AN: Just an idea I've been knocking around for a while...and further spurred on by something gumnut-logic mentioned.

Second in Command

What do you do when you suddenly have the job you never wanted?

One: Organized Chaos

They hit the doors of the ER at full tilt, crashing their way into the busy triage area. Of course it would be full, Virgil thought with some part of his brain not taken up with the horrors at hand; the quake had hit at precisely 0315 Christchurch time, and the majority of the injured and walking wounded were wearing pajamas and slippers. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a dark-skinned toddler in dusty footed jammies, one chubby hand clutching a well-loved Winnie the Pooh bear as he cried against his father's shoulder. For a heart-stopping moment, the child was Fermat, Brains' little son, but then he blinked and the child became a stranger again. Fermat was far away, visiting Moffie's parents; something that Virgil was sure Brains was glad for at this moment.

Focus, Virg, snapped a voice in his ear, cutting through the miasma of confusion.

Scott's voice. Commanding, centering, grounding, as it always was.

Except right now, it was only in Virgil's memory.

The man who owned that voice was lying on the stretcher being hustled at speed down the endless hallway, an orderly and a nurse on each side. Up ahead, three doctors in white coats awaited them: Two men and one woman, all wearing identical expressions of intense concentration.

"What have we got?" one of the men barked out, as admin staff and visitors scurried out of their path.

"Male, twenty-seven, blunt force trauma to the chest and abdomen," one of the nurses–a tall, blonde man with wire-framed glasses–called back as they slid into the treatment room. "Suspected skull fracture. Pulse is steady but BP is dropping."

One of the orderlies tugged the curtain around the bed, and Virgil took a step forward to ensure he was within the boundary. Among the scrubs and whites, his uniform stood out with its bright pop of color, and suddenly he felt every ounce of the gear hanging off of him; the adrenaline must be draining away.

On the bed, Scott's uniform was being sliced from him in neat, quick cuts by two pairs of shining scissors. When they peeled the neoprene from his torso, Virgil couldn't help a short hiss of breath between his teeth; Scott's proudly-earned six pack was mottled with deep purple and magenta. There's your low BP, he muttered to himself, as sensors were attached to Scott's pale skin. He shuddered, unable to help but wonder if the concrete that had buried Scott had turned his insides into mincemeat. He fought back a sudden wave of nausea; he didn't think he'd ever touch a mince pie again as long as he lived.

"Have we got a name for our friend here?" The doctor–a muscular man with ebony skin and a crop of dreds bundled into a neat bun at the crown of his head–didn't look up from the monitor, but everyone else glanced at Virgil.

"Scott," he supplied, hearing his voice as if it were someone else's. "His name's Scott." He swallowed back the words: He's my big brother. Time enough for that later, if necessary.

"You guys from International Rescue?" One of the nurses chimed in, lifting Scott's baldric away as her counterpart across the bed attempted to slice through the anchor strap and belt.

"Yes. Here, use this." Virgil produced his multi-tool from his belt and handed to her. "Save your scissors; it's tough."

The two nurses shared a glance across Scott's limp form, but sure enough, the tool cut through the straps like a hot knife through butter, and the first nurse handed both tool and baldric to Virgil.

On the bed, Scott had begun to moan, unintelligible words falling from his swollen lips. "Virg–Virg'l–watch–"

"Who's Virgil?" The doctor spun to look at the second iR member in the room. "Is that you?"

"Yeah." He took a step forward next to the doctor, but the action didn't stop around them for a second. Dropping the baldric on the floor, Virgil gently caught Scott's hand in both of his. "I'm here, Scotty, I'm here." He squeezed the slack fingers. "It's gonna be okay. You're safe."

Blue eyes flickered, then fastened blearily on Virgil's face. "Th'hell happ–happened–"

"Quake. Christchurch. You're in the hospital. You're safe." Virgil held the ocean-deep gaze with his own amber one, willing Scott to understand. "Everyone else is okay."

"Got them…in time?"

Virgil smiled. "It was close, but we made it." He leaned over Scott and spoke into his ear. "You let them take care of you, okay boss? I'll be right here."

A ghost of a smile passed over Scott's dusty face. "You're th'boss now."

And with that, Scott coded, sending everyone into organized chaos.