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Virgil says he holds no one accountable, but that's a lie. He blames himself, even though he knows he shouldn't. Perhaps if he'd done something, or if he'd waited, then this wouldn't have happened. The missing static dampeners shouldn't have changed anything. The fault lay with himself for not properly checking the insulators in the Pod. Technically speaking, Pod maintenance wasn’t his job, but he still could have at least checked.
He can't bring himself to say his name yet. Alan does, constantly, like saying it will bring him back. He wants to talk about it, but his three older brothers find it hard to get the words out, sticking in their throats like wet porridge. Grandma tries, but her attention wanders these past days, and she moves so gingerly, saying there's something wrong with her joints, but really it’s her heart. Kayo is the only one who will sit with Alan, keeping him company as he talks and talks, clinging to his memories.
Virgil has nightmares of the yellow pod falling like a rock, the comms deathly silent. In his dreams he chases it, and it falls and falls, always just a little out of reach.
*
*
John doesn't come down until a day or two before the funeral. He's been distant and detached the last week, repressing his emotions as he makes arrangements on the family's behalf. The three of them and Kayo are waiting as the elevator touches down. John is slow to emerge. He sees them and takes a step, and his foot seems to miss like he’s expecting something to be there. As he stumbles under the gravity, Scott is by his side, one arm around his back and the other hand on his heart.
"Hold up, Johnny," he says softly. They look at each other for a moment, hollow-eyed, then John shivers and he clings to Scott's shirt, hiding his face. Alan holds tightly to Virgil's hand, silent tears leaking down his jaw.
*
*
Brains has to stand to give evidence at the trial. He is pale but resolute, determined to do what he can to hold someone accountable for what happened.
He tells them what he said at the time, he tells them what he found, he tells them that he was too late to warn their operative of the danger before it happened. There was no warning, no adequate shielding, no protections in place. The static charge was stronger than anticipated and blew past their safety mechanisms. It shouldn’t have happened. He also tells them of his past history with Langstrom Fischler, of his contempt for his methods, about the way he cuts corners and disregards safety.
When he is cross-examined, he stays calm, but red spots of colour appear on his cheeks and his stutter worsens when he is accused of bias, that he might have been mistaken, that he hasn’t been working with Fischler in so long so he cannot be fully aware of his current methods or his patents.
Virgil clasps his shoulder afterwards, silently thanking him for being the first up to the plate. Brains covers his hand with his own, his jaw working as he tries to remain professional.
*
*
It's different to when they lost their father. They'd had hope for him then, hope that dwindled over time but never really completely extinguished. They had still had each other. This time is a freezing shock. None of them know how to properly react. It shouldn’t have happened.
Lady Penelope comes to the island a day before the funeral and insists on seeing him. They try to warn her, but she will not be gainsaid. She sits alone with him for a long time, and when she comes out, pale-faced, she clings to Parker’s arm for strength.
They bury him on a high point overlooking the ocean. Alan wanted to bury him at sea, but Virgil overruled that idea. He wants to keep his brother where he can keep an eye on him. The grave marker is next to the memorial plaque for their father, identical except that this one marks a pine box.
Later on, they sit together and drink through two bottles of Jeff’s old stash of bourbon. John and Alan have quietly disappeared off together to perform some private ritual of their own. Kayo takes Grandma off to bed. Brains doesn’t drink, just stares at nothing and tries to work out where he went wrong.
"Such a bright lad," Parker says, holding his glass up in salute to the setting sun’s rays so it glows amber. “H’I’ve always said so. Such potential wasted. Hey now son, h’it’s all right. No shame in tears. Let it h’all out.”
Virgil pretends he can’t hear Scott’s sobs, and doesn’t shift his gaze from the horizon. Next to him, Penelope slides her hand to cover his and cling tightly to his fingers, the golden light reflecting from the shining tracks on her cheeks.
*
*
"International Rescue chooses to put themselves in danger. I can't be held responsible for their actions. They called me first, I didn’t call them." Fischler is obstinate and brash in the face of the evidence against him. "Would they prosecute every time there's damage in their line of work? Surely there is always a risk of death. Why this time? Because it actually happened?"
The four Tracys sit behind their lawyer, stony-faced and bitter. Fischler has employed the best there is, but International Rescue, while a non-profit, is not short on funds. They have their own team, determined to bring some justice, try to make their loss seem less wasteful.
"Your criminal negligence almost caused the deaths of three people, including yourself," snaps their lawyer. “You’re lucky it is only one count against you. You’re lucky to be here.”
Fischler shrugs. "So sue me for negligence then. I can't be held accountable for murder. To be quite honest, it’s a wonder one of them hasn’t carked it before now."
Virgil gets up so quickly his chair falls over. He walks out. He can’t keep listening to this. Alan runs after him, catching him up in the foyer, and grabs his arm.
“He isn’t serious, is he?”
Virgil turns to face him, steeling himself to appear strong. “Yeah, ‘fraid so.”
Alan looks away with a sigh, letting him go, at a loss for words. He pulls a gold disk on a wide band from his pocket, his thumb rubbing over the relief for comfort. Alan has had to grow up too fast. “There’s been too much serious lately.”
“Yeah.” He turns away, something solid lodged in his chest that he can’t shake off.
*
*
Thunderbird Four sits alone in the hangar. Nobody has had the heart to approach her until now. Virgil finds himself facing her at three in the morning, his eyes burning from lack of sleep and recurring dreams.
He rests a hand on the nose of the little submersible. He hadn’t thought this was how it would go. They’d been an indestructible team, hadn’t they? Doctors fixing their broken patients. Thunderbird Two mothering her Pods. Technically, Four was a pod vehicle too. Virgil can still remember how hard that battle had been, convincing their father that she was worth Thunderbird status, that there was so much potential there as something more than just the sum of her components.
Alan wants to train to take her on, and Virgil isn’t sure how he feels about that. He doesn’t mind his youngest brother coming with him on missions, but it’s not the same. Alan’s heart has always been in his rocket, trying to be enough to replace his father. He can’t be expected to replace his brother too.
“You’ll be okay,” he whispers to Four. His heart clenches and his throat aches and he cries out for what he’s lost.
*
*
The man stands with his hands in his pockets, his chin jutting out. Virgil has to repeat breathing techniques to himself to stay calm. He has much less of a handle on his temper these days.
“I can’t say I’m not sorry,” Fischler sighs and sniffs loudly. “He seemed like a nice kid, and he did try to save me. But it wasn’t my fault, and the judge saw that.” He doesn’t look even slightly apologetic.
Virgil can see John is biting his tongue, his lip curling in disgust. Scott just walks away, unable to deal with this. Alan stares, ashen-faced and open-mouthed. They’re all furious. The verdict is a terrible, bitter pill. Millions of dollars in reparations for the life of one brilliant, irreplaceable boy. Enough money to hire and train a new operative, they said.
“You better hope you never have the misfortune to need our help again,” Virgil growls.
Fischler just shrugs. “Yeah, well, fingers crossed, eh? Don’t want to have to go through all this again.”
John’s about ready to spit, and Alan takes his arm, throwing a glance back at Virgil as he guides his brother after Scott. Virgil stands rooted to the spot, and he gathers all his height and bulk, the blackness of his mood overcoming him.
“Walk away.”
To his credit, Fischler does.
*
*
Virgil's reactions are honed so that as soon as he sees the flash, Thunderbird Two is pushed into a sharp dive before he consciously thinks about it. The tiny pod spins as it falls, but he is able to target the grapple quickly and efficiently, so it drops into a smooth arc, safely arresting its descent. The comms still aren't working. He reels the yellow craft in as quickly as he can, jumping from the pilot's seat to sprint to the module.
It's blackened on the outside where it was struck, and the Perspex windows are warped and melted so he can’t see in. Virgil cuts his hand as he struggles with the mechanism. Red red blood smears over the black char over the cheerful yellow paint.
Someone is trying to speak to him, but he can't respond until he's sure. And as soon as he forces the top open, he knows. He’s seen it enough times to know. He turns his face away, bile rising in his throat.
"Scott—"
"Virgil."
"Scott—"
"Virgil, don't. We have a rescue to finish. Take him home." Scott’s tone is strained, focused, scared.
"Scott!" He can't breathe. Something is crushing his heart, making him fall to hands and knees on the floor of the module. He knows he’s hyperventilating but he can’t stop himself, his lungs contracting so he’s gasping and his fingernails splinter against the metal floor.
"I am taking remote control of Thunderbird Two." John's voice is calmer than it has any right to be. "Changing flight path to return to Tracy Island. Virgil, breathe. We need you with us.” There is a pause. “Is there—is there any—any chance—" His words falter, and he pauses to take a deep breath. Virgil cannot find words to answer him. It’s EOS’s voice that says, “ETA eleven minutes.”
Virgil’s hands are in fists in front of him and his vision is swimming. He can feel his dependable girl changing direction, swinging away from the stricken, poisonous aircraft. There’s nothing he can do but comply. There’s nothing he can do at all.
*
*
They are lying on the grass. It's a midsummer night in Kansas, and the sky is crisp and dark and gleaming with stars. Gordon has just graduated, and he's full of dreams and excitement. The Olympics are on the horizon. Visions of gold medals dance in his head. Virgil has never been prouder of him.
"Look at that, Virg," he says, as a shooting star flares across the sky. "Can you imagine being a comet?”
There’s a soft snort from where John sits a short distance away on the back verandah, reading A Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy on the swing chair. “It’s a meteor,” he says, and Gordon rolls his eyes. Virgil chuckles.
“Whatever. It spends its life orbiting the galaxy, waiting for the day to awaken. And then-” Gordon makes a fizzing explosion sound, his arms pushing up and fingers splayed above him to illustrate. “It’s so bright and beautiful! Just flares up, and we have the chance for just a second to see it before it burns up in the atmosphere. What a way to go." He sighs, a satisfied smile on his face.
“Yeah,” agrees Virgil, folding his arms behind his head. Gordon grins at him. “What a way to go.”