’s been under a lot of pressure lately with his latest assignment.  It’s something big, but don’t ask me to explain it, cos I didn’t understand half of what he was going on about!”

Scott offered up a brief smile at that remark.  “Yeah, that’s John.  Sorry, I forgot my manners.  I’m Scott.”

“I’m Adrian.  Pleased to meet you Scott.”

They shook hands, then Scott thumped on the door again.  “Do you think he’s in there?”

“Yeah.  He hasn’t left today, I know that for certain.”

Scott heaved a sigh, then reached into his pocket to grab his wallet and retrieve a credit card.  The door was old and a little warped, so he managed to wrangle the card in between it and the door frame and with some nifty fiddling, managed to get the door open.

“Johnny?” he questioned as he peered into the darkened room.  The curtains were still drawn.  He switched on the light and nearly jumped as he saw the slumped figure sitting on the bed, head down, holding a bottle of pills.  Scott flew towards him and knelt in front of him.  “Johnny?  It’s Scott.  I’m here.”

It took quite a while for the words to sink in, then John blinked and slowly raised his head.

“Sco – Scotty?” he whispered.

“Yeah, it’s me, John,” he replied very quietly.

“It’s… it’s too much, Scotty… it’s too much… closing in on me…”  Bloodshot, teary eyes looked at him and Scott’s heart broke.

“Hey… do you want me to go?” Adrian asked from the doorway.

“Would you mind putting the kettle on for me, please?” Scott asked him, but kept his eyes on his younger brother.

“Sure.  You want me to make some Jasmine tea?  We often have it in the evening.  Helps calm us both down after a bad day.”

“Yes, thank you.”  He returned his attention to his younger brother.  “Johnny, what’s too much?  Tell me what’s wrong.  I’m here and I’m gonna try and make it all better.”

Carefully he prised the bottle of pills out of John’s hand and read the label, paling as he did so.

“You haven’t taken any of these, have you, bro?” he asked softly.  He shook the bottle to get  John’s attention.  “Johnny!  Have you taken any?”

John nodded slowly.

“Shit!  How many and when?  When, John?”  Hating to do it, he grabbed his brother’s shoulders and shook him.  “How many and when?” he demanded again.

“Um… what’s… what’s the time…?”

Scott glanced at his watch.  “Four twenty.”

“Er.. seven minutes…”

“How many?”

“Only… four…”

“Shit!”  Scott got to his feet, dragged John to his and half carried him to the bathroom, where he got him onto his knees in front of the toilet bowl, and not wasting any time, stuck a couple of fingers down his brother’s throat in an effort to get him to vomit.  He didn’t know if that was the right thing to do, but it was all he could think of to try and get the pills out of him.  “Adrian, call an ambulance, please!”

“Um… okay!”

Scott returned his whole attention to his brother, who was retching up into the bowl.  Scott didn’t know if that was going to be enough or not, hence why he had called an ambulance, to be on the safe side.

“Scott, they want to know what he’s taken,” Adrian called.

“Temazepam.  Four tablets.  Tell them I’ve made him vomit.”

“Okay.”  There were a few moments silence.  “Ambulance should be here in about six minutes.”

“Thank you.”

There didn’t seem to be anything else for John to bring up, so Scott left him briefly to get a warm flannel to clean his face, but didn’t bring him any water, just in case that encouraged faster dissolving of any pills that were still in his stomach.

That completed, he got John up off the floor and walked him to his bed.

“They’re saying you can lay him down on his side, but you have to keep him awake,” Adrian told him.

“Copy that,” Scott replied and did as he was instructed.

“Sleepy, Scotty,” John mumbled.

“No, John!  You have to stay awake!  Come on, tell me what you’re working on.  I wanna hear all about it,” Scott said.

“No… you… don’t,” came the mumbled response.

“Yes, I do, Johnny.”

“Don’t call… me Johnny…”

“Then tell me about what you’re working on, or is it top secret?”

John huffed.  “Don’t be silly… I’m at university… not a government… agency…”

“So tell me!  NOW!”

“You… you’ve always been bossy… you know that?”

Scott rolled his eyes and pressed a knuckle firmly against John’s sternum, eliciting an appropriate response.

“Fuck, Scott!  That hurt!”

“If you don’t want me to do that again, start talking!” came the unapologetic response.

So John started explaining what he was working on.  It went over Scott’s head after the first 13 words, but he made the appropriate responses and kept asking questions until there was a knock on the door.

“Paramedics!” a voice called.

Adrian moved to the door and opened it to let them in.

A man and woman came in, one carrying a large medical bag.  They went to the bed and Scott moved back out of the way.

“Hi, I’m Mark.  Can someone give me an update, please?” he asked as he began to examine John.

“This is John, my brother.  I’m Scott.  John took four Temazepam tablets roughly 14 minutes ago.  I know I probably shouldn’t have, but I made him vomit seven minutes ago, as soon as I found out.  I thought perhaps if they hadn’t dissolved… you know.”

“Okay Scott.  I see you’ve managed to keep him awake, that’s good.”  He looked up at his colleague, who handed him a hypodermic needle.  “I’m going to give him a shot of Naloxone.  Hopefully, as you made him vomit, he’ll only need one shot, but we’ll see how it goes.”  He worked quickly and administered the shot.  “Any difficulty breathing?”

“No.”

“Excellent.”  He then addressed John directly.  “John, are you still with me?  John?”

“Sleepy… go away…”

“Can’t do that yet, I’m afraid.  If you don’t mind me asking, what made you take the pills, John?”

“Too much… too loud… everything got too loud… I couldn’t sleep.”

Mark frowned, so Scott filled him in.

“John’s autistic.  He hates crowds of people, and his friend Adrian here said he was put in a crowded situation, plus he has a big assignment to get finished.”

“Has he done this type of thing before?”

“No… well not that I know of.  At home, there’s always been someone around to ground him, but here at uni… well… he’s on his final year.  John’s really smart, the smartest of all of us.”

“How many of you are there?”

“Five.  Five brothers in total.”

“Wow!  I’m an only child myself.”  He paused as he checked John’s vitals for the third time.  “I think we may be lucky.  The one shot looks like it’s going to be enough.  Is anyone able to stop with him?  If not, we’ll have to take him to hospital.”

“I’m staying,” Scott replied.

“Okay.  Let’s see how he is after ten more minutes.  If he’s looking stable, then we’ll let him stay here.  Um… perhaps you might think about getting him some counselling?  We don’t want him to try this again.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Scott assured him.  “Do you want a coffee or something whilst we’re waiting?  The kettle hasn’t long boiled.

“That’s kind of you, but I’m okay.  How about you, Ros?” Mark asked his companion.

“If I drink anymore today, I think I’ll explode,” the woman replied smiling.  “But thank you for the offer.”  She began to pack items back in the bag.

John had gone quiet and fallen asleep, but he was breathing well and his vitals were all in the green.

“I think our work here is done,” Mark said, standing up.

“Thank you,” Scott said feelingly.

Mark gave him a small smile and nodded.  “Just doing our job.”

Scott took hold of his hand and gave it a firm shake.  “I know, but thank you all the same.”

“You’re welcome.  I hope everything turns out all right for you.”

With that, they left.

“Jasmine tea?” Adrian asked.

“God no!  Coffee, black, two sugars, please!” Scott retorted.

Adrian grinned at him.  “I think I’ll join you.  Didn’t like to tell John I can’t stand his Jasmine tea!”

They exhibited the first genuine smiles as they sat and drank their coffees.

Adrian told Scott a bit about himself and what he was studying, and that he considered John a friend, so that helped to relieve Scott’s anxiety about having to leave John in the near future, but big brother had what he hoped was an ace up his sleeve.

Adrian left him about an hour afterwards, so Scott could have some quality time with his younger brother before he had to leave.

Scott stretched out alongside his younger brother and gently ran his fingers through the red hair.  “I wish you’d told me, Johnny,” he whispered.  “You know you can tell me anything.”

Although his brother was asleep, he unconsciously must have felt the soft touch and rolled over, snuggling tightly against Scott; a wayward hand snaking across his waist to make sure he couldn’t escape.

Scott smiled gently.  “It’s okay, bro.  I’m not going anywhere for a few hours, I promise.”  He leant over and kissed the top of his head before resting against the headboard.  His own eyes gradually grew heavy and he followed John into sleep.

Scott wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but he knew it had to be a few hours as it was getting dark outside.  He went to carefully remove himself from John’s hold, when John woke up, somewhat disorientated.

“Scotty…?  Is that you?”

“Yeah John, it’s me.  How are you feeling?”

“I’ve been really stupid, haven’t I?”

“I won’t say stupid, but it wasn’t clever,” Scott came back with.

“I should have told you, I know.  But I felt if I did you would look at me as a failure.”

“Never, John.  I would never think that of you.”

“I know… I just panicked, I guess.”

“Do you feel up to telling me what caused it?  So we can prevent it happening again?”

“I feel foolish.”

“Come on, it’s me, it’s your big brother.  You can tell me anything, you know that.”

“I know.”  John gave a huge sigh.  He finally looked in Scott’s direction, but kept his eyes averted.  “I unintentionally got caught up in a protest march, that was the beginning, and then students crowded in the square demanding better rights and protesting at the university fees, whilst I was trying to get through, and then there was a party and it just became too much.  Everything was crowding in; pressing on me until I couldn’t breathe.  It was so loud, I couldn’t stand it!”

“Okay, okay.  How are you feeling now?”

“Better.”

“That’s good.  I take it though, you don’t want to go out?”

John shook his head vehemently.

“Okay, we’ll get a takeout delivered.  What do you fancy?”

Chinese.  I know a good one.  If I phone, will you order?”

“Sure, just tell me what you want.”

The food arrived half an hour later.  Scott had asked if he wanted to invite Adrian to share, but he shook his head, saying he just wanted his big brother, who nodded kindly.

The evening wore on, and Scott found himself nodding off.  It had been a long day with all the flying and the worry.

“Can we share, like we did when we were kids?” John asked shyly.

“If that’s what my little brother wants, that’s what my little brother gets.”

They got changed into their nightwear, then snuggled up in the double bed.  It was a little cosy, but neither of them minded.

“Scotty?”

“Mmm?”

“I really wasn’t attempting to… to end it all, I just wanted to have a good sleep, honest,” John mumbled.

“I believe you,” his brother replied with as much conviction he could manage.

“I’m scared though.”

“What of, little brother?”  Scott was carding his hand through John’s hair again.

“You’re going off to the Air Force.  Promise me you’ll stay safe.  I – I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“I promise I will do my best, John.  I really will.  But why the concern?”

“I’ve heard rumblings about Bereznik… that something is brewing over there.”

“There’s always rumblings,” Scott said, trying to allay his fears.

“But you will be careful, won’t you?”

“Yes, I will be careful.  Now, go to sleep.  I’m right here.”

“Love you, Scotty.”

“Love you too, John.”

The redhead curled into him and Scott kissed the top of his head as they settled down to sleep, but it wouldn’t come for the elder brother.  His mind was whirling round and round as he wondered if what he had planned would work for John, or whether he’d have to get Virgil involved.  He’d ask the Bear to keep an eye on him anyway, just to be safe.  That seemed to alleviate his worry enough for him to finally doze off.

The sun was well up when they awoke the following morning.

“Have you got to go home today?” John asked as they sat at the small table eating breakfast.

“I’m afraid so.  I need to pack before I leave for Montgomery in a couple of days.”  He looked at his brother’s crestfallen face.  “Don’t move.  I have something for you.”

Scott got up and went to his bag that was all packed in readiness for his departure.  He rummaged around in it until he placed his hands on the item he was looking for.  He stroked it fondly, then hiding it in his hand, he returned to the table and sat down again.  Reaching across the table, he took hold of one of John’s hands.

“I won’t always be able to be here in person.  I don’t know where my Air Force career is going to take me.  If I am able, I will always answer if you call, but if I can’t, because I’m on a mission or something, I don’t want you to think I’ve deserted you, so I want you to have this.”

He brought his other hand from under the table, turned John’s hand he was holding so it was palm up, and put the little knitted blue plane into it.

“I know it’s not a proper substitute, but I’m hoping that having something of mine will help you through the tough times.”

John’s eyes widened.  Their Mom had knitted the plane for little Scotty and he kept it with him wherever he went.  “Scott, I can’t take this… Mom knitted this for—”

“Look after it for me, until I get back, okay?  It’s for the times when I can’t answer your call, Johnny.  I want you to know that I’ll always be with you in some form.”

There were tears of love in John’s eyes as he looked at the slightly worn plane, and then at Scott, who nodded slightly.  John suddenly clutched the little woollen aircraft tightly in his hand.

“It’ll be with me every second of every day, so if I feel I’m becoming overwhelmed, I can touch it and know you’re here in spirit at least,” he finally replied.

“You’ll be okay, John, I know you will.  It’ll help keep you safe.”

John got up from his seat, moved round to where Scott sat and threw his arms around him.  “Love you so much, Scotty,” he mumbled, hugging him surprisingly tightly.

“Love you too, bro.  Love you too.  Everything will be okay…”