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There were things that Gordon had come to expect from interviews, lines of questions that came up regardless of why he was invited along to speak.
What was it like to win a gold medal for Butterfly at just sixteen?
What is the best part of being in International Rescue?
Is it weird to work alongside your brothers?
So who is older? Virgil or John?
Are the rumours that you and Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward are in an exclusive relationship true?
He and Penelope had a tally on that one and as of today he was officially winning it and that made this whole day worth it.
It wasn’t that Gordon hated doing interviews, he loves talking to people especially about the things he is passionate about like swimming, ocean conservation and helping people it was just that these repeating questions were so predictable that Brains could make a robot that looked like him with pre-made answers and no one would know the difference which made all of this just a little tedious.
And by a little tedious, it was actually a lot tedious and Gordon was currently counting down the minutes left in his interview with Ruby Grant. And it wasn’t just him growing bored, the audience seemed to only be there to laugh on command and give off annoyingly consistent coughs and he wondered who would give up on the charade first, the interviewer, the audience, or him.
Who was he kidding, Scott would kill him if he embarrassed the family on national TV, he was just going to suck it up and doll out another perfect smile and tell a well timed joke and soon enough he can get back home and swim the day away.
“What was it like to survive the worst hydrofoil crash in the world?”
Gordon blinked.
The audience fell silent and Gordon could feel their eyes boring into him as they hung off the very edges of their seats, apparently having all been waiting their entire lives to hear this.
"I," He swallowed. "I don't know what you're talking about."
“Your accident.” Ruby Grant said innocently. “You were on a hydrofoil that capsized at 400 knots. According to doctors, the survival rates of such an incident stands at less than 1%, you are a very lucky man.”
“I think you’ve mistaken me for-”
“We have some exclusive photos here of the incident,” She continued. “But I believe that photos can only say so much so I would like to hear your version of events."
Gordon twisted, slowly, the screen behind him flicking between different images. A younger him was leaning against a prototype hydrofoil, the side bearing the GDF emblem. He was grinning, the same grin he always wore when he was genuinely excited about something. Gordon felt his blood run cold but he could not look away.
Another photo showed him doing the safety checks on the vessel, a photo that he had only taken as a joke to send to Virgil.
A video played then, the hydrofoil gliding above the water. There was audio too, and he heard his own voice but it sounded strange to his ears, the way that recordings always sounded disconcertingly off.
“300 Knots. 320 Knots. Hell yeah, going up to 350 knots.”
The craft went faster still and that consistent cough was back again as if the person’s attention had already waned. Gordon’s nails were digging into the palms of his hands yet he didn’t dare look away, he did not even dare to blink.
The hydrofoil flipped and Gordon felt his chest tighten as the audience gasped. One guy, no doubt that same guy who had been coughing, let out a laugh as if there were something funny about the vehicle exploding into hundreds of pieces, half of which imbedding themselves into Gordon's body.
He barely even registered the video turning back to images of the rescue, too focused on what he had just seen, what he had just heard. Some part of him had always known that there would be footage of what had happened, it had been a secret trial run by the GDF after all so of course they would have taken audio and visuals for study, yet all this time Gordon had not had the slightest curiosity to know what it had been like that day from an outside perspective.
Gordon had lived it, why the hell would he need to see it all in some damn video.
But then… Another video played and Gordon just stared as he watched his Father pull out a broken body from the wreck, clutching onto it as if it would drift away from him at any moment.
Jeff Tracy hadn’t been there. International Rescue hadn’t been there, it had been some faceless person who cut him from the twisted metal, who carried him so gently as he screamed, who stayed by his side for the whole blur that was getting to hospital. It hadn’t been Dad. It couldn’t have been Dad.
Gordon had done a lot of terrible things in his life but he could not have possibly made his own father see him like that.
White hot pain thrummed through him as the images shifted to when he was in hospital and the pieces of metal were still in him, a dozen doctors crowding around shouting things that he didn’t understand. He was screaming, back then or right now he didn’t quite know, all he knew was that he was screaming and everything was pain and he was going to die and he wasn’t ready to die and Dad had been there and he hadn’t even known it and everything was pain.
The audience were shifting uncomfortably in their seats now, whispering things amongst themselves though the words were lost on Gordon as the newest photo showed all of his brothers holding vigil around his bed as he lay there on life support.
Gordon didn’t remember getting to the bathroom.
His throat burned like acid and he was shuddering, energy that he didn’t have draining away from him. He sat back and pressed up against the side of the stall, pulling his legs up to his chest. Gordon jolted as pain flashed through him, pulling at wounds that had long since healed.
Healed. He was healed. The accident had been years ago, his back had been stabilised. There shouldn’t be any pain, or at least not this severe without cause. It wasn’t real pain, it was psychosomatic.
Gordon needed to pull himself together, he needed to calm himself down or the pain will just keep spiking.
Sight; The sides of the stall were wood painted a bright happy yellow, no doubt intended to represent whatever studio he was at though if Gordon was honest it seemed a little weird to have yellow themed bathrooms. The toilet just a normal white porcelain. There was a sanity waste bin next to him. Points for inclusivity, he supposed, unless he had accidentally run to the women’s bathroom in his panic. There were shards of metal imbedded into his body yet when he looked down he could not see them.
Smell; There was some soap spilled on the sink and it smelled like lemon, another yellowish themed thing that had no place in a bathroom unless you want to wash your hands in dish soap. And no, he did not not want to think about the smell of his own sick, thank you very much so he was just going to move onto the next sense.
Touch; The tiles were cool beneath him, the wall he was pressed against hard against his back, his broken bleeding back that was imbedded with metal and- No. He was leaned up against wood. There was no metal, no blood, and no pain if he manages to calm himself down.
Hearing; His own gasps wasn’t very nice to focus on so he tuned into the sound of a vent whirling somewhere instead. It was rattling a little and that rattle sounded like the hydrofoil’s engine just before everything turned into pain and screams and blood and oh fuck he was throwing up again.
Gordon shook as tears streamed down his face, waiting another few moments before he let him pull away from the toilet again, uncertain if that was the last wave.
“Gordie?” A voice echoed.
That echoing voice must be another memory. It had been there during the pain, it had assured him time and time again that he was okay. Except there wasn’t a back then, there was only a now and the pain had never really stopped and maybe he was still a part of the wreckage maybe he was still screaming.
“Gordie! He’s in here, guys!”
Gordon didn’t have the strength to raise his head yet someone was suddenly touching him and he was pulling away, pain overwhelming him.
“It’s alright, Gordon. Everything’s alright.”
Nothing was alright. He was drowning and he was dying and he was shaking and he was in a bathroom in some God damn studio and Virgil was right there.
“Virg?” Gordon said, his head spinning.
“It’s me, little brother.” Virgil said. “We came as soon as we could.”
We?
Gordon was still shaking as he looked up at the faces crowding around him, all hovering behind Virgil. Scott looked furious and Gordon dully wondered what he had done to make Scott so angry with him while Alan looked like a kicked puppy, complete with tears shining in the corner of his eyes.
John was there too, as a hologram that was projected from the communicator in Scott’s palm, his blue toned face in a tight frown. Gordon must have upset him too. Fuck, he had managed to upset every single one of his brothers and he didn’t even remember how he had done it this time.
Gordon moaned, curling back into his ball.
“Guys,” Virgil said. “Give him some space.”
For a long moment nobody moved and Gordon felt like he was suffocating until all at once Scott and Alan scrambled away, John’s image bobbing up and down in the rush.
Virgil sat down cross legged at the front of the stall, far enough away but close enough that Gordon could still see him clearly through all the blurs.
“Gordon,” He said carefully. “What’s something you can see, smell, touch and hear?”
New pain rocked through him and Gordon whined.
Apparently realising that that technique already hadn’t worked, Virgil shifted a little on his spot.
“What do you need me to do?” Virgil asked.
If Gordon knew what would help him, he would say it, but as it was he was a little preoccupied trying not to throw up again. He was both too hot and too cold and he could feel blood dripping down his spine that he knew wasn’t there. Each time he closed his eyes he could see those images again, he could see the metal twisted around him, he could feel everything. He could not tell Virgil any of this because Virgil did not need to know just how messed up he was.
“I want to go home.”
It was little more than a whisper as tears rolled down his face yet Virgil must have heard him all the same because he nodded and stood up. Virgil did not hold his hand out to Gordon and Gordon was grateful, unsure if he could deal with any kind of touch right now.
Pushing himself up off the ground made fresh pain flash through him and Gordon’s vision pulsed white.
No.
It wasn’t just a pulse.
He was lying down somewhere with a blanket and even a pillow, the lights above him dimmed.
His room? But when had he gotten home?
Gordon must have lost consciousness and a distant part of him knew that he should be more panicked by that but the rest of him was just so tired that he didn’t give a fuck. All he knew was he was out of that damn bathroom and the pain was gone so as far as he was concerned, falling unconscious had somehow been the right move.
He sat up but a hand pressed down on his shoulder, keeping him on the bed. There was no flash of pain that accompanied it nor did he panic at the fact that someone was touching him because as Gordon looked up he met familiar eyes.
“Grandma?” He croaked.
“Good to see that you’re awake, Gordon.” Grandma said. “You know, you gave poor Virgil a heart attack.”
“Oh.” Gordon blinked. “Right. I should probably apologise.”
“Apologise later, you young man need to rest.”
“I’m fine, Grandma.” Gordon said, his own voice still unfamiliar to his ear. “I just need to-“
His head spun the moment he sat up and Gordon was fairly certain that he blacked out again for a second because he didn’t remember Grandma sitting on the bed beside him, one of her hands on his own.
“Oh.” He said again.
“I tried to tell you,” Grandma said. “You’ve been in a pretty bad state of shock, it’s going to take time before you’re feeling more like yourself. Rest, Gordon, I will be here when you wake up.”
Gordon didn’t want to sleep any more than he already had yet the moment Grandma guided him back down onto the pillow, everything slipped away into darkness.
When Gordon woke up next, he could honestly feel the difference. His head did not spin when he sat up and when he looked around to an empty room, he was fully aware that he had not been sleeping in his own bedroom but Scott’s, in fact was not his bedroom, complete with medals of valour among the flare that was Scott’s style. That is to say, no flare at all and very little things of note except for the three identical blue formal suits.
How Gordon had mistaken this boring non-mess for his own room, he had no idea. As for why he was in Scott’s bedroom, he also had no idea. Whatever, at least it was better than being in that damn studio’s bathroom.
Gordon swung his legs over the edge of the bed, waiting a whole three seconds before he attempted to stand just in case a crazed Grandma was hiding in the corner of the room waiting for him to do something wrong. He stood easily enough and nobody tackled him so he walked towards the door but while reaching for the handle, Gordon glanced down at himself.
Someone had changed him into his Orca pyjamas, the really fluffy comfortable ones. Another fact that on any other day it should be disconcerting but really Gordon had been through a lot worse and honestly it was nice to know that his family was aware that this was his favourite pair so he could look aside the uncomfortable question of who exactly had changed his clothes.
Strolling through the house, Gordon waited for the inevitable yell that he should be in bed but seeing as he didn’t spot anyone in the hallways or the lounge room, he continued onto the kitchen without disturbance.
The sun must have set since he had fallen asleep AKA lost consciousness, the stars twinkling through the windows and Gordon hated that he had wasted the entire day.
Whenever John was down on Earth he would be on the patio looking up at that stunning sky and Gordon found that he missed his older brother even though he had seen him on a shaky hologram while he was mid panic attack. Or was it a PTSD episode? Really, Gordon didn’t know what the difference was all that mattered was that he should try to convince John to come down for a few days to hang out.
Wait a moment. There was someone sitting outside, a shock of red hair poking out over the top of one of the deck chairs. Maybe John was down after all, not that he was scheduled to be. Weird.
“Are you just going to keep standing there or are you going to join me?” John called.
Gordon hovered, unsure if he should just sneak away now and convince John that he had never been there or if he should just join the brother he supposedly missed so much.
“You’re not going to tell me to go to bed?” Gordon asked suspiciously.
“That’s Virgil’s job.” John said. “Not that he listens to his own advice.”
Gordon came and sat on the chair next to John.
The stars were absolutely gorgeous above them, Tracy Island being well and truely far enough away from any cities to not have any light pollution. Gordon had used to spend hours out here with his Mum, her arms wrapped around him, as she told him all the stories of the constellations and of course the actual scientific names of all the stars that made up the designs.
Gordon’s skin itched, the silence weighing down on him.
“It was bad, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah.” John said.
They lapsed into silence once more and when Gordon glanced over John’s gaze was still fixed on the sky. Even on Earth, John’s head was full of stars and Gordon wondered why he would ever leave Thunderbird 5 even though he so desperately wanted to see John in person more often.
“It’s been three days.” John suddenly said.
Gordon wrapped his arms around himself.
“I don’t remember much.” He admitted. “I was on a call to Penelope, I started the interview, I was in the bathroom throwing up and then… Then I woke up and Grandma was there and then I woke up again and she was gone.”
“Scott made her rest.” John said. “She’s been worried sick about you, we all were.”
“I’m fine.”
John hummed.
When the silence came this time Gordon had been hoping for it. There was no need for heartfelt confessions under the starry sky, they could all just move passed this like the grown men they were and forget that Gordon had spent three days in shock after one stupid interview.
Gordon should be grateful that it was John out here and not Virgil even though he knew that Virgil would be watching him with eyes like a hawk for Ocean knows how long after this, expecting him to break down again at any moment. Scott was probably still furious at him too, annoyed that he had ruined the public image of International Rescue on live TV and Alan was probably embarrassed to find his older brother throwing up in a bathroom.
“John?”
John hummed again.
“Why am I such a fuck up?”
John twisted around so sharply that it made Gordon’s heart race and he regretted ever coming out here.
“You’re not a fuck up.” John said firmly. “That interviewer digging up graphic images of something that nearly killed you and putting them on live TV? Now that’s fucked. I’m amazed you even kept your cool like that.”
“I kept my cool?” Gordon whispered. “I don’t… I don’t remember much."
“You outright said to her that it was inappropriate to show graphic injury on television like that and requested that she apologise to the audience. The cameramen agreed with you and shut everything down. Turns out no one knew the segment was going to change like that and no one but the director agreed with her methods.”
“Oh.”
“That isn’t to say you didn’t deserve to react.” John continued. “If you had punched her in the face, it would have been justified.”
Gordon huffed a laugh without humour, his exhaustion returning. He should be happy that he hadn’t embarrassed himself and yet he still felt empty as if there was a part of him missing. He closed his eyes but all that he saw was those images of his Dad pulling him from the wreckage so Gordon turned his attention back to the sky.
“Gordon,” John said. “I know I’m not Virgil but… You can talk to me, about anything, you know that right?”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“You’ve been out of it for three days.” John said gently. “I think that means there’s something to talk about.”
While John’s eyes had returned to the sky he loved so much Gordon still felt as though his brother was looking right at him, waiting for Gordon to break down again like the mess of a human being he was. No, Gordon refused. He was the fun loving carefree brother, he did not have to admit that he had nightmares of those months in hospital and he certainly did not need to know that the very thought of his Dad being the one to pull him from the wreck both comforted and terrified him.
“Dad was there.” Gordon whispered. “Wasn’t he?”
“Yeah.” John said. He swallowed. “Everyone but Alan went to the rescue. We… We didn’t know it was you."
“I’m sorry.”
“Why would you apologise?” John asked.
“If I hadn’t messed up, none of that would have happened.”
“Gordon, according to the GDF investigation, you did everything right. The accident was caused by equipment malfunction. It was a experimental vessel after all, nobody knew that it wouldn’t put up with the strain from going so fast.”
“I know but… I still feel like it was my fault that you guys have to put up with me like this. Maybe it would have been better if I had just died that day.”
John took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and twisted fully towards Gordon.
“I’m not going to say that it was easy seeing you so hurt,” He said. “But I think I speak for all of our family when I say that I would go through all of that a million times if it means that you are here. That you are alive.”
Gordon’s eyes stung and he curled up, burying his head into his knees.
He heard John shift and for a moment he thought that John had grown too uncomfortable with him and was going to go back inside but then the chair Gordon was on moved and he felt a hand be placed on his shoulder.
John hated touch, it was one of the reasons why he was so comfortable spending so long up on Thunderbird 5 because while Alan loved spending time up there, Alan needed human affection in the same way that Gordon did and it would be detrimental to him to spend months alone. John thrived off of no physical contact, he had even had a maximum quota of hugs that he would write on the board in the kitchen when they were kids.
That wasn’t to say that John didn’t love them as much as they all loved each other, he simply had a different way to express it.
John hated touch and so Gordon should feel guilty that he had made John do something he hated and yet… And yet when John wrapped his arms around Gordon, Gordon felt himself melting into John’s touch all the same.
When the quiet fell this time Gordon did not feel the need the break it, he simply appreciated this moment for what it was and honestly he was just so tired that he was content to just stay here in John’s arms under the starry sky for a while.
He must have been even more tired than he had realised because he didn’t remember drifting off, waking to the dawn.
Gordon should be more frustrated with wasting even more time sleeping but when he looked around himself he realised that it wasn’t just John here anymore. John was asleep on the chair, an arm still laid upon Gordon, but Virgil was also asleep on Gordon’s other side, barely keeping from rolling off the side of the too small deck chair.
Alan, the cat he was, was curled up at the foot of the chair or at least he would be if he wasn’t half spread out, limbs a tangled mess. Gordon held back a laugh, not wanting to wake his little brother.
Scott was there too but the eldest Tracy had claimed John’s old chair as his own and was lying completely straight like the boring serious man he was. The boring serious man also had a line of drool rolling down his chin so maybe Scott wasn’t so different from the rest of them after all.
There was a smell wafting out from the kitchen and Gordon’s stomach rumbled and he dimly realised that he hadn’t had any food in a few days unless his brothers had managed to get him to eat something in his shock. Whatever food it was, it couldn’t be Grandma Tracy’s cooking because it actually smelled amazing.
Wait a moment, did that mean…
Gordon carefully moved John’s arm, worried that he would wake him accidentally, before awkwardly climbing over Virgil and damn near stacking it on the deck. He righted himself at the last moment and followed that lovely smell, careful to not make a sound with the door.
And there Penelope was, perched on one of the stools in the kitchen, sipping on a tea as Parker hovered by the stove. Gordon went to her, keeping his footsteps quiet until he was right behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist.
“Good morning Gordon.” Penelope said warmly, not so much as glancing back at him.
He didn’t say anything, pressing his head to her back and just enjoying the fact that she was here. After a long moment he pulled away, sitting on the stool beside her just as Parker turned around and placed down a massive plate of stacked pancakes. Before Gordon could even say anything, Parker was already drizzling chocolate syrup all over them before moving onto the marshmallows and 100s and 1000s and all the other things that Gordon loved on his pancakes.
“Wow, Parker,” He said. “Thanks!”
“You are very welcome Mr. Gordon.”
As Gordon dug in, Penelope sipped on her tea.
“John contacted me to say that you were feeling a little better.” Penelope said. “I’m glad to see that he was right.”
Gordon tried his best not to stiffen but the pancakes suddenly tasted like ash. He swallowed, looking away.
“Sorry.” He said.
“Please don’t apologise, Gordon,” Penelope said. “For what it is worth, Ruby Grant will not be interviewing you again as she has been reassigned. Her skills are much better suited reporting on crop yields, don’t you think?”
“Why would you do that for me?” Gordon asked quietly.
It wasn’t Penelope who answered him but Parker, twisting around with a spatula.
“My Lady is very protective of her friends, Mr. Gordon, and she is even more protective over you. A simple reassignment is the least she could have done for you. Though I must make it known that I offered to sock Ruby Grant for you, if that helps you feel better.”
Despite everything when Gordon laughed it was genuine. He nibbled on the pancakes a little more, finding that the tension in his shoulders had eased a little again.
“Gordon,” Penelope said. “You know that I will do anything for you, anything at all. You need only say the word.”
“I think there is something.” He said.
There were things that Gordon had come to expect from interviews, lines of questions that came up regardless of why he was invited along to speak.
What was it like to win a gold medal for Butterfly at just sixteen?
What is the best part of being in International Rescue?
Is it weird to work alongside your brothers?
So who is older? Virgil or John?
Are the rumours that you and Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward are in an exclusive relationship true?
Gordon leaned over to the girl sitting next to him and took her hand into his own. Penelope squeezed back, giving him that smile that he would do absolutely anything for and he knew then that he had made the right choice.
“Yes.” He said.
The audience became a roar of sound yet Gordon could still hear Alan hollering amongst them. He should be embarrassed that his little brother was being so loud but Gordon found himself smiling instead, glad that Alan was there.
Alongside Alan was his other brothers, Virgil who pressed two fingers to his lips to give off a whistle, John who Gordon could see was rolling his eyes even from here, and Scott who was doing his impression of an upstanding respectable man complete with perfectly timed claps even though he got distracted by Alan accidentally jabbing him in the ribs.
Grandma Tracy was right beside them too and if anything she was hollering just as loudly as Alan was.
“Yes.” Gordon said again as the sound at last died down a little. “Penelope and I have been together for a few months now and I can honestly say that this is the happiest I have ever been. While I can talk for hours about how much I love her, and trust me in the next interview I will, there is something important I would like to address first.”
The audience quietened and Gordon took a deep breath as the screen behind him flickered to life.
“Two weeks ago,” He said. “Images similar to these were shown on the Ruby Grant Show, a show held on this network. Now, I am not showing the actual images as I had said back then and still agree now that those photos were highly inappropriate as they contained graphic images.”
Gordon’s hand shook a little but Penelope held it all the same and he gained the strength to continue.
“But these photos are still important. They are of an accident I was in where a hydrofoil crashed at 400 knots. As Ms Grant said to her audience two weeks ago, I should have died. I didn’t, but that was only thanks to the countless doctors and nurses and other healthcare professionals that had worked tirelessly to save my life. It was thanks to International Rescue, to my family. To my Dad.”
Gordon looked out to the audience again and he was glad to see that Scott had wrapped an arm around Grandma Tracy’s shoulder.
“I am alive because my Dad pulled me from the thing that should have killed me and while he is not here today, I would still like to thank him. And I would like to thank every single person who was there for my recovery, it was a long road that I am still on but I am glad to share that road with each of you.”
He stood then, Penelope’s hand staying with him until the last moment.
“For a few years now,” Gordon said. “There’s been a joke that has gone around. Gordon Tracy never takes his shirt off anymore because he knows that no one would be able to handle just how hot he is. Now, I have made that joke myself before on countless interviews, even on this very same show before. It was easier to use a joke to explain it than the truth.”
Gordon steeled himself, before he tugged off his shirt. This time it wasn’t Alan who was the loudest audience member but a young woman who seemed shocked to see every single scar that traced down his upper body. For a moment he could feel like he was in the wreck again and every scar wasn’t a scar but a piece of metal. Then he forced himself to breathe and he turned around, showing the audience and the cameras the scars that deformed his entire back.
The image that was on the screen now was of the hospital room that he had spent four months in. This particular photo had been taken on Gordon’s birthday, complete with ocean themed decorations and a massive cake with a shark on it.
Gordon had hated that day. He had hated how he had screamed when his Dad tried to touch him, he hated that they had wasted their times tending to him as the pain medication failed to settle him. He hated himself that day, hated that he had even survived if it meant they would be forced to pity him like that.
“These scars each tell a story.” Gordon said. “A story that at first was not allowed to be talked about because it was confidential. But now… Now it’s a story that I want known because it is my story.”
The next image was his first day trying to walk. John was next to him, supporting him even though John hated touch and Scott was on the other side of him, his gaze locked on Gordon as if he was the only thing that mattered right now. Gordon had fallen not long after this photo was taken and it was a long time before he had let himself even try again.
“My story has defined not only my own life but the lives of the people that I love because. It wasn’t only me who went through this, my friends and family and doctors were with me every step of the way and I refuse to allow it to be used as some cheap trick to gain new viewers because that isn’t just disrespecting me but it is disrespecting them too.”
The last photo that Gordon had selected to be shown was a new one, one that Parker had taken. It was of his brothers, curled up around him as he slept on a deck chair under the starry sky that his Mum and John loved so much.
“As I said,” Gordon continued. “This recovery is not quite over, I don’t know if it will ever be, but I wanted to personally thank my brothers for being with me during all of it. Scott, John, Virgil, Alan… You guys mean more to me than you’ll ever know. And as dorky as it is to say on live TV, I absolutely love you all.”
Gordon shrugged his shirt back on and returned to his place by Penelope’s side. She hugged him tightly, pressing a kiss to his cheek and Gordon took a deep breath, feeling his muscles shaking a little. He felt better somehow, like he was lighter now that there wasn’t some big secret that he could never reveal to the general public, a secret that had defined his entire life for a few years now.
He had no doubt that there would be questions about his accident in future interviews that he will be uncomfortable with but none of that mattered when he knew that he could answer those questions because he was alive and he was healing and he was okay and he was dating the incredible amazing Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward and now the whole world knew.