Thirteen: Ready, Set, Stop

"Uuuuugh," Scott groaned, pushing back from the commsphere and letting himself float. "What was that, four?" He yawned hugely as John shut down the remaining windows.

"Five," John answered. "My record for concurrent rescue situations is six: Two active, two monitoring, and two in mop-up." He, too, let himself float. "We've been operational around the clock for forty-eight hours. Per the GDF and our own charter, we're dark for the next twenty-four."

"Thank God Dad built that in." Scott blew out a breath. "I could sleep for a week."

John smiled wanly. "Technically, you're still convalescing. You could sleep for a week. I'll be lucky if I get eight solid hours." He shooed Scott over to the hatchway leading to the gravity ring. "You have a doctor's appointment the day after tomorrow, if I'm not mistaken."

"With Dr. Morton, yes." Scott rubbed his bloodshot eyes and made a face at the sound of stubble against his gloves. "I hope I'll give him lots of good data for his paper."

"Well, you won't be of much use to him or anyone else if you don't get some sleep." John clapped him on the shoulder, steadying his big brother on his feet as the gravity ring began to spin. "You go on ahead, I'm gonna make one more check before I turn in."

Scott took a step and nearly fell on his face. "Whoops." He straightened to fix John with a sleepy smile, then frowned. "Eww, gross."

John raised an eyebrow. "What's gross?"

"That smell." Scott scrunched up his nose even as John pointed his to the ceiling. "Smells like burnt bagels."

A frisson of alarm ran up John's spine; there were many potential dangers aboard a space station, but fire was one of the worst. "EOS," John called, pulling up a schematic of his station on his wrist comm. "Run a diagnostic; see if you get any hits for overheating."

She was silent for all of twenty seconds. "My scan shows negative, John. All circuits are running within parameters. Also: There are no bagels currently in the toaster."

"Huh. That's weird." Scott gave his underarm a sniff and shrugged. "Might just be me." He yawned again and gave John a wave. "I'll take a shower before I leave. Don't stay up too long."

"'Night." John smiled fondly at Scott's back until he turned the corner toward the crew quarters, then moved back toward the mostly-dim display. "Finally," he breathed, as EOS' camera swung into place above him. "I love my job, but some days I wish I didn't love it quite so much."

"I'm glad I don't get tired," EOS chirped. "Sleep looks terribly unproductive."

"It really isn't," John countered. "Humans need sleep to-"

"John! Scott has collapsed in the companionway!"

The urgency in her voice wiped the fatigue from John's brain, and he sprinted into the corridor to find Scott lying in a crumpled heap of blue. John crashed to his knees beside his big brother and gently rolled him into the recovery position. "Scott! Can you hear me?"

Although Scott was pale and didn't move beyond a fluttering of his eyelids, John took a modicum of comfort in the fact that his brother was breathing. However as he watched, Scott's body began twitching as if he were attached to a live wire. A long, low groan emitted from Scott's open mouth, and tears welled in John's eyes as he dashed into his quarters and snatched Scott's pillow from the compartment. "I'm here, Scotty. You're gonna be okay," he soothed, gently sliding the pillow under Scott's head. "EOS, how long has the seizure been running?"

"Twenty-five seconds," she replied. "My medical scan capability is limited, but Scott has suffered no injuries, and his temperature is normal."

"Not a febrile seizure," John murmured almost to himself as Scott continued to convulse. "I'm here, Scott," he repeated, even though he wasn't sure his brother could hear him. "You're not alone."

"Forty-five seconds," EOS counted off. "Breathing rapid and shallow. Pulse rate elevated. One minute."

John's jaw tightened. "Prep the elevator for immediate departure. We'll leave as soon as Scott is alert."

"FAB. One minute thirty seconds."

"Uuuuuuhhhh," Scott moaned. "Nnnnuuuh-" The sound broke off abruptly, and John's heart stopped.

Scott lay motionless and silent for three long, eternal seconds-and then dragged in a wet, raggy breath that sounded almost like a snore. John slumped and let his head drop into his hands. "Thank you," he murmured to the universe in general.

Scott's eyelids flickered and his body gave a final rebellious flex, flopping his head back on his limp neck. "Ngghh," he groaned. "Zhh...zhaahn?"

John leaned down to Scott's eye level, smoothing the sweaty hair back from his forehead. "I'm here," he said, folding their fingers together. "Just rest."

Panting as if he'd run a marathon, Scott lay where he'd fallen, clinging weakly to John's hand. "Wh...wha hap'nd?"

"You had a seizure," John answered. "Time, EOS?"

"Total active seizure time: Two minutes, fifteen seconds," she replied. "Space elevator is pressurized and ready."

"We're gonna get you checked out here in a minute, okay?" John smoothed Scott's hair again. "Just concentrate on getting all that good oxygen into you. In, out. That's it."

They breathed together for a few minutes until the glazed look left Scott's eyes. "Johnny?"

"Got it in one," John quipped. "You with me, big brother?"

"Think so," Scott ventured, his voice like a rasp on metal. "Tired."

"I know." John tapped his wrist comm and they floated gently off the floor. "Let's get your helmet, okay?"

Scott let John gather him up into his arms and propel them toward the airlock. "Where-?"

"You're on 'Five. We're leaving in a minute and getting you to the hospital." John snagged their helmets from the locker as he went past, letting go of Scott long enough to engage the neck seal and attach Scott's helmet. After donning his own, he guided them toward the door. When the door irised open, John settled Scott into the seat and secured him for the short, but sometimes bumpy journey down to the surface. "Need to get you checked out."

"Right," Scott sighed, asleep as the word left his lips.

John watched him for a moment, then tapped his baldric. "Thunderbird Five to Tracy Island."

"Tracy Island here," chirped a sunlit voice. "What's the latest, spaceman?"

"Gordon, alert Virgil that we need Thunderbird Two ready for immediate launch to Christchurch Memorial," John barked. "Scott's had a seizure. I'm bringing him down; ETA thirty minutes."

All teasing instantly drained from Gordon's voice. "FAB. How's he doing?"

"He's resting right now."

"How long of a seizure?" Among his many credentials, Gordon was a certified EMT, and John let a small smile flit across his face at the quirks of the universe to give him just the right person to talk to.

"Two minutes, fifteen seconds. EOS can fill you in on his vitals."

"Damn," Gordon replied. "A seizure. He's gonna be so pissed."

"Why?"

"Because, Jay," Gordon said simply, "the GDF will pull his ticket. He won't be able to fly."

"I feel silly," Scott was saying as Virgil secured him in one of the medbay stretchers. "Really, I'll be fine on the jumpseat."

"This is my 'Bird, and I say safety first," Virgil countered, tapping the bio readout into life. He pushed away the memory of Scott lying there a few months before, bruised, incoherent, and vomiting blood all over Gordon from internal injuries. "Just kick back for a while. Take a nap."

"I'm fine," Scott retorted, then yawned. "That was just the power of suggestion."

"Sure. And monkeys might fly out of my ass." Virgil moved forward to plant himself in the pilot's seat. "Everyone strapped in?"

"Are we there yet?" Gordon whined. "I'm hungry! I need to pee! Alan's hogging the tablet and won't gimme it!" He blinked, all innocence as John and Virgil turned to fix him with identical annoyed frowns from the front seats. "What? This is like one of our old family trips. I thought I'd, y'know, add some authenticity."

"Spare us," Virgil groaned. "Launch in five, four, three, two, one, ignition-" 'Two's twin candles keened, and the big green behemoth began to rumble beneath them. In a few seconds, they'd cleared the ramp and the heavy lifter clawed its way into the clear blue sky. Virgil guided them past the marker buoy and away from the island. "Thunderbird Two is go."

After settling them onto a course for Christchurch, Virgil glanced over at John. "How's our impatient patient?"

John twisted in his seat, giving Scott a quick visual scan, then turned to the HUD receiving data from the bio-stretcher. "He's asleep. Our EEG isn't as sophisticated as the one at the hospital, but from what it's picking up, he's not showing any abnormalities." John shrugged. "This might have just been a one-off, but we can't take that chance."

Everyone sat in silence for a moment, the implications of an epileptic Scott weighing heavily on them. If his head injury had brought on the seizure disorder, they would need to take significant steps in order to keep Scott safe-the most glaring of which would be to ground him.

"Can I just say it?" asked Alan.

"Say what?" Virgil asked, although he had the feeling he knew what Alan's choice words about the situation would be.

"This sucks."

"No," Gordon countered. "It blows."

"How about both?" John added.

"Both," Alan replied. "Both is good."

It was something of a novelty to approach a hospital without someone actively bleeding, barfing, or broken, Virgil mused as he settled TB2 on Christchurch Memorial's helipad. Everyone was conscious, which also had to be some sort of a record. Well, Scott was asleep, but he'd done so voluntarily.

Dr. Morton was waiting for them in the Emergency entrance, arms folded and face composed, even if there was worry in the depths of his eyes. "Fancy meeting you boys here," he quipped darkly. "Let's get Scott some wheels."

"I'm fine," protested the man in question, even as Alan grabbed a wheelchair from a line parked near the door. "Hi, Dr. Morton." He snorted. "I planned on giving you the data for your paper...just not quite like this."

"Trust me," said Morton, leading the troop of civvie-clad Tracys through the busy ward and into a less-populated hallway, "you're giving me an absolute ton of data. This is going to be one of the more interesting papers I've published."

"Pulitzer material, is our Scotty," Gordon cracked.

"That'd be the Nobel prize, Gordo," Virgil corrected.

"Eh, whatever. Just stick a blue ribbon on his forehead. Sooo-ey!"

"Uh," protested Scott, twisting in his seat to fix Gordon with a piquant glare.

Dr. Morton chuckled and swiped his keycard at a door labeled Same-Day Ward. "If we ever come to the day when I don't see you boys on a regular basis, I'm gonna miss the Tracy sense of humor." He grinned at his small army of followers. "It's definitely the highlight of my day."

"We'll make sure to get banged up whenever we're in the area," Alan said, steering Scott into a curtained alcove on the wide ward.

"Don't even joke about that, Allie," Virgil gritted. "Quick, find some wood."

Five sets of knuckles did so automatically, bringing another chuckle from the doctor. "All right. I'm sure you'll all agree with me when I wish this was just a social call, but-" He sighed as John and Virgil helped Scott climb up on the bed. "What happened, Scott?"

"I dunno." Scott made a helpless gesture with both hands, and let them fall back to his jean-clad thighs. "One minute I'm telling John that I'm gonna go take a nap, the next I'm lying on the floor wondering why John looks like he's seen a ghost." He shrugged. "I was tired, but I didn't plan on taking my nap in the companionway."

"Doesn't sound like my idea of a good time." Dr. Morton had been flicking windows and displays into life as Scott spoke, and now he nodded to Scott's chest. "Let's have you gown up; I need to get you wired."

"Do you want us to wait outside?" Virgil asked, hovering behind Gordon and Alan.

"He ain't got nothin' I've never seen," Gordon drawled, earning him a thwap on the back of the head from Virgil. "What? It's true."

"That's the worst double-negative I've ever heard," said John, giving the aquanaut a withering glare. "And 'ain't' isn't a word."

"It ain't?" asked Alan.

"Virg, get the comedy crew out of here so Dr. Morton can hear himself think," Scott ordered, unbuttoning his shirt. "Do you want John to stay, since he's my witness?"

"Yes, that'd be good." Dr. Morton tossed a salute at the retreating Tracys. "See you guys later. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"Hey Gordy," Alan said as they followed Virgil out of the cubicle. "I met this really cute volunteer named Bibi a while back, I wonder if we could find her?"

"Sure, I'll be your wingman, little bro." Gordon breezed. " I'll even give you some tips on how to give her the ol' Tracy razzle-dazzle."

"Out," Virgil ordered, and they were gone.

Soon, Scott was once again sporting a hospital gown and little else, and John was folding his Oxford and jeans into a neat pile. Dr. Morton opened a drawer, grabbed a plastic bag labeled 'Patient Belongings,' and handed it to John, who stuffed Scott's shoes in and then settled the clothes on top. Dr. Morton fished a Sharpie out of his pocket and gave it to John so he could label the bag with Scott's name. "Maybe I should buy my own set of snazzy hospital duds," Scott snarked irritably. "I seem to be wearing them enough these days."

John smirked and handed back the Sharpie. "Maybe Penny knows a designer specializing in medical chic." He cinched the top of the bag and tossed it on a nearby chair. "Remind me to give her a buzz later."

"Hopefully you won't need to," said Dr. Morton, peeling the backing from an adhesive sensor and sticking it to Scott's chest. "There, that's the last of them. Now," he said, tugging the gown back over Scott's shoulder, "let's talk about what happened today. What was going on immediately before the seizure?"

"Well, John and I had been working up at 'Five since-what, last Tuesday?" He looked at John for confirmation. "I get my days mixed up when I'm up there."

"A week ago Sunday," John clarified. "We'd planned on having Scott stay at the station until his appointment the day after tomorrow."

"And had you been busy?"

"Very," John said with a nod. "We'd been working a number of rescues, and as invariably happens, the rescues piled up. We have mandated rest periods built into our rotation if our rescues clock over twelve hours, and we were following protocol on those." He glanced over at Scott. "I thought I'd err on the side of caution and shorten Scott's active comm duty to six hour stretches before sending him to bed."

Dr. Morton's fingers were flying over his datapad. "And how long is the rest period?"

"No less than two hours, but we shoot for three or four." John shrugged. "It's not a perfect system, but it's one we came up with after consulting several experts on similar situations."

"So you and Scott had been working together like this for how long?"

"Almost forty-eight hours," Scott supplied with a grimace. "We'd signed off on the last one about five minutes before my seizure."

"I see." Dr. Morton made a notation on his pad. "Many people who suffer seizures report something odd happening immediately beforehand, such as an unexplained feeling of foreboding or giddiness." He shrugged. "Some even report visual or auditory hallucinations, or a strange smell. Did you notice any of that right before the incident?"

"I honestly can't remember." Scott frowned and looked to John. "Did I do something weird?"

"You said you smelled burnt bagels," John supplied. "It made me nervous enough to-ah, run a diagnostic on the station just to make sure it wasn't on fire." EOS was International Rescue's secret, and John was determined to keep it that way. "Everything was fine. I turned around to mop things up and boom, you were out."

"That's called an 'aura,'" Dr. Morton informed them. "It seems to be a sort of precursor to a seizure event. Of course, you can have a seizure without having an aura, so they're not the best predictors." He glanced up at the wall of readouts. "Right now the rest of your body seems to be functioning normally: Blood pressure, pulse, respiration are all good." He turned to survey both Tracys with a critical eye. "I'll have to run a few tests to be absolutely certain, but I'm thinking this was a result of fatigue on top of a healing traumatic brain injury."

Scott blinked. "So this was just a one-off? I don't actually have epilepsy?"

"I'm going to reserve judgement on that for the moment," Dr. Morton replied. "Anyone can have a seizure at any time, but of course having a head injury or an illness affecting the brain or nervous system puts you at higher odds for a seizure disorder." He sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. "If you don't have another incident in the next six months, then I'd say it's unlikely that you have a seizure disorder."

John jumped in before Scott could say anything about the timeframe. "But you're going to run some tests to rule out anything else, if I'm understanding you correctly?"

"Absolutely." Dr. Morton tucked his pad under his arm. "I've ordered a battery of scans, and we'll keep you overnight for observation as well." He gave Scott a tight-lipped smile. "We have another patient using the Tracy Neurological Recovery Unit, so I can't give you your old room back, but we'll find someplace comfortable for you."

"Broom closet," Scott quipped. "Nurse's lounge, you know. Any old place."

Dr. Morton chuckled. "We'll see what we can do. In the meantime, just relax. I'll see if I can get you two something to eat."

"I'm fine," John said, "but Scott definitely needs something; he hasn't eaten anything since we left the station."

"Noted. I'll see you two soon."

When the doctor's footsteps were out of earshot, Scott deflated, laying his head back against the pillow with a pained expression. John jumped up and was immediately by his side. "Are you okay?" he asked, a line of worry between his ginger brows.

"No." One hand shot out and grabbed John's arm when the astronaut would have rushed to summon help. "Not like that. I'm fine."

John subsided into a chair, but didn't say anything in hopes of encouraging Scott to elaborate. The pilot didn't speak, so after a few moments, John gave him a verbal nudge. "So-?"

"Did you hear him, Johnny?" Scott's throat worked. "Six months. I have to be seizure free for six months before they can rule out epilepsy."

"From what I hear, it's a standard precaution," John soothed, even as he felt his own stomach sinking at the implications of the words.

"I won't be able to fly until they clear me," Scott said, his voice small and quiet. "I thought…" His throat worked again, and a single tear rolled out of the corner of his eye. "She was so close. I could almost feel the grips in my hands." He curled his fingers into his palms. "So close, and now I've lost her again."

"It's just a minor setback-"

"Six months, Jay." Scott shook his head. "I don't think I've been out of the sky that long since I got my license."

John laid his hand on Scott's wrist and gave it a comforting squeeze. "I know."

Together, they waited.

Behind the glass of the radiology waiting area, Virgil watched as Scott's prone form was positioned in the scanner. Scott lay on the table, motionless except for the flicker of his eyes as they took in the arc of the machine looming above him. The machine was smaller and more powerful than its predecessors, but it still required the subject to remain perfectly still for an accurate scan. Virgil admired his big brother's ability to lay still even as he knew Scott was feeling restless in more ways than one.

John's ghostly reflection appeared beside Virgil, his features rendered indistinct by the well-lit room beyond the glass. "How's he doing?" John asked, handing Virgil a fragrant wrapped parcel. "Ham and swiss on rye with mustard, kosher dill on the side, per your request."

"Oh, thanks." Virgil took the food absently, eyes still on Scott, who hadn't moved a muscle. "He's a trooper, been letting them poke and prod him without so much as an 'ow.'"

They watched as the technician, a young woman with a piecey bob that shifted from dark brown to bright red, moved smoothly around the room. She chatted with Scott as she angled instruments and tapped readouts, and Scott cracked a tentative smile that eased off a little of the tension in Virgil's shoulders. When everything was situated to her liking, the tech stepped up to say something to Scott, her hand resting on his for a moment. He gave her a brave smile, and she returned it before settling a pair of noise-cancelling headphones over his ears. She made sure he was comfortable, slipped the emergency call-button into his hand, and then gave him a thumbs-up to indicate all was in readiness.

"I think they're getting started," Virgil said, watching as the technician retreated behind her readouts. She slipped on her own set of noise-cancelling headphones, and Virgil smiled; the headband was decorated with a charming set of cat ears. Her hands danced over the input, and the machine began to make loud hammering noises as the magnets activated. Virgil screwed up his face. "Damn. Sounds like 'Two when she needs an overhaul."

John chuckled. "In before the jokes about Scott having a 'magnetic' personality."

Virgil threw him a knowing smirk and turned back to watch the proceedings.

Thankfully, the scan only lasted a few minutes, and soon the technician was setting aside her headphones as she powered down the machine. Scott slid out of the machine, and she must have said something about getting a good stretch because Scott pulled off the headphones and did exactly that. He accepted her help to sit up, then gave back the headphones and the call button. The two talked for a few moments, and then the technician was motioning to Virgil to enter with the wheelchair.

"All done," she was saying as Virgil entered the room. "Dr. Morton should be reviewing the results soon." Her comm pinged, and she brought it out of her pocket to scan the message. "Looks like they found you a bed; I'm to direct you to the nurses' station on the third floor, and they'll get you settled."

"Sounds good." Scott nodded towards Virgil. "Here's my chauffeur now."

Virgil parked the wheelchair and stuck out his hand. "Virgil Tracy. Scott's my big brother."

She smiled and shook his hand. "Good to meet you, Virgil. I'm Jo."

He tipped his head toward their patient, who was beginning to wilt with exhaustion. "Looks like you need some rack time there, Scooter."

"Agreed. I think I'm all tested out for one day." Scott gave Jo a tired smile and put out his hand. "Thanks for making that fairly painless, Jo. Don't take this the wrong way, but I hope the next time I see you, it's not in a hospital."

"Me too." She shook his hand, her cheeks going pink. "Good luck, Scott."

Virgil fought the urge to roll his eyes; apparently the Tracy charm was undimmed by head injuries or hospital garb. "Okay, you old smoothie. Let's get you horizontal for a few hours."

Scott surfaced from a pool of sleep to the sound of his brothers' voices, Virgil's low rumble a counterpoint to John's smooth precision. He lay there for a time, content to listen to them before jumping back into reality.

"...we're gonna do this," Virgil said quietly. "You've kept the board up to date?"

"I check in with them twice a week. It's usually a short conversation, since Scott's been doing so well."

"So you'll tell them about this latest...detour when you check in?"

"I planned on doing that tonight, yeah." John sighed. "Guess I can't throw my 'Happy Retirement from TI' party just yet."

Virgil chuckled. "I'll buy you a latte instead."

"The 'congratulations for almost retiring' latte." John's soft laugh was tinged with bitterness at the edges. "Although here we are bemoaning our own disappointments, when Scott…" John trailed off. "He and I were talking earlier. He's pretty shot down by this whole thing."

"I'm sure," Virgil replied. "The MRI will tell the tale, I think."

"Scared the hell outta me," John muttered. "Seeing him laid out like that. I thought 'well, here we go' and just had to wait it out."

A scruffing sound told Scott that Virgil had rubbed his hands over his face in an effort to banish fatigue. "I always knew something like this could happen to us. It's always there, but you get used to it, like an elephant sitting in the room that eventually becomes part of the furniture. Now it's happened. Keeps happening."

"And because it's Scott-" John supplied.

"Yeah. Because it's Scott, the big bro, the boss...it just seems that much worse."

"Although If it had been Allie or Gordy under that bank, with their heads bashed in and insides turned to hamburger…" Once again, John trailed off. "I think I know what he'd say."

Virgil huffed out a humorless laugh. "Yeah, me too. If he could choose someone for it to happen to, he'd volunteer every time." They were both quiet for a moment. "When Gordy had his accident, Scott told me he'd wished it had been him."

John sighed. "I think we all had that thought."

"Right."

Scott decided these maudlin musings had gone far enough, so he made a show of stretching and yawning. "Hey. Sorry about that." He rubbed his eyes. "Can't seem to stay awake for more than five minutes at a time."

Virgil patted his shoulder. "S'okay. From what Dr. Morton said, having a seizure wears you out." The whiskey-brown eyes pinned him. "How do you feel?"

"Fine, just tired." Scott glanced over at John, who was perched on his chair as if ready to jump up at any moment. "Relax, spaceman."

"I'm relaxed," the redhead protested, sinking back into the spindly chair and crossing one jean-clad leg over the other.

Scott snorted. "If we stood you in a stiff breeze, you'd twang." He sighed. "We might as well get this over with. Where's the Terrible Two?"

"Last I heard, they were hanging around the volunteer's lounge," Virgil replied, tapping his wrist comm. "Something about finding a cute girl who was getting flirty with Alan."

"Oh, yeah," Scott mused. "Bibi. She and Alan made eyes at each other while he was running me back and forth to physical therapy." He smiled. "I offered to wait while he got her number, but I guess having a sickly bro for a wingman isn't real romantic."

"Hearts and Flowers Department," drawled a voice from Virgil's comm. "Cupid speaking, how may I snog you?"

Virgil made a face. "Try again, laughing boy."

"Yeesh, what a grouch." Gordon snickered. "You should see Allie; he's got Miss Bibi eating out of his hand." A melodramatic sigh, accompanied by an exaggerated sniffle. "Makes a brother proud."

"Well, tell him I hate to break up the lovefest, but we need you both up here."

Alan's voice cut in, concern evident in his tone. "Is Scott okay?"

"I'm fine," Scott answered. "We just need to talk. All of us."

"Uh oh," said Gordon. "Sounds like one of those kinds of talks."

"Never mind what kind they are," Virgil replied. "Just get your asses up here, pronto."

"FAB," came the reply in chorus, and the comm fell silent.

Scott settled back on the pillows and folded his arms across his chest. "This reminds me of when Dad used to get all of us in the living room and Talk to us with a capital 't'."

"I think it was just the three of us for the first one," Virgil mused. "That one was about girls."

John rolled his eyes. "Thanks, Virg. I'd finally managed to forget about that."

"Hey you two," called Scott, raising his head to address the youngest two as Gordon groped the curtain to find the entrance. "How's your ladyfriend, Allie?"

Alan emerged from the swirling folds of beige polyester, his cheeks pink. "She's cool. I found out she's a Cavern Quest player, so we're gonna meet up on the server this weekend and have a frag fest." He shrugged. "We'll see how it goes."

Virgil laughed. "Sounds real romantic there, Al."

"You and Kayo should try it sometime," Alan shot back. "She's a badass with a sword."

"While this is all very interesting," Scott interrupted, "we need to talk about what's going on with me." He shrugged. "Not that I enjoy talking about myself, but right now, we don't have much choice."

Gordon slid into the remaining chair, and Alan folded himself cross-legged on the end of Scott's bed. "What did the scan come up with?" Gordon asked, the laughing eyes growing serious.

"We haven't heard the results of the MRI yet, but knowing my history and from what John told him, Dr. Morton said he thought it was a combination of fatigue and my brain still on the mend," said Scott.

"That's good news, right?" Alan looked from Scott to Virgil. "You just need to be careful and rest more."

"It is, and I do, but-" Scott sighed. "Dr. Morton says that standard operating procedure for anyone who suffers a seizure without having a history of them is taking a 'wait and see' period before ruling out epilepsy."

"How long does he want you to wait?" Gordon asked, though by the pained look on his normally genial features, Scott was fairly sure he knew the answer.

"Six months." The words thudded into the room. "I'll have to report my condition to the GDF, and they'll suspend my pilot's license until I'm cleared."

They all sat in silence for a moment, absorbing the implications of that statement.

"Well, you've been out for almost four months already," Alan said quietly. "We've managed pretty good so far." He shrugged. "Yeah, I miss having you with us, but-" He raised cornflower eyes to Scott's sapphire ones. "I'd rather have you on the ground so you're there when I get back, y'know?"

Alan was right, Scott mused. He'd run through every scenario in his mind, but they all stopped short at the thought of seizing at the controls of his 'Bird or while hanging from his grapple line. He might be able to run the course at Gran Roca to get back into shape, but even then he'd have to have someone with him in case of emergency. Pushing down his disappointment, he gave his little brother an attempt at a brave smile. "Thanks, Allie. I know we were hoping I'd be back in the sky soon, but looks like we'll have to wait a little longer for that." He shrugged, trying to look unconcerned. "Until then, I'll just have to find other ways to make myself useful."

The next morning, the four mobile Tracys were once again clustered around Scott's bed when Dr. Morton arrived. All eyes were on the doctor as he pointed at the pertinent window hovering over Scott's head. "So far it's good news. The MRI shows that Scott's brain is healing nicely from his injuries, and no other anomalies are present in his nervous system. There's a good chance that this was an atypical seizure." He smiled at the assembled company. "As I said yesterday, if there is no further seizure activity in the next six months, Scott will be in the clear."

"What sort of restrictions do you advise?" Virgil asked, as Scott shifted restlessly.

"Fairly standard ones, actually," Morton answered. "First and foremost-which is especially frustrating in your situation-no operating heavy machinery."

"We knew that was coming." Scott shrugged, sounding nonchalant even though Virgil could feel the waves of disappointment rolling from him. "We're already working on changes to the duty roster that'll fit with my status."

"I'm glad to hear it." Morton's smile deepened. "The majority of people with seizure disorders live fairly normal lives-though perhaps not Tracy normal." The remark brought a chuckle to all present. "Other than that, I'd say exercise caution when you're in a potentially hazardous environment-in the shower, on the stairs, anywhere there's sharp objects."

"Guess we need to get out Fermat's old baby gates and keep you corralled," said Alan, shooting a grin at Scott. "Grandma's gonna have to cut your meat for you. And is a pen considered a sharp object?"

John plastered his hand over Alan's mouth. "We'll make sure he's safe."

"I'm sure you'll all take proper precautions," said Dr. Morton with a chuckle. "Scott, I'd like to see you again in three months' time for a checkup-and of course if you have another seizure, alert me immediately."

"Thank you Dr. Morton." Scott reached out to shake his hand. "We'll be in touch."

"I'll get your discharge paperwork put through, and you'll be on your way in no time." Morton smiled at the rest of the Tracys. "Nice to see you boys again. Keep an eye on your big brother, okay?"

"Are you kidding?" Gordon quipped. "With our crew on the job, Scott won't be able to take a leak without someone tagging along."

Days turned into weeks, and as the weeks passed, it was no surprise to anyone that the reduced duty did not set well with Scott, despite their efforts to keep him in constant contact over the comms. The former Field Commander's mood sunk lower and lower, until one morning it came to a head as he and Ruth watched the team conduct a tricky firefighting operation in the Sierra Madre Mountains of Southern California. The entire region had been ablaze for nearly a week, and while the residents of both Santa Barbara and San Luis Obispo counties were grateful and cooperative, it was clear that both the Thunderbirds and the fire crews were nearing the end of their endurance.

"All crews, stand by," Virgil gritted, his voice roughened with smoke inhalation. "Engaging harmonic suppressant." The comm warbled as Virgil sent a concentrated burst of low-frequency sound waves toward the flames charring the hillside, and a weary cheer went up from the firefighters on the ground as the fire flattened and died.

"Because he's all about that bass, 'bout that bass, no treble," Gordon sang out, but John cut him off.

"That was funny the first time. Now it's just annoying."

"Just telling it like it is, Jaybird," the aquanaut drawled. "Big V brings the thunder in more ways than one."

"And how," Alan chirped. "Hey Thunderbird Two, the first aid station is done patching me up. I can give Gordon a hand if you need me to."

"There's still some hot spots down in the canyon," John confirmed. "Thunderbird Three, how's your arm? Can you drive the pod?"

"Sure, it's just a scratch," Alan volleyed back, brandishing his forearm where a white bandage hid a deep gouge carved by a rusty curl of barbed wire. "Good thing somebody bugged me to get my tetanus booster last month."

Virgil huffed out a laugh. "Next time, don't make me threaten to sit on you."

"That farmer was sure glad to have his cow back," John added, a smile flitting across his blue-tinged holographic form. "You did good, Alan."

Alan's grin flashed in his sooty face. "Yeah, poor thing was pretty spooked. If I hadn't gotten her loose, she'd have been charbroiled on the hoof."

"Watch the flare-ups, guys," Scott cautioned. "Don't let your retardant foam get below a quarter tank; keep it topped up. Thunderbird Two, you're sounding pretty rough from that smoke; Thunderbird Five, slave 'Two to your control so Virgil can change out his oxygen tanks in case he has to get back out there. I don't want anyone breathing any more smoke than you have to."

"FAB Thunderbird One," John said smoothly, his hands dancing in midair. "Ready when you are, Virgil."

"Thanks," said Virgil, ending on a cough. "CAL Fire is mopping up the hillside, so I can spare two minutes."

Ruth came to stand beside Scott, slipping an arm through his as he stared up at the globe and listened to the chatter. "They're all right, sweetie," she murmured. "Remember what Dr. Morton said: You need to back off while you're still healing."

"I should be out there," Scott muttered under his breath, his eyes locked on the feed from 'Two's cameras. "I should be out there helping them."

Ruth sighed. "Honey, I know that they miss you as much as you miss them, but fretting like this isn't helping anyone." She gently tugged at his arm. "Why don't you go rest for a bit?"

"I'm sick of resting," Scott snarled, making Ruth jump. An icy spike of regret shot down his spine. "Wait," he backpedaled, but judging by the hurt simmering in her eyes, the damage was done. He turned his eyes back to the holographic globe so he couldn't see his grandmother's face. "I know that sounds dumb, considering that a full eight hours is a rarity around here, but...this is different." He gripped a handful of the gelled spikes on his crown and tugged before letting go. "What I mean is that I'm sick of sitting on my ass, making no contribution."

Ruth marched up to Scott and planted her diminutive frame directly under his nose, her teal blue eyes blazing with indignation. "I will remind you one more time, Scott Carpenter Tracy," she growled. "You are here. You survived. And let me tell you something: You will do exactly as your doctor says as long as he says to do it." She took a single step forward, hands curled into fists. "You wanna find out exactly who calls the shots in this family? Just try me."

"Grandma," Scott breathed in disbelief.

Ruth didn't move an inch. "What's it gonna be, Scotty? You gonna listen, or what?"

Scott cast one last look at the globe, then at his grandmother's stormy face. With a sigh, he looked away. "Might as well. Not like I can be of any use here."

"Good choice." Ruth relaxed just a fraction as Scott turned to go. "And no listening in on your comm, either," she called after him. "I don't wanna hear anything except snores coming out of your room."

When he reached his room, he didn't bother to turn on the light. He kicked the door shut and flopped on his bed, landing with all the grace of a pile of bricks. His conscience gnawed at him; Grandma was just trying to make him feel better, and she didn't deserve his ire. He made a note to himself to apologize later, then wrapped himself in the duvet in hopes that sleep would improve both their moods.

The next morning, Scott was carefully applying his razor to his jawline while Gordon sat on the lid of the toilet, thumbs busily attacking the screen of his phone. The three on the ground had worked out a loose rotation of hanging out in Scott's room while he got a shower of a morning, and today was Gordon's turn. Scott rinsed his razor in hot water, then peered closely at the mirror to take another slow swipe at his foam-covered cheek.

"Really wish you could have been there yesterday," Gordon said, as tiny sounds of struggle came from his device. "One of the tankers was grounded for repairs; we could have used 'One hauling a bucket of flame retardant."

"Allie could have taken 'One." Scott scraped gently at his upper lip. "Still, you guys did pretty good, though."

"Thanks." A tinkle of victorious notes chimed on the air, and Gordon smirked before attacking the screen again with deft fingers. "I know this sucks, though, having to watch everyone from the sidelines. I get that."

"I know you know." Scott rinsed his blade again, but hesitated before starting on the right side of his face. "I never would have left you behind, Gordy," he said quietly, his tone making the aquanaut abandon his video game to look up at his big brother. "Even if you'd been disabled after your accident, I wouldn't have let you sit by and watch us be Thunderbirds. I would have-Dad would have found a place for you."

Gordon was silent, his hands motionless. "Are you afraid that's what we're doing? Leaving you behind?" He shook his head. "Never. On Mom's grave, I swear that we would never, ever do that."

Scott blinked, the mention of their mother bringing him up short as it always did. "I know you wouldn't." He fiddled with the razor handle for a moment, then turned back to the mirror and swiped the razor through the foam on his right cheek. "Just feeling sorry for myself, I guess."

"Well, like you said," Gordon said, turning back to his game. "You would have found something for me to do. You just gotta do the same-find something that you can do for us while you're in sort of a holding pattern." He shrugged. "It's not like we're gonna hold auditions for another Thunderbird One, because that's you, and that'll be you until you hang it up."

"Or until some other concrete slab finishes me off," Scott quipped darkly, rinsing his razor and drying it before stowing it back in its case.

"Hey man, you said it, I didn't."

Scott splashed his face with first warm and then cold water, then grabbed a snowy towel from the rack and applied it to his newly-shaven face. "Do you ever wonder if Dad set the bar too high?" he asked, staring into the mirror without seeing his reflection.

"How d'you mean?" Gordon frowned, though whether it was at his game or the idea that their father might have made a mistake, Scott couldn't say.

"What was he thinking, asking five young guys to save the world, day in and day out?" Scott draped the towel on the rack and then turned to lean against the sink, his bath sheet still tied around his hips. "We answer to no one but ourselves. Our equipment is proprietary. We're on call more often than not." He huffed a mirthless laugh. "I don't know how any of us are gonna find time to get married."

"Brains did," Gordon countered. "Virg and Kayo are thinking about it. I never thought I'd be using the words 'John' and 'married' in the same sentence, but he and Ridley seem headed in that direction." He blushed. "I...haven't asked her yet, but if Penny would have me, I'm willing to take the chance." He grinned. "Heck, even Grandma found Kip. You're the only one who's holding yourself to some imaginary standard."

"This is a hard life," Scott reminded him. "Everyone's found someone at least marginally involved with International Rescue."

"Something wrong with that?" Gordon raised an eyebrow. "In answer to your question: No, I don't think Dad set the bar too high. The Island's not supposed to be a monastery." He shrugged and abandoned his game. "Dad didn't just sit around and wait for life to happen to him. I don't think he'd want us to do that, either."

They sat contemplating their absent father for a long minute, until Scott shook himself out of their reverie. "You know, I might have something I can do while I'm waiting," he mused.

"Oh?" Gordon stretched his arms above his head, his rebuilt spine popping and cracking audibly. "Whazzat?"

Scott smirked. "I can go on a date."

Gordon's eyes widened. "For real? Who?"

"Marion Van Arkel. John suggested her."

"No kidding." Gordon laughed. "Shackleton, right?" He got up from the toilet lid and followed Scott out of the bathroom to lower himself cross-legged on the perfectly made bed. "The defunct uranium mine, too."

Scott moved into his closet and tossed the towel into the laundry chute, then reached into well-ordered drawers to retrieve socks and a pair of boxer briefs. "That's her."

"Whew, she was about as cuddly as a porcupine, as I recall."

"Yup," Scott confirmed, pulling on a pair of jeans and snatching an Oxford from a hanger. "I had the chance to talk to her while I was up with John; I asked her to consult on a rescue near Chernobyl. She's changed quite a bit since our first encounter." Buttoning his shirt, he walked back into his room to find Gordon laying back on the bed, looking up at the ceiling with his hands behind his head.

"Huh." The aquanaut sounded thoughtful. "Well, I guess you gotta start somewhere."

Scott barked out a laugh. "Thanks, I think." He sat beside Gordon to pull on his socks and lace his Chucks. "If we get married, I'll be sure and tell her she had your full confidence from the get-go."

Gordon made a rude noise. "I think I see another amnesia-inducing head injury in your future."

"No thanks." Scott slapped him in the solar plexus, sending a surprised grunt out of his younger sibling. "Now get off my bed; you're wrinkling it."

With a groan, Gordon rolled off the mattress to land on all fours on the floor, coming up just in time to see Scott carefully smooth out the duvet. The entire room looked as if it were either ready for inspection or the pages of a classy home interior magazine, and Gordon whistled as Scott stood back to survey his handiwork. "That's way too much trouble for something that's just gonna get slept in." He narrowed his eyes at Scott. "Are you sure we're related?"

Scott laughed; Gordon's room was a howling disaster that only Grandma dared enter, and only to deliver clean laundry. "'Fraid so, fish. Mom went into the hospital pregnant, and she came out with you. I was there."

"Coulda been switched at birth," Gordon proposed, doing a few fingertip pushups before springing to his feet. "There could be a rogue Tracy out there that no one knows about." He followed Scott out the door, keeping within arm's reach as they descended the steps. "Someone waiting to discover their birthright and take their rightful place in the family."

"Oh really?" Scott raised an eyebrow as Gordon followed him into the kitchen. "Then what do we do with you?" he asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"Well, you have to keep me; I've been here too long," Gordon volleyed back. He grabbed a banana out of the fruit bowl and proceeded to peel it to an acapella version of "The Stripper."

Scott grinned at his brother's antics. "Absolutely, because I wouldn't trade you for anything."

During his short stint as Interim Field Commander, Virgil had made several critical decisions-the largest of which was the continued operation of International Rescue, despite being down a member. Losing Scott's day-to-day presence in the field had made him want to shut down until his big brother was himself again, but reality-and the ethic that their father had instilled in them-had dictated otherwise. When it came down to brass tacks, Virgil had been secretly glad to get back into motion, rather than simply sit and wait for a day that might never come.

Never give up at any cost. As he tended to his 'Bird in the massive hangar, his father's words echoed in Virgil's inner ear. We haven't so far, Dad, he mused, feeling as if he would only have to turn around to see his father looking over his shoulder.

As he turned to grab up his favorite screwdriver, he saw something moving by the forward port landing strut. Virgil gave a yelp and stumbled back, one grease-stained hand clutching at his chest as the tall, dark-haired figure came into view. "Holy shit, Scotty," he gasped. "I thought you were Dad."

Scott's smile was sad as he reached out to touch the strut. "I wish it was," he replied.

Now that his heart had decided to settle back into its usual place, Virgil blew out a heavy breath. "You and me both." He smiled and went to stand next to Scott, pulling a stained rag from a pocket of his coveralls to wipe his hands. "Nice to see you down here. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten how to get to the hangar without using your load-in."

"Never." Scott raised his head to look at the flat expanse of 'Two's underbelly, turning to take in every inch of the scarred green metal. "She's holding up really well, considering everything we throw at her," he mused aloud.

"Built to last, that's for sure." Virgil stuffed the rag back into his pocket and joined his brother in gazing up at the beloved heavy lifter. "Did her integrity scan just the other day. No welds popped, no stress fractures. Dad and Brains knew what they were doing; Caehelium is some serious shit."

"It's also because her mechanic and pilot does a hell of a job looking after her," Scott volleyed back. "Unlike her much-neglected sister."

"Not so," Virgil retorted as they left the shadow of Thunderbird Two and approached Thunderbird One's silent berth. "She and I have been getting to know each other lately." He smiled up at the machine, eyes lingering on the proud badging. "Did her scan too, and she's fit as a fiddle. All she needs is a top-up of her tanks, and she's ready to go."

"Whenever that is," Scott muttered. He looked up at Thunderbird One for a long moment, her silvery hull reflected in the deep blue wells of his eyes. "Do you know, Virg," he began quietly, "for as long as I can remember, all I've ever wanted to do was fly."

"And so you have," Virgil countered. "You've flown the most advanced aircraft on the planet, and done it well."

Scott continued to stare at 'One as if he could caress her hull with a look. "It never gets old. Every time I'm in the air, I know that's where I'm supposed to be." Then the loving look melted, and he turned to face his younger brother, agony on his features. "I never told anybody this, but-I wanted to die in that chair," Scott choked. "I didn't plan on outliving my ability to fly."

Pushing aside the thought of Scott getting his wish, Virgil gently laid his hands on Scott's shoulders. "You haven't," he insisted.

"Not you too," Scott moaned. "Everyone's a Pollyanna around here, trying to blow smoke up my ass, and it's getting old."

"We're not trying to blow smoke up your ass." Virgil ducked his head to look into Scott's face. "When you were still asleep, John said I wanted you back more than you might ever want to be back...and I had to agree with him. No one wants to see you in that cockpit more than I do. Not because I want less responsibility, but because my world-our world-makes sense with you there." He, too, looked up at the elusive prize shimmering in her silo. "But shame on me if I ever thought of hurrying that day. I don't want you there until it's right."

Scott began to tremble. "I'm scared, Virg," he whispered. "I'm scared that I'm gonna have another seizure, and she'll be gone for good."

Virgil's heart broke for his older brother, and he drew him into his arms to try and quell the shaking. "You can't stress yourself out like this. Either you will, or you won't, but there's no need to think about it any more than that."

"How can you say that?" Scott pulled away, his tears bright in the harsh lighting. "The future of International Rescue depends upon my ability to be a contributing member. Yeah, you guys have been doing okay, but I just can't believe that you won't need me-need her-ever again," he corrected.

His own tears threatening, Virgil cupped Scott's face in his hands, keeping their gazes locked. "We need you both. And if you're not in the chair, then it'll be Allie, or Gordy, or even John, and you'll still be calling the shots. We'll still be a team-a damn good team, like we've always been. Maybe some of our job descriptions will change, but we'll still be functioning."

"But...I won't be a Thunderbird."

Virgil had heard many cries of pain, many utterances of bitter regret or grinding shame, when those in peril believed themselves at fault for their circumstances. Instead of stirring his sympathy, Scott's words had the opposite effect: Determination lit his nerves on fire, and from Scott's gasp, he knew that fire had reached his eyes. "As long as you're part of this family, you'll always be a Thunderbird," Virgil insisted. He pulled Scott back into his arms and held him tight. "I promise."